Conan Chronicles 2

by Robert Jordan

  Conan let out a long breath when the old man at last fell silent. “The answer is simple. I’ll take the accursed thing to the nearest metalworker’s shop and have it melted down.”

  “No!” Boros cried. A violent shudder wracked him, and he combed his long beard with his fingers in agitation. “Without the proper spells that would loose such power as would burn this city from the face of the earth, and perhaps half the country as well. Before you ask, I do not know the necessary spells, and those who do would be more likely to attempt use of the image than its destruction.”

  “That staff,” Julia said suddenly. “The one Avanrakash used. Could it destroy the image?”

  “A very perceptive question, child,” the old man murmured. “The answer is, I do not know. It might very well have that power, though.”

  “Much good that does,” Conan muttered. “The staff is no doubt rotted to dust long ago.”

  Boros shook his head. “Not at all. ’Tis a staff of power, after all, that Staff of Avanrakash. Those men of ancient times revered its power, and made it the scepter of Ophir, which it still is, though covered in gold and gems. It is said ’twas the presence of that scepter, carried as a standard before the armies of Ophir, that allowed Moranthes the Great to win his victories against Acheron. If you could acquire the scepter, Conan …