The Conan Compendium

by Robert E. Howard

  Satisfied that his sword was in perfect condition, he drew his dirk. Its broad blade was thirteen inches long, sharp on one edge. The other edge was a thick spine, stout enough not to snap under the strain of the most powerful blows. Edge and spine tapered evenly to a point strong enough to pierce mail.

  Its grip was of plain stag-horn, its pommel a flat bronze cap. The knife saw frequent daily use, and Conan stroked its edge with a fine whetstone until he was satisfied that it would slice a falling hair in two.

  With his weapons resheathed, he sat and watched Achilea and her women ride their beasts, so naturally that they seemed to be one with them. In lieu of saddles, they used only light pads secured by a wide, woven girth. They controlled the animals with rope bridles, eschewing the usual steel bit. They did not employ stirrups, but only gripped the horses’ flanks with their strong legs.

  Already, Conan was bored with Leng. The thought of spending an entire winter in the place was unendurable. Had he been paid off after a successful war, he might have gambled and caroused the cold months away, but this was different. If all he could do was hunt to feed himself, he would prefer to live in a cave. Only one thing kept him here. When Achilea dismounted, he strode up to her.

  “I’ve had second thoughts about abiding in this place,” Conan said. “I long to be somewhere else, where there is more afoot than rogues dicing their time away.”

  She smiled, deepening the scar across her cheek. “A man of action, eh? Yes, I know how you feel.

  I’d be away as well. The problem is, where to go?”

  He stretched out a long arm, his finger pointed south. “There. The warm lands. And it were best to be away soon, before the snows block up the passes.”

  “How far would you get?” she asked. “That way lie Zamora and Corinthia. There are border guards at every frontier road crossing. Between them range mounted patrols. How long before you are caught?”

  “I’d rob nobody,” he rumbled.

  She laughed freely. “What does that mean?” She looked him over as frankly as he had studied her.

  “You are every inch a villain, and there are a lot of inches to you. They would clap you in a dungeon for your looks alone. No one is going to mistake you for a traveling merchant or a wandering holy man. In unsettled times, adventurers roam at will. In days of peace, anyone without lord or paymaster is suspect.”

  “You are right,” he admitted. “But being cooped up for months in this dull rockpile will be too much for me to bear.”

  “Be patient,” she advised. “I have a feeling that something will turn up soon.”

  That evening, as they sat before the fire dipping chunks of rough bread into bowls of thick stew, the mysterious twins reappeared. No one had seen mem all day, and they came into the common room looking exactly as they had the night before.

  “Share our dinner,” Achilea invited, gesturing to the table set before her.

  They bowed. “Thank you, but we have taken our repast in our chambers.” Yolanthe said. “We will gladly join you, though, if you will permit us,” They sat upon the bench, and Indulio brought them cups of heated wine. They cradled the cups of hammered metal in their hands, absorbing the warmth.

  Conan sat upon the hearth. “Last night,” he said, setting aside his empty bowl, “you said that you sought men of more than common fortitude. To what purpose do you thus seek?”

  “My sister and I,” Monandas said, for the first time articulating their relationship, “have spent our lives in search of a place, not knowing where it lay. Now we have its location, but the journey is long and arduous, and fraught with peril.”

  “If the two of you have traveled as widely as you claim,” Conan said, “you are not averse to a bit of danger.”

  “Indeed,” Yolanthe said, her eyes amused, “but we have ways of avoiding violence. This is different.

  If we are to gain the place we seek, we cannot avoid battle along the way. We cannot take many with us, so those we take must be of superior merit”

  There passed a minute of silence. Then Achilea spoke, “It is clear to me that you have a proposal to broach. Let us hear it”

  “Have you heard of the lost city of Janagar of the Opal Gates?” Monandas asked.

  “The name means nothing to me,” Achilea said.

  “I’ve not heard of it,” Conan affirmed.

  “For many years,” Yolanthe continued, “it existed for us only as a name in certain very ancient texts.

  It is said that Janagar stood before the ocean swallowed Atlantis, and that it was inhabited for more than five thousand years, growing more magnificent with each passing century.”

  “But then,” said Monandas, taking up the tale, “at the height of its glory, splendid Janagar was abandoned by its people. In a single, strange night, every inhabitant of the city fled and not one of them returned. The tales they spread caused others to avoid even the district; and the land, once fair and cultivated, became a howling waste. In time, even the location of the city was forgotten.”

  ‘I have heard other such tales,” Conan said. “In my travels, I’ve come across many ruins of once-mighty cities. What is it about this one that attracts you?”

  “Janagar was rich beyond imagining,” Yolanthe said, her eyes aglitter.

  “The ruins I spoke of,” Conan said, “were probably once full of riches. They are naught but bare, toppled stones now, no more wealthy than this wretched village, the haunt of foxes and owls.”

  “Most cities decline and fall over time,” Monandas pointed out “Usually, they weaken and are stormed and looted by enemies. When the people leave voluntarily, they take their valuables with them.

  But all the stories about Janagar agree in this: When the people fled, they took little or nothing with them.

  When the city was abandoned, none ever went there again, and it has been lost to the world of men for many centuries.”

  “So you think that Janagar still stands with its riches intact?” Achilea asked. She took a long pull from her horn.

  “We do,” Yolanthe said. “And now we know where it is. What do you know of the lands south of Khauran?”

  “I’ve never been farther south than central Zamora,” Achilea admitted.

  “I’ve been far south of there,” Conan said. “What district do you mean?”

  Monandas spoke. “What know you of the land midway between Khoraja and the cities of Zamboula and Kutchernes, north of the Styx?”

  Conan frowned. “A desert waste as wild and desolate as any I have ever seen. The fringes are prowled by predatory tribes, and the deep desert is impassable to all but caravans bearing plenty of water and food for man and beast.”

  “And there lies the lost city of Janagar,” Yolanthe said. “It is thither we go. Will you ride with us?”

  “It is a long trek just to get to Khauran,” Conan said, “That is where the truly wild lands begin. Why

  do you not wait until you get there to find your bodyguards, since the two of you are accustomed to traveling alone?”

  “In our search for texts containing clues as to the location of the city,” Monandas told them, “we found that others are on the same trail. They may have learned of us, as we have of them. These rivals may assault us at any stage of our journey. It is imperative that we have protection henceforth.”

  “Who are these rivals?” Conan asked, “And how can you be so sure that they represent danger?”

  “We have no idea who they may be,” said Yolanthe, “but it is well not to take chances.”

  “What is your offer?” Conan demanded.

  “A share in the wealth, once we have found the city. Rations for man and beast for the duration of the journey,” Monandas told him.

  “That’s an uncertain proposition,” the Cimmerian grumbled.

  Yolanthe smiled. “Is your situation here so attractive?”

  “That’s true enough, by the Everlasting Sky!” Achilea swore, “At least it sounds warm. Aye, I’ll go with you.”

&
nbsp; Conan mistrusted the two and he did not like the prospect, but he did not want Achilea to get away from him. “I’ve no horse,” he said.

  “We will provide your mount,” Monandas said. “Are there any other good men available?”

  Having committed himself, Conan put his misgivings behind him. He nodded to the small table around which sat Kye-Dee and his five companions.

  “Those Hyrkanians seem to be fairly able. They are fine riders and archers by birthright, and they practiced banditry as an ancestral trade. The rest here are scum.”

  “I don’t know the Hyrkanians,” said Achilea, “but I will vouch for the rest being scum.”

  “These men will need horses as well,” Conan said. “Can you see to that?”

  “We can,” said Yolanthe. “Will you speak to them?”

  “I will,” Conan said.

  “You may say that it is a hazardous venture to the south after treasure,” Monandas cautioned, “but say no more than that. I do not want our mission noised about.”

  The two stood. “Tomorrow morning,” Yolanthe announced, “we buy horses. We leave before noon.” With that, the two turned and left the room. Conan picked up one of the wine cups they had left

  behind untasted and drained it “Well, we’re in for it now,” he said. “Those two are mad.”

  “What of it?” Achilea said, grinning. “Did you not this very morning say that you wanted to fare south? With two such soft, clearly well-bom persons leading us, we will not be outlaws, but guards hired for legitimate work. If nothing else, it will get us through Zamora and into lands where a raider can ply his trade without so much interference.”

  “Perhaps,” Conan said. He handed her the other cup and went to speak with the Hyrkanians.

  The next morning, they rode from Leng, the Cimmerian and the six Hyrkanians mounted upon unfamiliar horses.

  Conan rode ahead as they approached the Zamoran border. The putative boundary with Brythunia lay along the crest of the northernmost stretch of the Karpash Mountains, but there the only evidence was a marker stone set up by a Zamoran king centuries before, praising him, his ancestry and accomplishments, and proclaiming that all land to the south belonged to Zamora. In this high wasteland, neither nation bothered with guardposts or border patrols, The true border lay many miles to the south, where the mountain road led down from the pass and into the fertile lowlands. It was this true border dial the Cimmerian approached as the sun rose on the fifth morning of their journey. A half-mile behind him rode Achilea and her followers, then the twins on their tall camels, and last of all, the Hyrkanians rode rear guard. Mounted once more, the steppe men were happy and content, unconcerned with the uncertainties of the journey ahead, rejoicing in their freedom

  from the unreasonable new Kagan.

  As he rode from the foothills, Conan saw a crude fort with low walls of mud-brick. From its single, stumpy tower, the royal colors of Zamora flapped listlessly in the lazy breeze. As near as he could discern, he had not yet been spotted. As he brooded over the prospect, he heard Achilea’s horses approaching behind him.

  “Why are you waiting here?” Achilea asked, reining in beside him.

  “I was just trying to remember whether anyone wants to hang me in these parts,” he said. “It has been a while since I passed this way.”

  She frowned. “l never raided in this district. I usually crossed the Kezankian Mountains, far to the south and east of here, and harried the central part of the country. Still, I suppose my name and description could have been spread about.”

  “We’ll have to hope that our employers can talk us through,” he said. “If we’re attacked―and there are too many of them for us―we ride back up into the hills and go west. We can try another crossing into Corinthia.”

  “That sounds like a good plan,” she said. Minutes later, the camels arrived. The horses snorted and pranced, not liking the smell of the stately animals. Monandas and Yolanthe sat within tent I ike structures mounted between the humps of the powerful beasts and as they halted, they surveyed the view before them.

  “The border?” asked Monandas. “Good. We wait here while the others catch up, and we will all go forward together.” A faint tone came to them. It was the sound of a brass horn.

  “We’ve been spotted,” Conan said. The Hyrkanians rode up and watched the proceedings with interest.

  “We go down mere now,” Yolanthe said. “You will ride behind us and allow us to do all the talking.

  Let us go,” The camels lurched forward and the rest followed.

  As they descended the last slope, a file of riders rode from the gate of the fort, the morning light shining off helmet and armor and spear-point. One rider bore a royal banner, its long pole resting in a socket on his stirrup. Foremost rode a pair of officers in cuirasses of bright steel, colorful plumes nodding from the crests of their gilded helmets. As they approached the travelers, the horsemen behind the officers moved from file to line formation, spreading out to block the roadway. They halted, and the officers held up admonitory hands, signifying that the little caravan should do likewise.

  “Whence come you and what is your business?” asked the leader as the other officer reached into a satchel tied to his saddle and removed scrolls and writing materials.

  “I am Monandas and this is my sister, Yolanthe. We are scholars from Zingara, traveling through your country to the southern lands.”

  “Have you any goods to declare?” the officer demanded.

  “We are not merchants,” Yolanthe told him. “As you can see, we have no pack animals save those carrying our gear.”

  “We must see if any of your guards are on our Apprehend-and-Detain list,” the officer said. “Bring them―”

  “Wait,” said the other officer, squinting toward Conan. He put the scroll he held back into his satchel and took out a smaller one. “I don’t think we need the Apprehend-and-Detain list. You see that black-haired rogue over there on the bay horse? I think he is here on the Kill-on-Sight list. And that big, yellow-haired hussy next to him is on it as well, I believe.” He unrolled the small scroll and scanned it, Conan tensed and prepared to bolt, but Monandas turned and looked at him curiously, with an air of amusement. Then he turned back to the riders.

  “I see no such persons as you describe,” he said.

  “Perhaps the rising sun was in your eyes,” Yolanthe added.

  The senior officer looked from the newcomers to his subordinate with annoyance. “What ails you,

  Manius? I see no black-haired man, nor any woman; just a pack of scruffy Hyrkanians such as often hire out to caravans as guards.”

  The other squinted at the little group, bewildered. “But … I could have sworn ..,” Then he looked away and shook his head.

  “Too much sun,” said the senior officer. He handed Monandas a slip of parchment. “This is your border pass. You must surrender it when you leave Zamora. Be off with you now.” He wheeled and rode back to the fort, his riders close behind.

  The caravan proceeded and, soon was past the fort.

  “How did you do that?” Achilea asked.

  Monandas smiled thinly. “As we said once before, we are not utterly helpless.”

  Conan’s hackles were still settling. “He did not even collect your crossing and road fees.”

  “So he did not,” said Yolanthe. “Was that not forgetful of him? Perhaps it is something in the air here.” She drew the curtain of her litter and Monandas did the same.

  Conan rode on ahead, as was his custom. This time, Achilea rode with him.

  “What do you make of that?” she asked him, “It does not surprise me,” he told her. “I said I did not like them, and this makes me like them even less. They arc traffickers in magick, and I like that not at all.”

  She shrugged. “Not everyone with a useful spell or two at his disposal is a terrible wizard. They saved us a great deal of trouble back there.”

  “Aye, I’d not have wanted that lot after me, not without a good h
ead start But I do not like the way those two handled them. They used no words of power, nor powders nor potions. It was as if they controlled the whole lot with their minds alone.”

  “I’ve not seen the like before,” she admitted. “It was too much like the way a cobra bewitches its prey by the power of its gaze. Even so, I care not. So long as they do not use their wiles upon us, they may employ them upon the Zamorans all they please.”

  That evening they came to the first Zamoran village, a sprawl of low buildings and small temples where gongs sounded from slender towers at all hours. Fragrant smoke rose from the altars of the gods, and the marketplace bustled with all the usual activity of commerce. It was not much larger than Leng, but it was many times more attractive.

  Just outside the town stood the ruin of a once-great temple. Clearly, the district must formerly have been far richer and more populous to support such a place. The roofless temple covered two or three acres of ground, surrounded by a low stone wall. Its tower rose nearly a hundred feet to a shattered stump, and had obviously once been much higher. Tall, angular statues of guardian deities or demons stood before what had at one time been the imposing entrance of the temple. As darkness drew on, graceful storks flew to their nests upon the tower, “We will camp here,” said Monandas, indicating a grassy spot just without the temple walls, where water gushed from the mouth of a grotesque stone head into a long trough.

  “Why not in the town?” Conan asked.

  “We prefer to keep our distance from people whenever possible,” Yolanthe told him, “There is plenty of water and grazing here. Set up, and then you may go into the town if you wish.”

  They dismounted except for two Hyrkanians detailed to find firewood, Conan, Achilea and her followers went a little distance away to picket their horses after letting them drink at the trough. The lush grass came almost to their knees.