The Conan Compendium Read online

  "Well, footman? Did the devil take your tongue?"

  "There could be many reasons for my journey here, fellow man, but as it happens, I came to pay my respects to Him With No Name, whose form carries legs eight in number. "

  "Eh? Why didn't ye say so in the first place? Welcome, pilgrim, to Opkothard. May the Nameless look upon you with favor."

  "And may He look upon you as you deserve, as well, friend," Skeer said. And I hope he sucks your juices out through your eyes, fool.

  The right half of the massive gate swung outward enough to admit a single man, making in the short journey a screech that would have given a demon pause. Skeer congratulated himself in his quickness of thought, as he moved into the mysterious city that liked spiders.

  When Conan and his two companions approached the city gate to Opkothard, the shadows stretched long, as the sun settled for his nightly rest. The Cimmerian had seen other walled cities, though none with such an imposing fence as this one.

  "Ho," the watchman called down from the wall top, "state what business ye have in Opkothard." There sounded an arrogance in his voice that instantly grated on the brawny Cimmerian.

  Conan was tempted to yell to the watch that such business was his own, but he held his tongue. While he could easily clamber over the wall, being a Cimmerian bred to the mountains, the two women might not fare so easily.

  Before he could speak, however, Tuanne stepped into a shaft of dwindling sunlight, so that her pale skin seemed almost to glow in its whiteness. "Open the gate," she commanded.

  Conan watched the guard closely. The man licked lips that seemed to have gone suddenly dry, and made a complex sign in the air with one hand. "Aye," he said, all trace of arrogance suddenly vanished. Whether he recognized Tuanne for what she was or not, he certainly saw something in her that hurried his wave to the gatetender below. In a moment, the gate swung open with a metal screech.

  Inside, Conan's first impressions were mixed: there came to him the city-smells, of people, cooking, and waste, all blended into an aromatic odor unknown outside civilization. A cleared area in front of a row of stone buildings held a man-sized carving of a spider, a hulking monster squatting on eight thick legs. The streets seemed relatively wide, but numerous alleys branched from them, narrow paths between the manmade rock structures.

  A small boy stared at the trio, and Conan hailed him.

  The boy moved closer. "Are you a barbarian?"

  The Cimmerian allowed himself a dry chuckle. "Aye, boy, or so some men name me. But we're looking for someone."

  He described Skeer, but the boy shook his head. "Hain't seed him. What's that skin you carry?"

  "It belonged to a wolf who asked too many questions," Conan said. "Would you know the man we seek if you should see him?"

  "Aye, giant sir."

  "Good." Conan turned to Elashi. "Do you have any coins?"

  "A few."

  "Give the boy a copper."

  Elashi fished in her pouch and produced a coin. She flipped it toward the boy, who caught it deftly.

  Conan said, "Now, boy, if you see this man, come and find me, and there will be two more coppers for you."

  "I shall go and look instantly, sir!"

  "Nay, hold. How many ways are there out of this city?"

  "There are but two, sir. This entrance, and the one which leads to the enclosed valley to the north, where our crops are grown. "

  "Better. You stay here and watch to see if the man leaves. Direct me to a trader, where I might sell this pelt."

  The boy gave Conan a complicated set of turnings, and the big Cimmerian nodded. Leading Elashi and Tuanne, he set off to find the trader's store.

  As it turned out, the trader kept his stock mostly outside, under a blue-striped tarp. When Conan strode into the tent without walls, bearing the dire-wolf pelt, a short and thin man seemed to appear from nowhere, to begin clucking over the fur.

  "Ah, a fine pelt, fine. Dire-wolf, is it not? Of course, it needs to be properly tanned and the head is missing, so it is less than perfect; still, I might be moved to offer a piece of silver for it, for I am feeling generous today."

  Tuanne touched Conan on the shoulder, her fingers chilly against his skin. He turned toward her.

  "No less than five silver pieces," she whispered. "White dire-wolves are rare, and he will likely realize twice that much when he sells it."

  The merchant was so busy rubbing the fur that he missed the whispered advice. Conan's next words brought him out of his trance.

  "Eight pieces of silver," the young Cimmerian said.

  The trader looked as if someone had spat upon him.

  "Eight? Eight? Are you mad? Has the sun cooked your brain? Even a man as generous as I would be taking bread from the mouths of his children to offer more than three silvers for such a moldy skin!"

  Conan allowed himself another small smile. Traders were the same everywhere, it seemed. They would rather bargain than breathe.

  Conan shrugged. "I would not wish to be the cause of seeing your children starve. Perhaps I could accept seven and eat less well myself."

  The man practically bounced, so much was he enjoying himself. "Four. Four would force me to borrow from my burial money-would you have a man remain above the ground, outlander, for a trifling amount of silver?"

  Conan rubbed at his chin. "A serious matter, merchant. Still, to accept less than six might well cause me the same fate."

  The merchant fingered the pelt, and gave Conan a shrewd appraisal.

  Without seeming to, Conan looked around. Several rough-looking men had drifted toward the tent. Three of them bore daggers thrust through their belts, but none carried swords or pikes.

  "Your barbarian disguise is very clever," the merchant said, "but it does not fool me. I know a trader when I speak to one. Five, and that is my final offer."

  Conan nodded. "You are too sharp for me, master tradesman. I accept."

  The little man grinned. He slapped Conan on one hard shoulder, seemed surprised by the muscle there, and nodded.

  The exchange proceeded. As the five silver coins flashed in the rapidly fading sunlight, Conan was very much aware of the five men who watched the transaction with more than casual interest. Elashi and Tuanne also seemed to notice the attention. When Elashi made to speak, Conan silenced her with a gesture.

  "Ho, master merchant," the Cimmerian said, "that anvil yonder seems to be placed badly."

  The merchant nodded. "Aye. My two loutish assistants dragged it there and could move it no further. They have been gathering their strength for several days before attempting to relocate it."

  "Where would you have it?"

  "There, by the barrel of ironware."

  "I shall move it for you."

  With that, Conan walked to the large anvil, a chunk of black-painted iron easily equal to his own weight. He squatted, wrapped his fingers around either end, and stood. With the anvil held to his chest, he turned easily toward the merchant. "It seems that this must be hollow."

  "Hollow? Nay, friend, it is solid pig iron, the best casting. "

  Conan pressed the anvil upward until it was at arm's length over his head. He repeated the motion thrice more before holding the weight as before. "Are you certain? It seems no more than a hollow shell, filled with, say, feathers. "

  The effect of this demonstration was not lost upon the market riffraff who had been watching. These worthies suddenly recalled that they had business elsewhere, or so it seemed to Conan. He heard small mutterings-

  "-by the Nameless, no one is that strong-!"

  "-not trifle with that barbarian-"

  "-by Set, I'll not risk it-!"

  -and the five drifted away as they had come.

  Conan carried the anvil to the location indicated by the merchant and set it down as softly as a mother would a sleeping child.

  "I would fire both my loutish assistants if you wished work as their replacement."

  "Thank you, good merchant, but no. I have five p
ieces of silver, and therefore do not need to work."

  When Conan turned back toward Elashi and Tuanne, he saw that both women were staring at him.

  "By Mitra's Left Nostril," Elashi said, "I have never seen a man with your strength! How could you move such a thing so easily?"

  Tuanne did not speak, but nodded her agreement with Elashi's question.

  Conan felt quite pleased with himself. "That trinket? It was nothing. Come, let us find lodging for the night. In the morning, we shall locate Skeer and make an end to this business."

  When they left the merchant's store, Conan's walk held more than a little swagger. A man could find himself in much worse places than this: to have frightened dangerous men and impressed beautiful women with a single action, and to have silver in one's purse. Yes, there were much worse places for a man to be.

  Chapter Nine

  The guard posted above the South Gate of Opkothard could not recall when he had seen a stranger lot than had come to visit the city. Yesterday, a pilgrim alone who looked more like a footpad than a True Believer had come. Then, a muscle-laden barbarian, bearing a white animal skin and two women, one of whom was obviously a priestess of Him With No Name. The touch of her gaze made him cold, and he was quick to allow them in-he did not need the One With No Name frowning upon him. Then, after the sun went down, six priests had arrived in the darkness, though it was the guard's belief that darkness meant little to them, for they were certainly blind. Never a misstep had one of them made, however, and he also did not doubt that he would walk halfway around the city to avoid meeting these six in any secluded place. And finally, just before his watch was to end, a single robed figure approached.

  "Who goes there?" the guard called out.

  "I am Malo, priest-initiate of the Suddah Oblates."

  The guard knew of that order; they had passed in and out of the city before. But this one carried a sword in a belt fastened around his waist, and the Suddah had never shown arms before. Still, it was not his job to divine the peculiarities of some minor religion. The Suddah were allowed in, and that was the end of it.

  The guard gestured to the gatekeep, and once more, the massive iron slabs forced a protesting groan from the hinges as the gate swung open.

  "I feel that which we seek," Tuanne said. "That way." She pointed. Ahead lay a crooked street that wound through a shabbier section of the city. The moon, if it shone, did so behind a thick blanket of clouds, and the only light came from guttering torches set at sparse intervals on poles along the road.

  Conan said, "Since Skeer has seen us all, 'twould be best if we caught him unawares. I favor obtaining a meal and room for the night, then rising early."

  "That is a good idea," Elashi said. She sounded amazed that any such thought could have come from her companion.

  Conan turned toward her, started to speak, then thought better of it. Never mind. It did not matter.

  "There is an inn just ahead," Tuanne said.

  Conan squinted into the darkness. His eyes, though sharper than most, failed to see sign of an inn.

  Tuanne chuckled, the first laugh Elashi and Conan had heard from her. She said, "I am used to the darkness. My sight has had many years to adjust."

  She led them down the narrow street, and the smell of something spicy cooking wafted to Conan's nostrils. His mouth watered. Aside from roots, he had eaten nothing for several days. The meat of dire-wolves was sour, according to Tuanne, and the rancid stench of the carcass he had skinned had been enough to convince Conan that it was better left uneaten.

  They came to the inn, a stone building with a wooden door and shutters, and a sign hung over the portal. The sign, an unpainted wooden plank, had burned into it the design of a spider. Big on that around here they were, Conan thought. He did not recognize the words etched with some hot tool into the wood under the picture.

  "It is called 'The Tarantula,' " Tuanne said.

  Elashi shuddered. "I know that name. It is a large spider, big as a man's hand. I have seen them in the desert."

  "Poison?" Conan asked.

  "No. No more than a bad sting from the bite, so my people say. But hairy and ugly."

  Conan dismissed the subject from his thoughts. That a thing might be hairy and ugly worried him not. Poison was another matter.

  "Skeer is not within," Tuanne announced. "At least the talisman is not, and I cannot imagine that he would release it from his grasp."

  Conan nodded. "Then we shall enter and dine."

  Several fat torches lined the walls of the inn, giving everything a smoky, yellow cast. Four men and two women sat or stood about in the central room, eating, talking, or just taking in the warmth of the fire set in the large hearth in one corner. It smelled clean enough.

  Tuanne moved to a wooden table near the fire, Elashi and Conan following. The room's occupants cast lazy glances at the trio, but none moved to speak, and none seemed concerned over the visitors.

  After a moment, a portly woman wrapped in a stained lined apron approached. "What'll be for ye this night, strangers?"

  "Wine," Conan said, "and food. Bread, meat, what have you."

  "No meat, I'm afraid, big man. All eaten. I have cheese, sharp and green, bread, black and crusty, and all the wine ye can hold."

  Conan felt a pang of hunger for a seared slab of beef, but he had long ago learned to make do with what was available. "Aye, mistress innkeep, bring those things, then. "

  She waddled away, to return shortly with a platter bearing two loaves of black bread, a head-sized chunk of fragrant cheese, and three brass cups. After a moment, she fetched a pair of wine bottles and set them onto the table. "Four coppers for the meal," she said.

  "Have you a room?"

  The woman looked shrewdly at Conan, and grinned. "One room for the three of ye?"

  "Aye."

  "To be sure, to be sure. Another four coppers."

  "What is the rate of copper to silver in this town?" Conan asked.

  The woman hesitated for a moment, then grinned. "No point in trying to fool a man what can take care of two women at once," she said. "Ten to one."

  Automatically, Conan said, "I had heard fifteen."

  "Well, in some quarters, may be. Here, twelve to one would be more appropriate."

  Conan did not feel like haggling, since the food lay in front of him. He handed the woman one of his silver coins. "Here, then, for the meal and room, and the balance for your service."

  "Ah, a generous man ye be, young sir." The woman took the coin and walked away.

  The bread was not warm, but neither was it stale; the cheese indeed had a hard sharpness, and the wine tasted sweet and dry. Conan ate with gusto, as did Elashi. Tuanne ate nothing, but pretended to sip from her cup and occasionally stirred bits of bread and cheese around the platter for any who might be watching.

  After the meal, the three were shown their room, a clean, if small, space up a flight of stairs. There was, however, a slight problem.

  "There is only one mat," Elashi said.

  "But surely large enough for three," the innkeep said. She flashed a wicked and knowing grin.

  "Bring another mat," the desert woman said firmly.

  The woman nodded and turned away. Under her breath, but still audible, she muttered, "Trouble in paradise, eh?"

  Conan smiled, but wiped the expression away at the sight of Elashi's sudden glare at him.

  "I would share your bed, Conan," Tuanne said. "The night is cold, and your warmth appreciated."

  Elashi's reaction to this was, as much she had done while with Conan, unexpected. When the portly innkeep returned, dragging a second sleeping mat, the desert woman said to her, "I have changed my mind. It is too cold to sleep alone. I will bed with them." She waved one hand airily at Conan and Tuanne.

  The innkeeper's wicked grin returned. "Aye, I have no trouble understanding that."

  "We shall only sleep together," Elashi said. "For warmth."

  "Of course, mistress. Of course."

&n
bsp; Skeer fared somewhat less well at that very moment. He had no desire to call attention to himself, and therefore had rented a small sleeping stall in a pigsty of an inn, so that he might be thought poor. He had stretched a line of fishing cord across the entrance to the doorless stall at ankle level. The string, while thin, was sufficiently strong that a man trying to pass through the doorway in the dark would very likely be tripped. Skeer slept with his dagger clutched in one hand, and lightly enough so the thud of a falling body would sure awaken him in time to use the blade before the intruder recovered from his loss of balance. Further, he had taken the precaution of using his dagger to dig a small hole in the dirt under the rancid hay that served for a bed, whereupon he hid the talisman. Buried and the dirt smoothed over, a casual search would not reveal his treasure.

  In truth, Skeer did not think he would be bothered during the night. Of the six stalls in the drafty building, none but three was occupied. One contained a drunkard, stinking of sour wine and snoring loudly enough to disturb the dead's slumber; the second held a badly wheezing white-haired man who must have seen seventy winters, all of them hard; and the last cell held himself. While it was unlikely that anyone still followed him, it was even less likely that, should that be the case, they would seek him here. Certainly no one would freely stay here, had he any other choice.

  On the morrow, Skeer would seek to replenish his fortunes somewhat, to obtain a horse and supplies, and be off. While he would dally in better quarters and with warmer company than those snoring and wheezing about him at the moment, he would not do so at the expense of his hide. Should Neg discern that one of his agents dared to disobey his orders, said agent's life would be worth less than road dust.

  With that pleasant thought echoing in his mind, Skeer slipped into an uneasy sleep.

  The Men With No Eyes moved silently through the streets, unhampered by the shroud of night that gave most men pause. The torches flamed low, where they still glowed at all, and the clouds had dropped to become thick fog. The city of Opkothard lay encrusted in swirling cold, the Stygian darkness hiding its secrets from sight-but not from the Men With No Eyes. They moved as one, checking for any sign of the zombie Tuanne. Though blind, their ears caught the faintest sounds; the footsteps of a rat in an alley thundered in their ears. Though blind, their nostrils could scent the sweet smell of a man with a woman, behind closed doors. Though blind, their skins caught the faint heat of an old man smoking a pipe as he lay sleepless in his bed, remembering his past days of youth and glory. Lack of sight meant little to these evil priests, and they moved almost tirelessly, predators on the hunt. They would find that which they sought, or they would not return to their temple.