The Conan Compendium

by Robert E. Howard

  Conan took a drink and handed the wine back. “I would hear of a lost city of the deepest desert.”

  The old man drank as before, and returned the flask. “Ah, there are many! The City of Brass appears to mortals once every hundred years, and of those who enter to read the marvelous verses writ in gold upon her marble walls, one in three dies, one in three goes mad, and the remaining third are blessed with perfect fortune for the rest of their days.

  “Ilkhar of the Pearly Towers lies a shattered ruin, for the people sinned greatly and the gods rained fire upon her for the space of three days and nights, sparing neither man nor beast. And the wizards of Amanopet raised her into the skies―palaces, houses, temples and walls―and she was never seen by

  man again.

  “Of which lost city would you hear, O stranger?” He reached for the wine and Conan passed it across.

  “Know you of a city called Janagar of the Opal Gates?”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed as he searched his crowded memory. “By Iblis, stranger, but you ask for the oldest and most mysterious of tales!”

  “Then you have heard of it?” Conan urged.

  “I have, but so long ago and from so rare a source that I may well be the last tale-teller living who knows of Janagar. Even in earliest youth, I sought out the old tales from the ancients who whiled away the long desert nights with the stories and songs of the desert tribes.

  “When I was a small lad, my father’s clan lay encamped outside the walls of Zamboula, where we attended the camel-trading fair once each year. We shared our water site with a tiny tribe called the Wadim. These had once been a mighty people, but envious tribes had banded together to take their water holes and their secret pastures, and in the space of five generations, they dwindled to the small remnant I saw outside Zamboula. They were a melancholy people, for they had gained the name of an accursed tribe, wherefore the young men could not get wives and they were doomed to extinction.” The old man sighed and took another swallow of the wine.

  “Please continue,” Conan prodded, making no gesture to take back the flask.

  “A moon later, on the trail to Kassali in Punt, we learned that the Wadim had been wiped out by the Stygians, who were building a fort at the last water hole held by that unfortunate tribe. Now all their tales were lost, save for those I heard that time outside Zamboula.”

  “And one of these tales was of Janagar?”

  “Aye. Give me leave to remember, stranger, for it has been many, many years.” The old man sipped at the wine and stared at nothing for a few minutes. Then he resumed.

  “It returns to me now: In a time so long ago that the folk who are now the tribes of the desert were mere farmers and grubbers in the earth―” he turned aside slightly, lifting his veil and spat upon the ground to show his contempt for settled people, even if these were his own ancestors “―Janagar the Wicked shone like a jewel in the fertile land that is now the very heart of the inner desert.

  “Mighty was Janagar, a place of lofty towers and vast tern-pies from which ascended the fragrant smoke of incense burned before the altars of the gods. Wealthy was Janagar beyond the dreams of wealth, where the palaces of the princes shone with gold and silver, where the folk wore silk and velvet, and the very harlots were adorned with jewels that a queen of this age would envy.” The old man’s gestures were as eloquent as his tongue, his hands and his long, thin fingers sketching in the air the towers and the people of the long-dead city.

  “But evil came upon splendid Janagar, foul wizardry contrived by the later kings and their effeminate courtiers. Wealth and power were not enough for them. No, they craved immortality, and they wrought the blackest of sorcery, practiced the direst of rites, to secure it unto themselves. The steps of the temples ran red with the blood of victims sacrificed amid ceremonies so foul as to blast the very senses of any who looked upon them,

  “This angered the gods. Not the bloodshed, for the gods delight in blood. Nay, it was the overweening ambition of those evil sorcerers of Janagar. They sought to surpass the very gods.” The old man leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice, as if fearing the unwanted attention of higher powers.

  “For know, O stranger, that even the gods are not truly immortal, but all must die in time. And for this reason, they laid Janagar under a curse. In one hideous night, all the inhabitants who could fled from the city, never to return.

  “But there were some who did not flee. Those terrible wizards and their minions remained, seeking until the last instant to rum aside the fierce wrath of the gods. In that night, they performed their ghastliest rites, cast spells of a power never before attempted by the most demented of mages. The very land around Janagar withered from the concentrated evil of the battle between mortals and gods, and during

  that night, the desert had its beginning, and it spreads to this day, with the site of accursed Janagar at its very heart.”

  Thus far, it seemed to Conan that the tale was much like many others. Lost cities often carried a story of inhabitants who angered the gods, of ancient evil and lingering curses. Was Janagar no different?

  “Know you,” the Cimmerian asked, “of a legend linking Janagar with the hadizza, the whirlwind-demons?”

  The elder’s eyes clouded with thought. “Nay, the tale I heard so long ago made no mention of it.

  Yet the hadizza occur in many stories, and it may be that they had their origin in the unholy fall of Janagar. For if the desert itself began there, might not the demons of the desert likewise have found their genesis?”

  “Aye, that is so,” Conan agreed. He rose and thanked the old man, who sought to tempt him to stay and hear more tales of the desert, but the Cimmerian had other business.

  As he had expected, there were caravan masters eager to trade camels for good horses, and he spent much of the day in examining the desert beasts. The traders who hoped to gull the ignorant Northerner by praising the merits of inferior animals were sorely disappointed, for Conan was well versed in the ways of both camels and traders, hi the end, the exchange was made. The Hyrkanians, Achilea and her followers were appalled and disgusted to see what they were expected to ride.

  “These are the ugliest creatures I have ever seen!” Achilea cried, horror writ upon her face.

  “They smell even worse than they look, by Set!” said the dwarf, “You don’t look for beauty in a camel,” Conan said, exasperated. “You look for strength, and endurance, and heart. These creatures will never inspire a poet to create verses for them, but they are sturdy and free of sickness. They will get us where we need to go, and even better, they’ll bring us back again.”

  “They do have such comely eyes,” Yolanthe pointed out “Large and liquid-brown. And their eyelashes are long and gracefully curled.”

  One of the camels gurgled and spat copiously, narrowly missing Achilea.

  “They are ill-mannered,” said the former queen.

  I am going to show you how to saddle them,” Conan said, “and then you are to practice riding mem.”

  Grousing and complaining, the others chose their mounts and went through the saddling process while their beasts regarded them win thinly veiled contempt. The Cimmerian showed them how to make the camels kneel for mounting, Caravaneers and Omri warriors gathered to watch this rare entertainment.

  Soon ail were roaring with mirth.

  “Don’t dig in your heels!” Conan shouted. “These are not horses and they don’t understand what you mean when you try to spur them! Use your stick!” Each saddle came equipped with a riding crop―a thin, whippy stick about a yard in length.

  After an hour’s practice, Conan was satisfied that his charges had mastered the bare rudiments of camel-handling, It would be some time before they were any match for the desert raiders, but at least they would be able to keep mounted for the next leg of the journey. The Hyrkanians even managed some enthusiasm for the camels’ superior height, which would afford their bows extra range.

  “Very well,” Conan said griml
y as the sun touched the western horizon. “I think you can all be trusted not to break your necks now. Tomorrow we ride south.”

  “I am sick of this desert,” Achilea grumbled.

  Conan laughed. “Think you so? You are in for a surprise, woman.”

  “What do you mean by that, rogue?” she asked hotly.

  “I mean that what we have ridden through ere now was not desert. It was just arid ground.”

  Even the haughty queen’s self-assurance slipped at this revelation. “Truly? If what we have ridden through was not desert, what is me true desert like?”

  “You’ll recognize it when you see it,” he promised. “It is like hell with the fires burned out.”

  Six

  Jet and Iblis!” cried Jeyba the dwarf. “Where are we?”

  The little band stood in line atop a dune, and before them stretched an expanse of sand that rolled and undulated like the waters of a sea. Overhead, the sun-washed sky resembled a great dome and was unmarred by a single cloud. The heat of the sun beat down upon them like the anger of a terrible god.

  “This is the desert,” Conan told them.

  “How do we find our way?” Achilea asked. “There are DO trees, no hills, not so much as a tall stone to serve as a landmark.”

  “It is possible for one wise in the ways of the desert to stay to a course,” the Cimmerian said. “The question is, do we know where we are going?” He turned to the twins, who sat their camels, no longer within their traveling tents for a change. “You are the ones who know where this mysterious place ties.

  Can you find it?”

  “Of a certainty,” said Monandas. “We will lead you straight to our destination.”

  “That is not enough,” Conan said “I have never traveled to this part of the Empty Lands. From here south, I do not know where the water holes lie. If there are oases, the desert tribesmen keep them a secret .The camels can go for many days without drinking, but even they must have water eventually. We carry enough water in skins to keep ourselves alive for perhaps ten days, but no more.”

  Yolanthe smiled. “Have no fear. Our supplies will be more than adequate. We will stop here now and rest beneath what shade we can contrive. When the sun is low, we go on.”

  “That would be wisest,” Conan said. “Night is the best time to travel in the desert, although I’ve little faith in this quest of yours. I hired on to guard you from marauders, not to die of thirst in the wilderness of sand.”

  “Aye, and that goes for us as well,” Achilea said, her gesture taking in her three women and her dwarf.

  “If we have not found your lost city in five days,” Conan went on, “then we must turn back. Even then, we’ll be damned thirsty when we get to an oasis, and perhaps short a camel or two.”

  “That should be adequate time,” said Monandas.

  Conan showed them how to make the camels kneel, to scoop depressions in the sand beside the beasts and arrange their blankets over their saddles and bedrolls, using their riding crops as poles, so that they had crude, makeshift tents with which to shield themselves from the sun during the hottest part of the day. They lay gasping beneath these for hours, until the sun drew near the western horizon and the air grew marginally cooler. With that blessed diminution of the heat, they rose and continued their journey.

  The sun dipped below the horizon and for brief minutes, the sky glowed a fierce crimson. Then the darkness came quickly. One minute, a few bright stars became visible. A few minutes after that, there were hundreds. Minutes later, hundreds of thousands blazed forth in crystalline splendor. Two hours after sunset, the gibbous moon rose and the desert became almost as visible as during the day, lacking only the color lent by sunlight.

  Beneath the great arch of stars, they moved in near silence, for the foot-pads of the camels made no such noise as the hard hooves of horses. In the desert fashion, all their metal harness was muffled to avoid clinking, and the only sounds made were the faint moans and grumbles of the camels.

  As was his custom, Conan rode well ahead of the others, his every sense alert for attack. He had the uneasy sense that the greatest danger might not be from human enemies. What were these whirlwind-demons like? Could they be fought? Would steel be effective against creatures whose talons were hard enough to gouge scratches in stone? As he pondered these unsettling questions, Achilea rode up to his side.

  “How do you know where to ride?” she asked. She spoke quietly, for in the desert night, a whisper could be heard at a distance of a half-score paces.

  Conan gestured toward the southwest. “Monandas said to take a bearing on the Lesser Dragon.”

  The constellation of nine stars glowed just above the horizon. In its center, the Demon Star shone like a ruby.

  “In my country, we call that one the Winged Demon,” she said with a slight shudder. “That red star is the most ill-omened in all the heavens.” It seemed to Conan that for the first time she spoke as if she feared something.

  “Then it is a fitting guide,” he said, “for I think it leads us to no good destination.”

  “How so?”

  Conan told her what he had heard from the Omri tale-teller.

  “What does it mean? The old man heard tales as a youth. The mad twins read things in old books.

  Does it mean anything at all? Surely this city, if it truly exists, is so old dial its evil is long vanished. As for the treasure they hope to find, I do not believe in it. Dust and broken stone is all they will find.”

  “If that is the worst of it, I shall not grieve,” Conan said.

  “And after that our task will be done. What will you do then?”

  “The wars are mostly at an end in the north. But there are vast lands to the south. There is always something there for a warrior of spirit. If you are skillful with weapons, you will find a ready market for your skill.”

  “What are those lands like?” she asked. The Cimmerian was surprised to hear her speak with anything less than hostility.

  He pointed to the southwest once more. “If we keep to this course and do not die of thirst in the meanwhile, we will come to the Styx, the river some call Nilus. It is the greatest river in the world, and beyond it lies Stygia. I do not care for that land, for though it is rich, it is steeped in sorcery and it is ruled by tyrants who have far too many laws for my liking.”

  His arm swung to point due south. “That way lie Punt, Keshan and Zembabwei. They are nigged lands of mountain and jungle and high savanna. The wild game cannot be described, it must be seen―herds so vast that the eye tires in taking them all in. There are giant elephant and giraffe and tiny antelope, and creatures of all sizes in between. Zebras like horses striped black and white graze beside buffalo with horns two paces from tip to tip, and next to them, rhinoceros like armored siege-engines, with nose-horns as long as a man’s arm. And the great cats prey upon all of them, lion and leopard and cheetahs as swift as a diving hawk.”

  She was enthralled by the description. “I would see such sights! I had thought that beyond the steppes lay only the lands of the settled people, fit for nothing but prey. Are the people of these lands fierce?”

  “Aye, they are that. They are all dark folk, but they vary greatly in look and language. I have seen pygmies no more than three feet tall and tribes where the shortest man stands higher than seven feet.”

  “How do they fight?” she asked with professional interest “The spear is the favored weapon of those lands. Some use the bow with poisoned arrows. In Keshan, many fight on horseback, but few of the people farther south are riders, hi the jungle lands, mere are many diseases that kill horses.”

  “There are lands even beyond those you named?”

  “Aye, and no man I ever heart) of has gone so far south that he has run out of land. The Black Kingdoms are vast.”

  She pointed west. “What lies that way?”

  “The Styx takes a great bend and flows west to the sea. South of it lies Stygia. To the north of it, the first nation beyond this dese
rt is Shem, and to the north of Shem lies Koth. They are pastoral lands where men raise cattle and sheep in huge herds. They are also great archers. West of Koth is Argos, and then Zingara. All these lands border upon the Western Ocean.”

  “Have you visited these places? I never knew that the world was so vast.”

  “I’ve spent time in most of mem,” he affirmed. “Aye, there is no end to the world. Back that way,”

  he jerked a thumb over his right shoulder, “lie Iranistan and Vendhya and Khitai. Men say that Khitai is as large as all the western lands put together, but how they would know that is beyond me.”

  “Back in the steppes of my homeland,” she said wistfully, “I spoke to carvaneers who had traveled all the way to Khitai. They said that it is indeed vast, but it sounded too orderly and boring for my taste.”

  Conan laughed. “I doubt it not. Well, there are plenty of disorderly places for the likes of us. I’ve not yet even spoken of Ophir and Aquilonia and Nemedia, all of them rich and civilized and warlike, nor of the Pictish Wilderness, as savage as the Black Kingdoms. North of them are Asgard and Vanaheim and Hyperborea, and my homeland of Cimmeria. These are not rich lands, but they produce warriors beyond compare. And beyond the Western Ocean, I’ve no doubt there are other lands and peoples and kingdoms squabbling among themselves and ripe for raiding. Perhaps I’ll see even those before I die.”

  “You have the heart of a true adventurer,” she said, and he thought he detected a trace of admiration in her voice.

  “I think you are like me,” he said. “Afraid of little, loyal to your word and your friends, in love with danger and ever ready to ride beyond the next hill to see what lies there.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I am a queen.”

  “And only one whose word is as bonds of iron would stick by these mad twins. But I have taken their pay and I will see this thing through to the end. I’ll own, though, that I have seldom undertaken anything so foolhardy.”

  This time, it was she who laughed. “I doubt that, Conan. I think that you take on many foolish tasks for the sheer joy of it. I have done the same, riding after treasure that never existed, pursuing vengeance long after anyone of good sense would have quit, Fighting on when the odds against me were so great that I had no chance of victory. What other sort of life is worth living? It may be short, but it is a life full of fire and spirit.”