The Conan Compendium

by Robert E. Howard

  He could eat later, if not her flesh, then that of the barbarian-if Lemparius still had to wear the form of a panther.

  The cat padded across the stone quietly and entered the corridor behind his prey.

  From the highest tower of Castle Slott, Sovartus could see the beginning of life for the Thing of Power. The essences of the children were now wrapped within the spell he controlled; the plain itself seemed to live as great winds howled across the roiling ground, joined by rainstorms and bolts that arced from the earth to the skies and back. A crack split the ground asunder, and flames belched from the bowels of the earth to join the other Elements.

  The four children seemed to be asleep, unseeing and unhearing of the energies erupting over the plain outside, but Sovartus felt those magical forces tugging at his own essence. Only his skill kept him from being torn apart by the elemental madness out there.

  The hooded ones standing by his door cowered within their robes, but Sovartus only laughed to see this. Now, after all the years, after all the study and waiting, now, now, NOW!

  Twin whirlwinds began to spin upon the convulsing plain, giant tornadoes of black air twirling at speeds never seen in such winds before. As Sovartus watched, these funnels detached themselves from the storms that created them, moving freely against the prevailing winds driving the clouds. The tornadoes moved to a point where they stood side by side, then like giant drills began to dig up the earth, twisting it upward.

  Yes, yes! Sovartus shook with the power of it.

  The ground rose in chunks the size of houses, of castles, and it came together over the tornadoes to form a body, a torso like none ever seen.

  Sovartus laughed again and extended his arms toward the skies. Another pair of spinning winds, somewhat smaller than the first pair, howled forth from their mother storms and became as arms on the figure building itself upon the plain.

  The castle shook then, struck by a line of blue light that arced from farther out on the plain. Sovartus nodded at the source of the light.

  Too late, old classmate.

  The master of the Black Square waved his arms yet again and pointed his stiffened fingers at the rainstorms. A single cloud broke away from the main body of the storm. Spitting lightning, the cloud moved to hover over the gigantic earthen body, then settled upon it. Three holes opened in the cloud, looking like eyes and a mouth; lightning formed jagged and flickering teeth in the gaping maw.

  Sovartus howled in his glee, a sound to mimic the roar outside.

  The black wizard ran to the window and leaned out into the rain to stare at the ground. The sundered earth still spat fire below, turning the base of the mountain white with steam as the fire met the rain.

  Sovartus turned his hands palms up and raised them. The flames roared higher, and a pair of fireballs broke free of the pit and surged upward. Like demonic fireflies these globs of matter flew, soaring until they stood in front of the cloudhead that rode the massive body of earth, which in turn rode on legs of devilwind. The fireballs moved into the empty sockets with a hiss . . . .

  Yes! Yes! YES! Sovartus took a deep breath and yelled out the final word, the last word in the most powerful spell he or any other mage had ever created.

  The storm died. The earth sealed over, stopping the fire. The plain grew almost quiet save for those sounds coming from the construct that now towered as tall as the mountain which was Castle Slott. The thing made of the Four Elements turned, so that it faced Sovartus. It blinked, hiding its eyes of living fire with lids of cloud unaffected by the heat. When it opened its lids again, Sovartus knew that it truly saw him, that he had succeeded. Slowly and ponderously, the giant bowed toward Sovartus.

  The Thing of Power lived.

  And Sovartus was its master.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kinna led, for she recalled more of the route to the heart of the wizard's lair than at first she'd thought. In only a short time she and Conan ascended past the rock base and into the castle proper. The stones of the constructed portion of Slott seemed as old as the mountain itself. Here the walls bore the stains of many years of taper and torch soot; here, too, a maze of twisting tunnels honeycombed the construction, as they had in the rock beneath. The gloom was broken, however, by infrequent windows, allowing light from outside to war with the inner darkness. Passing one of these artificed cracks in the outer wall, Conan drew up suddenly to stare at the thing he saw taking form upon the bare plain.

  "What is it?" Kinna called.

  Conan pointed wordlessly.

  The young woman returned two paces to look along the line of Conan's pointing finger. She gasped.

  "Aye," Conan said, "of all the evil in this venture, that is the worst." He continued to stare at the tornadoes and churning earth, at the formation of a head from the thunderstorm, and the eyes of fireballs. The thing blinked then, and seemed to stare directly at Conan; then it bowed.

  Conan turned away. "We must hurry," he said. "Whatever it is, Sovartus owns it-it bowed not to us!"

  They ran. So quickly did they climb the slanting floor that they almost blundered into disaster. Conan's keen nose caught the scent of the robed lizards first, and he grabbed Kinna's arm and covered her mouth to still her surprised outcry. "Shhh. There are more of the hooded things just around the corner."

  Kinna tugged at Conan's hand, and he removed his palm from her lips.

  "How do you know?" she whispered.

  "By their stench. Wait here."

  Conan left Kinna standing in the shadows while he edged along the corridor to the turning. He squatted low, then carefully peeped around the corner, keeping his face close to the dank stone.

  The hallway opened into yet another room, this one not much larger than a rich man's bedchamber. There stood next to the walls nine of the hooded reptiles, each armed with a pike like the one Kinna now bore.

  From their positions it seemed as if these beings were guarding the arched doorway on the opposite wall. Deep in his gut Conan felt a surge of knowledge: Through that doorway must be Sovartus, and, with him, Eldia.

  Conan slid back before any could see him. Here was where they must go; but passing nine of the hellishly fast and strong lizard-things would be dangerous. He arose from his crouch and moved silently toward Kinna to tell her what he had seen.

  Djuvula had a premonition, and so stopped before allowing her guide to lead her around the next angle in the castle's corridor. She bade the enspelled reptile to stand fast, and she moved to steal a glimpse of what lay ahead.

  Beneath the light of tapers sending spirals of black smoke toward the ceiling of the corridor stood the barbarian, talking to a young woman!

  At last! She would take him now, by Set!

  From the pack that she had caused the reptile to bear, Djuvula withdrew two items: The first was a curiously shaped vessel of magical design by which she could keep alive for a time any organ placed within. The second item was a thinwalled porcelain bulb. This latter Djuvula unpacked carefully from a thick, soft padding of lamb's wool. Within was a powder made from the dried petals of the black lotus. She had traded a magical spell to one of the priests of Yun for the deadly dust, against the time when she might need to deal instant death to anything that breathed. To inhale even the smallest portion was fatal, so the yellow-skulled priest had said; his demonstration upon a dog had proven it to Djuvula's satisfaction. The witch hefted the porcelain ball in her left hand and drew a small, sharp dagger from her girdle.

  She had some surgical skill at removal of hearts from recently dead or dying men-all the failures-in the service of her Prince. But the barbarian must not flee before the black lotus blossom could do its work.

  Djuvula jabbed the hooded creature with her dagger. "Go," she said, "and catch me that man you see just ahead."

  The hooded figure moved, and Djuvula grinned at its back. It would not matter if Conan slew it, for the thing need only delay him a moment until she could toss her deadly gift within range of the barbarian.

&nbs
p; Then all in the corridor would die, and quickly . . . .

  The mind of the panther slipped back and forth now, from man to beast.

  It was only with the greatest concentration that Lemparius could maintain a hold on his humanity within the form of the werecreature he had become. His fear drove him faster in his pursuit of the witch. If he did not catch her soon, he was certainly lost, doomed to live out his days as a cat; worse, he would not even be aware of his state, for his mind would be gone, submerged under that of the beast. He would be less than the flicker of a single spark in an endless Stygian night.

  With this fright riding his supple form, the panther ran. And so, rounding a turning in the dank, rat-infested castle, he found himself staring at the back of Djuvula.

  The man in him knew he wore a prohibition against attacking the flame-haired woman, but the beast surged forth and held sway over the cat's body. Lemparius, former senator, former man, roared his rage with the voice of a maddened panther.

  The sound startled the woman; she jumped and uttered an oath before she knew she had nothing to fear from this particular cat.

  Lemparius's mind fought for control even as the panther gathered itself to spring. He almost won control. Almost, but not quite.

  The werepanther leaped for the witch.

  Conan spun at the sound of feet scrabbling upon the flagstones. Several things happened then, with that particular kind of slowness that sometimes wrapped itself around moments of great danger. It was as if the air became cold-congealed syrup, arresting the motions of the players in this sudden drama.

  One of the hooded lizards appeared out of the darkness, running toward him. Almost immediately, the thing was followed by a woman-the witch, Djuvula-Conan recognized. Then a sand-colored form seemed to float through the air-that was a panther, going for the-witch's throat. Conan thought he knew this beast.

  He saw the line of a cut on the beast's leg, and knew he was correct.

  Lemparius. But why was he attacking the witch Just then the panther was deflected by an invisible wall from his would-be prey. More sorcery!

  No time to wonder how they had come to be here. Conan raised his sword as the black-garbed lizard-man leaped for him. The roar of the cat would draw others, Conan felt sure, and he had no plan, and no time to formulate one. The time for thinking was past; only action would serve him now!

  Conan sidestepped and brought his blade down as the hooded thing lunged. The creature could not stay his charge, and the sharp steel met the scaly back and became part of it. The thing fell, loglike, bearing Conan's sword. The barbarian swore, and bent to yank the blade free.

  The sound of many shuffling feet reached Conan. He turned toward the noise, and saw the first of the guards round the corner. That was a mistake, for Kinna leaped at the thing with her pike outstretched and skewered him like a pig for roasting.

  The panther roared again, and again rebounded from the shield that protected the witch from his attacks. Growling and screaming in incoherent rage, the beast whirled, and espied Conan. It moved for him.

  Four or five of the lizard-men cleared the corner, pikes held at the ready. Kinna's own pike was useless, still clutched by the entrails of the one she had slain.

  "Kinna! To me!"

  Conan caught another movement: The witch was fumbling with something.

  She dropped whatever it was, but managed to catch it before it hit the floor. She cursed.

  Conan swung around to face the panther, realizing too late that his sword offered no proof against the wereman's attack.

  The cat leaped for Conan's throat, and the big Cimmerian swung without thinking. The blade sank into the beast's side, shearing ribs and knocking the panther to one side. But even as it landed, Conan saw the welling blood cease its flow, and the wound knit itself together.

  The Cimmerian turned quickly toward Kinna and tossed her his sword.

  "Here!" he yelled.

  With that, he snatched Lemparius's curved knife from his belt just as the cat sprang again. Conan ducked and stabbed upward with the steel tooth. The tip speared the panther under the throat; the force of the cat's leap carried it over Conan's squatting form, and the magical blade laid it open from neck to hindquarters. Steaming entrails gushed forth, and the panther who had been a man hit the ground, rolled once, and died.

  "Conan!" That was Kinna, who swung Conan's heavy blade wildly and with little effect against the cluster of hooded lizard-men, who all jockeyed to get at her.

  Conan caught the sword from her and lunged forward. One of the lizards took the point under his chin. It fell back, mortally wounded.

  "Now I have you!" came a voice behind him. Conan backed away from the clutch of pike bearers and risked a quick glance down the hall.

  Djuvula the Witch stood straight and still, holding a small globe high over her head. "It is your time, Conan, and the time of all with you!"

  The castle shook, the walls glowing briefly with a bluish light.

  Vitarius! He still carried the fight against Sovartus! Good, Conan thought, for certainly he and Kinna were doomed-Djuvula screamed as she lost her balance on the vibrating floor. The globe she held spun away from her clutching fingertips, and she screamed again. "No!"

  The globe smashed upon the floor as the blue light died. A thick cloud of dust burst from the shattered ball, a greenish-yellow mist that billowed out to fill the corridor.

  Instantly, Conan knew the cloud for what it was: He had seen it used before by a Nemedian thief when they had scaled the Tower of the Elephant in Arenjun. The thief was long dead, but what he had said lived in Conan's memory. Black lotus dust, and breathing it meant death!

  Conan's instincts took over. He grabbed Kinna by the hand. "Hold your breath, girl-do not breathe!-and run for your life!" With that, he led Kinna into the cloud of death.

  Even without breathing, Conan caught the taint of a sickeningly sweet and cloying odor as the thick cloud closed over him. He tripped on the fallen form of the witch, nearly fell, but recovered, towing Kinna along with him.

  Behind him, Conan heard the sound he had hoped to hear: the footsteps of the hooded lizard-men, chasing them.

  The man and woman passed out of the cloud, but Conan kept going, to shake the traces of dust that clung to them. When he stopped. he still did not breathe as he brushed more of the vaporous substance from his and Kinna's clothes and bodies. He moved away from this spot before he finally allowed his inhaled air to escape. He drew in another lungful of air carefully, but no hint of the powdery death remained. He nodded at Kinna. "Breathe," he said.

  Kinna panted noisily, and followed her inhalation with a question: "What of the hooded ones?"

  "Listen," Conan commanded.

  The sound of heavy forms dropping onto the flagstones reached his ears.

  "I hear nothing-" Kinna began.

  "Wait."

  After a time the cloud of dust began to settle and dissipate; as it did, the silent forms of the hooded lizards took shape upon the floor.

  Among them, too, lay the bodies of Djuvula the Witch, who had wanted Conan's heart for some foul spell, and near her a naked man was sprawled on his back, gutted.

  "What-?"

  "A poison," Conan explained. "I have seen it work before. Vitarius shook the mountain and the witch dropped the vial, destroying herself."

  "Who was the man'?"

  "Lemparius. And he was also a panther. Now he is neither. Come, we have your sister to rescue, and her siblings. And Sovartus must be stopped, or that thing on the plain will rule us all."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The blue streak broke against the castle, and Sovartus nearly pitched out through the window as the building shook from the impact. He clutched at the facing and managed to thrust himself back into the tower. The magician glared at the unseen figure on Dodligia Plain, and his face lit with hatred. He might have died in the fall had he not been quick. To control such as the Thing of Power and then to die from some base stupidity would be a cruel
irony indeed.

  Sovartus drew himself up to his full height and smiled. Time to end this farce with his old classmate. The master of the Black Square regarded his creation, which in turn stared back with unblinking eyes of fire.

  "Go," Sovartus commanded, "and swat me that bothersome insect!" The magician waved his hand in a casting motion.

  The Thing of Power, built of the Four Elements, turned away from Castle Slott, moving more quickly than it seemed possible. Walking on legs made from tornadoes, it took gigantic strides across the plain.

  A line of blue shot from the seemingly empty plain toward the Thing of Power, and a small spot on its earthy body blackened and smoked, but the creature slowed not.

  Sovartus grinned, looking to see if any of the children noticed. None had, for each of the captives seemed to be in a stupor, eyes closed, breath coming slowly.

  No matter, the mage thought. It is enough that I see it!

  Another line of blue fire scored the Thing of Power, but this time the flash was dimmer, and the beam passed harmlessly through one of the arms of spinning wind.

  In a few moments the Thing of Power had dwindled, so that it seemed no larger than a man seen across a wide street. A third blue flame arrowed up from the ground and struck the creature, who was almost upon the source.

  As Sovartus watched, the awesome Thing of Power bent and raised one of its arms. The arm came down hard, and the force of the blow shook the ground, even into the castle, so that Sovartus felt the strike through the soles of his boots.

  That blow meant much to Sovartus, ah, yes. He knew then that Vitarius, pupil to Hogistum, and his enemy, was no more. He had been snuffed out with no more effort needed than to command it.

  Nothing could stand in his way now, Sovartus knew, for there was no power capable of withstanding the creature he had created and was master of, no power on Earth. Not since the sinking of Atlantis had such forces been under the direction of men; his triumph was as awesome as the Thing of Power itself. It would live as long as he lived, and he could live forever!