The Conan Compendium

by Robert E. Howard

  Sovartus continued to stare at the Thing of Power as it marched back toward him. Soon the nations of the world would bow to him and offer him all manner of tribute. Soon he would destroy cities, lay waste to whole countrysides, slaughter armies, did not the people offer him his due. Soon he would rule the world, and it would function to his whim-or it would function not at all!

  The thought of it filled Sovartus with black joy.

  The passageway opened into an antechamber. Conan saw the backs of two more of the hooded lizard-men as he stepped into the antechamber. The lizard-men's attention lay elsewhere, and when Conan looked beyond them, he saw what held their gazes: a thin man with black hair and a pointed beard, dressed in a woven-hair robe, looking through a window.

  "Sovartus," Kinna whispered next to Conan.

  "At last," Conan said. He raised his sword.

  Something must have alerted the two lizard-men, for they turned, as one, to stare at Conan and Kinna. They raised their pikes.

  "I'll take the one on the left!" Kinna said.

  Conan hesitated not at all, but leaped to do battle with the hooded figures. Sovartus glanced in his direction, then turned back to his contemplation of whatever lay outside the window, as if he had not the smallest of worries.

  Knowing the lizard-men's speed and power gave Conan an advantage; he did not try to fence, but rather went around the jabbing pike. A single two-handed cut with his sword, braced for the shock, and Conan batted his foe down. He spun just as Kinna jabbed her pike into her opponent's hood, bringing forth a militant hiss from the reptilian creature. Conan whipped his blade around and chopped into the thing's head; it went down in silence. The big Cimmerian leaped into the tower room.

  Eldia lay chained under a window; indeed, there were three others pent in the same manner, and all looked to be either in deep sleep or in the arms of death. Conan snarled his anger and took two steps toward Sovartus.

  The magician turned away from the window and waved one hand at Conan, twirling his fingers as he did so.

  Conan's sword handle suddenly grew hot, too hot to hold, even through the thick leather wrapping the haft. He switched the sword to his opposite hand, but the heat increased; the leather began to smoke, then burst into flame. Conan dropped the sword. The blade flashed into redness, then blue-white so bright that the Cimmerian had to look away.

  There came a clap of noise, and when he looked back, the sword was gone, leaving only a black mark upon the floor.

  Behind him, Kinna yelled, then followed the clunk! of her pike hitting the floor. There came another flash and thunderclap, and he knew her weapon had been destroyed.

  Undaunted, Conan sprang again, drawing the curved knife that had killed Lemparius. It wore a spell, perhaps such was proof against Sovartus.

  The knife pulled itself from Conan's grasp and spun away, to stick up in a table nearby. Deviltry!

  Conan growled in fury. He still had his hands, by Crom! The big Cimmerian lunged, seeking to smash the thin man with his hammerlike fists.

  An invisible boot slammed into Conan's belly. His corded stomach absorbed the blow, but it knocked him backward and off his feet.

  Sovartus smiled and raised his hand. Another blow struck Conan, this one from the side. He swept his hands about, looking for an opponent with whom to grapple; there existed none, and yet a third blow crashed into his head, dazing him.

  Kinna tried to reach Conan, but some magic beset her as well, for she fell back, gasping for breath. Conan came to his hands and knees, then to his feet.

  Sovartus laughed and raised his hand again. "Fool! You cannot contend with me! I am your new god! Bow to me, and I shall spare you, as my first worshipper!"

  "Never!" Conan said.

  The invisible boot caught Conan under the chin, knocking him onto his back. He groaned involuntarily, sat up, and shook his head, struggling to rise.

  Sovartus looked on, still apparently amused.

  Behind Sovartus, chained to the wall, Eldia awoke. Her eyes flickered open. She blinked and looked at Conan, then at Sovartus.

  Conan shook his head, this time in warning to Eldia to remain still.

  The Cimmerian managed to get to one knee and one foot.

  Eldia stared at Sovartus. She raised one hand and reached toward the magician's strange robe. Sovartus must have heard something, for he started to turn toward the girl.

  Conan drew a deep breath and spat at the wizard. The man jerked his attention back toward Conan. "For that, you will die, fool!" He started to bring his hand down.

  Suddenly, the back of Sovartus's robe erupted into flame. The wizard spun. "What-?" But the robe only flared out, fanning the blaze higher.

  Sovartus cursed and tore the robe from his body. His attention left the massive youth.

  Conan managed to regain his feet. He gathered his strength into his legs and jumped. This time he reached his object: He locked his hands like clamps upon Sovartus's throat. The two men fell, rolling through the fiery robe upon the floor. Sovartus brought his own hands into a grip upon Conan's neck. Though thin, the wizard had great strength, and he was driven by desperation. Conan felt fingers like steel bars dig into his flesh. He tightened his neck muscles and his grip, and screamed in savage rage.

  Sovartus's grip slackened. The wizard's face went dark red, shading to purple; his eyes bulged from their sockets and blood ran from his nose; his lips drew back from his too-white teeth.

  After what seemed the lifetime of a god, Sovartus's hands left Conan's neck, and he went limp.

  A terrible sound broke over the castle, a wordless cry of rage and agony that vibrated Conan to his depth. He stood and looked out through the window.

  The massive monster on the plain shook violently, waving its arms. It screamed again, and a landslide rumbled along its body, dropping a shower of dirt away from the torso. Its eyes flashed with living fire, and lightning broke from its mouth as it screamed a third time. The monster started toward the castle.

  Conan found a pike. He thrust the weapon between the metal links holding Eldia to the wail. He took a deep breath, and tore the chains from their mounting. He turned toward Kinna. "Help her, and wake the others if you can! The monster on the plain comes!"

  Conan moved quickly around the chamber, breaking the chains that bound the children, shaking the sleeping forms, trying to awaken them. The three came to, but were still groggy.

  The floor began to shake as the monster drew nearer. Conan risked a glance at the plain again. The creature trembled and gyrated, and seemed on the verge of collapse; great chunks of its body broke off and tumbled away; the eyes of fire roared forth along with the lightnings, and the winds of its limbs waxed and waned.

  "Up!" Conan yelled. He snatched up a still-bleary-eyed girl and pointed at the room's exit. "Out, fast! We do not want to be here when that thing arrives!"

  Kinna led, half-towing one of the boys. Eldia followed, being the most alert, and Conan carried and dragged two of the children. They ran as if a hellish beast followed, as indeed it did.

  When they neared the place where the witch and werepanther had died, Conan called a halt. "Slowly," he commanded, "lest we stir up the killing-dust."

  Conan led the way. As he stepped over the body of one of the lizard-men, he paused. A large pack was strapped upon its back, and from one corner protruded the point of a sword. Conan bent and carefully opened the pack. Inside, he found clothing-his clothing!-and his broadsword. He managed a small smile. This one had been the witch's thrall, he guessed. He removed the sword and clothing, being careful to keep the poison dust from stirring.

  "Move," Conan said when his belongings were reclaimed.

  The group followed the winding aisles downward, occasionally passing the inert forms of lizard-men. These bodies bore no wounds, but Conan guessed that the death of their master must have doomed them as well.

  The Cimmerian led Kinna and the children from the constructed portion of the castle and into the bowels of the mountain. A violent
shudder hit the rock, so strong that the fleeing band found itself shaken from their feet to the floor.

  "The monster has come home," Conan said. "I think it means to take the castle with it when it goes."

  The six stood and ran.

  The journey seemed to take forever. Several times, the floor shifted so much that footing was impossible. Once, a huge section of stone ceiling broke loose and fell, crashing down with a roar, barely missing the runners.

  Finally, they reached the base of the mountain and the tunnel exit.

  "This way," Conan yelled over the rumbling of the earth. "There are horses, if they still live."

  While the monster battering at the castle stood partway around the mountain, the winds created by the tornadoes it bore as limbs raised dust and leaves all around Conan as he ran. Past the grove of trees he found the horses panicky, but still pent. With the thunder of the thing tearing at the mountain all around them, Conan managed to get the children and Kinna mounted before climbing onto a horse himself.

  "Now, ride!" Conan commanded.

  They rode, and fast.

  Conan called a halt. The group turned to stare at the mountain-castle they had recently left. The elemental monster tore at the mountain, though the top of the castle itself was no more. Great chunks of granite flew high into the air, some smaller bits flying even past where Conan and the others sat upon their horses.

  "Look!" Kinna said.

  The thing reared and came down with both arms. It smashed into the solid rock. The main part of the mountain shattered. With it went the monster, dissolving into a massive cloud of rock dust and stone wind.

  For a time no one said anything. Finally, Conan broke the silence: "It is done. Over."

  Riding back along the Dodligian road, Conan spotted a figure in the distance, waving. He drew his sword. But as they moved closer he grinned and sheathed his blade. No threat here, in this familiar figure.

  Eldia recognized the man then, and called out: "Vitarius!"

  "Aye, Vitarius," the old man said as the riders drew nearer. "No one thought to bring a horse for me, eh? Well, no matter, I can ride double with Eldia, I suppose."

  "We thought you might be . . ." Kinna began.

  "Dead? Aye, Sovartus would have had it so. He lent the Thing of Power to squash me. I lanced it a few times, but I was as a gnat to a bullock. When it got too close, I chose to be elsewhere."

  Conan looked around the bare plain. "That must have been some trick."

  "I would take credit for it," Vitarius said, "but it was hardly anything to brag about. I slipped into the entrance to one of the whelves' tunnels and scuttled as deep as I could get. What the thing smashed was merely a simple illusion. Those are what I do best."

  "So I recall you saying," Conan said dryly.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "Well," Vitarius demanded, "are you going to tell me the tale or not?"

  Conan grinned and related their adventures since last they had seen the old mage. Vitarius nodded and made appropriate noises as he listened.

  Occasionally, he interrupted with questions.

  "But-what caused Sovartus's robe to take fire?"

  Conan pointed at Eldia.

  "Odd. I had thought that the children would have been drained of all force by the creation of the Thing of Power."

  Eldia nodded. "So it was. I no longer felt the fire within me when Sovartus enspelled me. My fires were transported to the Thing. But when I awoke and saw Conan injured, I somehow knew I still had a single spark. So I sent my final flicker of heat into Sovartus's robe."

  "And glad I am that she did," Conan said. As he spoke he unwrapped the bundle of clothing he had retrieved from the dead lizard-man's pack.

  While so doing, a shower of glittering green suddenly erupted from the breeks he unrolled.

  "What is this?" Kinna said.

  Conan laughed. "The emeralds! Lemparius must have put them there, thinking to retrieve them later! I purchased our supplies with but one of these beauties, and there must be fifty of them!"

  "You are rich," Kinna said.

  Conan shook his head. "Nay, rather say we are rich. We shall share them equally, for we all certainly earned them."

  He apportioned the stones, and when he finished, each person had seven, with two to spare. These he gave to Kinna. "You'll likely have more use for them than I," he said. "You now have three new mouths to feed."

  "Yes," she said, "I shall return to our land and build us a fine house; we won't be poor. Will you go with us, Vitarius?"

  The old man nodded. "Aye. A fire to warm my old bones and such good company will suit me well enough. And I might teach the children a few conjures, just for amusement, of course."

  Kinna turned to Conan. "And what of you, Conan? You would be most welcome in our house. And in my bed."

  Conan shook his head. "My path lies elsewhere, Kinna. I traveled the road to Nemedia when we met, and I would continue upon it."

  "I understand. You would not be a farmer or a landlord, I cannot see such for you. I shall remember you always."

  "As I shall you," he said.

  Conan watched the group ride away before he turned his own mount westward, toward Numalia. He had a new horse, courtesy of Sovartus of the Black Square, and emeralds worth twice the gold he had lost crossing into Corinthia. All in all, not a bad bargain, considering he was alive and whole to enjoy both.

  He smiled, and rode off toward the setting sun.

  The God in the Bowl

  Arus the watchman grasped his crossbow with shaky hands, and he felt beads of clammy perspiration on his skin as he stared at the unlovely corpse sprawling on the polished floor before him. It is not pleasant to come upon Death in a lonely place at midnight.

  Arus stood in a vast corridor, lighted by huge candles in niches along the walls. These walls were hung with black velvet tapestries, and between the tapestries hung shields and crossed weapons of fantastic make. Here and there, too, stood figures of curious gods - images carved of stone or rare wood, or cast of bronze, iron or silver - mirrored in the gleaming black mahogany floor.

  Arus shuddered; he had never become used to the place, although he had worked there as watchman for some months. It was a fantastic establishment, the great museum and antique house which men called Kallian Publico’s Temple, with its i rarities from all over the world - and now, in the lonesomeness of midnight, Arus stood in the great silent hall and stared at the sprawling corpse that had been the rich and powerful owner of the Temple.

  It entered even the dull brain of the watchman that the man looked strangely different now, than when he rode along the Palian Way in his golden chariot, arrogant and dominant, with his dark eyes glinting with magnetic vitality. Men who had hated and feared Kallian Publico would scarcely have recognized him now as he lay like a disintegrated tun of fat, his rich robe half torn from him, and his purple tunic awry. His face was blackened, his eyes almost starting from his head, and his tongue lolled blackly from his gaping mouth. His fat hands were thrown out as in a gesture of curious futility. On the thick fingers gems glittered.

  ‘Why didn’t they take his rings?’ muttered the watchman uneasily, then he started and glared, the short hairs prickling at the nape of his neck. Through the dark silken hangings that masked one of the many doorways opening into the hallway, came a figure.

  Arus saw a tall powerfully built youth, naked but for a loincloth, and sandals strapped high about his ankles. His skin was burned brown as by the suns of the wastelands, and Arus glanced nervously at the broad shoulders, massive chest and heavy arms. A single look at the moody, broad-browed features told the watchman that the man was no Nemedian. From under a mop of unruly black hair smoldered a pair of dangerous blue eyes. A long sword hung in a leather scabbard at his girdle.

  Arus felt his skin crawl, and he fingered his crossbow tensely, of half a mind to drive a bolt through the stranger’s body without parley, yet fearful of what might happen if he failed to inflict death at the fir
st shot.

  The stranger looked at the body on the floor more in curiosity than surprise.

  ‘Why did you kill him?’ asked Arus nervously. The other shook his tousled head.

  ‘I didn’t kill him,’ he answered, speaking Nemedian with a barbaric accent. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Kallian Publico,’ replied Arus, edging back. A flicker of interest showed in the moody blue eyes. ‘The owner of the house?’

  ‘Aye.’ Arus had edged his way to the wall, and now he took hold of a thick velvet rope which swung there, and jerked it violently. From the street outside sounded the strident clang of the bell that hung before all shops and establishments to summon the watch.

  The stranger started.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ he asked. ‘It will fetch the watchman.’ ‘I am the watchman, knave,’ answered Arus, bracing his rocking courage. ‘Stand where you are; don’t move or I’ll loose a bolt through you.’

  His finger was on the trigger of his arbalest, the wicked square head of the quarrel leveled full on the other’s broad breast. The stranger scowled, and his dark face was lowering. He showed no fear, but seemed to be hesitating in his mind as to whether he should obey the command or chance a sudden break of some land. Arus licked his lips and his blood turned cold as he plainly saw indecision struggle with a murderous intent in the foreigner’s cloudy eyes.

  Then he heard a door crash open, and a medley of voices, and he drew a deep breath of amazed thankfulness. The stranger tensed and glared worriedly, like a starded hunting beast, as half a dozen men entered the hall. All but one wore the scarlet tunic of the Numalian police, were girt with stabbing swords and carried bills - long-shafted weapons, half pike, half axe.

  ‘What devil’s work is this?’ exclaimed the foremost man, whose cold gray eyes and lean keen features, no less than his civilian garments, set him apart from his burly companions.