The Hour of the Dragon Page 6

  6

  The Thrust of a Knife

  Conan stooped and tore the knife from the monster's breast. Then he wentswiftly up the stair. What other shapes of fear the darkness held hecould not guess, but he had no desire to encounter any more. Thistouch-and-go sort of battling was too strenuous even for the giantCimmerian. The moonlight was fading from the floor, the darkness closingin, and something like panic pursued him up the stair. He breathed agusty sigh of relief when he reached the head, and felt the third keyturn in the lock. He opened the door slightly, and craned his neck topeer through, half expecting an attack from some human or bestial enemy.

  He looked into a bare stone corridor, dimly lighted, and a slender,supple figure stood before the door.

  'Your Majesty!' It was a low, vibrant cry, half in relief and half infear. The girl sprang to his side, then hesitated as if abashed.

  'You bleed,' she said. 'You have been hurt!'

  He brushed aside the implication with an impatient hand.

  'Scratches that wouldn't hurt a baby. Your skewer came in handy, though.But for it Tarascus' monkey would be cracking my shin-bones for themarrow right now. But what now?'

  'Follow me,' she whispered. 'I will lead you outside the city wall. Ihave a horse concealed there.'

  She turned to lead the way down the corridor, but he laid a heavy handon her naked shoulder.

  'Walk beside me,' he instructed her softly, passing his massive armabout her lithe waist. 'You've played me fair so far, and I'm inclinedto believe in you; but I've lived this long only because I've trusted noone too far, man or woman. So! Now if you play me false you won't liveto enjoy the jest.'

  She did not flinch at sight of the reddened poniard or the contact ofhis hard muscles about her supple body.

  'Cut me down without mercy if I play you false,' she answered. 'The veryfeel of your arm about me, even in menace, is as the fulfillment of adream.'

  The vaulted corridor ended at a door, which she opened. Outside layanother black man, a giant in turban and silk loin-cloth, with a curvedsword lying on the flags near his hand. He did not move.

  'I drugged his wine,' she whispered, swerving to avoid the recumbentfigure. 'He is the last, and outer, guard of the pits. None ever escapedfrom them before, and none has ever wished to seek them; so only theseblack men guard them. Only these of all the servants knew it was KingConan that Xaltotun brought a prisoner in his chariot. I was watching,sleepless, from an upper casement that opened into the court, while theother girls slept; for I knew that a battle was being fought, or hadbeen fought, in the west, and I feared for you....

  'I saw the blacks carry you up the stair, and I recognized you in thetorchlight. I slipped into this wing of the palace tonight, in time tosee them carry you to the pits. I had not dared come here beforenightfall. You must have lain in drugged senselessness all day inXaltotun's chamber.

  'Oh, let us be wary! Strange things are afoot in the palace tonight. Theslaves said that Xaltotun slept as he often sleeps, drugged by the lotusof Stygia, but Tarascus is in the palace. He entered secretly, throughthe postern, wrapped in his cloak which was dusty as with long travel,and attended only by his squire, the lean silent Arideus. I cannotunderstand, but I am afraid.'

  They came out at the foot of a narrow, winding stair, and mounting it,passed through a narrow panel which she slid aside. When they had passedthrough, she slipped it back in place, and it became merely a portion ofthe ornate wall. They were in a more spacious corridor, carpeted andtapestried, over which hanging lamps shed a golden glow.

  Conan listened intently, but he heard no sound throughout the palace. Hedid not know in what part of the palace he was, or in which directionlay the chamber of Xaltotun. The girl was trembling as she drew himalong the corridor, to halt presently beside an alcove masked with satintapestry. Drawing this aside, she motioned for him to step into theniche, and whispered: 'Wait here! Beyond that door at the end of thecorridor we are likely to meet slaves or eunuchs at any time of the dayor night. I will go and see if the way is clear, before we essay it.'

  Instantly his hair-trigger suspicions were aroused.

  'Are you leading me into a trap?'

  Tears sprang into her dark eyes. She sank to her knees and seized hismuscular hand.

  'Oh, my king, do not mistrust me now!' Her voice shook with desperateurgency. 'If you doubt and hesitate, we are lost! Why should I bring youup out of the pits to betray you now?'

  'All right,' he muttered. 'I'll trust you; though, by Crom, the habitsof a lifetime are not easily put aside. Yet I wouldn't harm you now, ifyou brought all the swordsmen in Nemedia upon me. But for you Tarascus'cursed ape would have come upon me in chains and unarmed. Do as youwish, girl.'

  Kissing his hands, she sprang lithely up and ran down the corridor, tovanish through a heavy double door.

  He glanced after her, wondering if he was a fool to trust her; then heshrugged his mighty shoulders and pulled the satin hangings together,masking his refuge. It was not strange that a passionate young beautyshould be risking her life to aid him; such things had happened oftenenough in his life. Many women had looked on him with favor, in the daysof his wanderings, and in the time of his kingship.

  Yet he did not remain motionless in the alcove, waiting for her return.Following his instincts, he explored the niche for another exit, andpresently found one--the opening of a narrow passage, masked by thetapestries, that ran to an ornately carved door, barely visible in thedim light that filtered in from the outer corridor. And as he staredinto it, somewhere beyond that carven door he heard the sound of anotherdoor opening and shutting, and then a low mumble of voices. The familiarsound of one of those voices caused a sinister expression to cross hisdark face. Without hesitation he glided down the passage, and crouchedlike a stalking panther beside the door. It was not locked, andmanipulating it delicately, he pushed it open a crack, with a recklessdisregard for possible consequences that only he could have explained ordefended.

  It was masked on the other side by tapestries, but through a thin slitin the velvet he looked into a chamber lit by a candle on an ebonytable. There were two men in that chamber. One was a scarred,sinister-looking ruffian in leather breeks and ragged cloak; the otherwas Tarascus, king of Nemedia.

  Tarascus seemed ill at ease. He was slightly pale, and he kept startingand glancing about him, as if expecting and fearing to hear some soundor footstep.

  'Go swiftly and at once,' he was saying. 'He is deep in drugged slumber,but I know not when he may awaken.'

  'Strange to hear words of fear issuing from the lips of Tarascus,'rumbled the other in a harsh, deep voice.

  The king frowned.

  'I fear no common man, as you well know. But when I saw the cliffs fallat Valkia I knew that this devil we had resurrected was no charlatan. Ifear his powers, because I do not know the full extent of them. But Iknow that somehow they are connected with this accursed thing which Ihave stolen from him. It brought him back to life; so it must be thesource of his sorcery.

  'He had it hidden well; but following my secret order a slave spied onhim and saw him place it in a golden chest, and saw where he hid thechest. Even so, I would not have dared steal it had Xaltotun himself notbeen sunk in lotus slumber.

  'I believe it is the secret of his power. With it Orastes brought himback to life. With it he will make us all slaves, if we are not wary. Sotake it and cast it into the sea as I have bidden you. And be sure youare so far from land that neither tide nor storm can wash it up on thebeach. You have been paid.'

  'So I have,' grunted the ruffian. 'And I owe more than gold to you,king; I owe you a debt of gratitude. Even thieves can be grateful.'

  'Whatever debt you may feel you owe me,' answered Tarascus, 'will bepaid when you have hurled this thing into the sea.'

  'I'll ride for Zingara and take ship from Kordava,' promised the other.'I dare not show my head in Argos, because of the matter of a murder orso--'

  'I care not, so it is done. Here it is; a horse awaits
you in the court.Go, and go swiftly!'

  Something passed between them, something that flamed like living fire.Conan had only a brief glimpse of it; and then the ruffian pulled aslouch hat over his eyes, drew his cloak about his shoulder, and hurriedfrom the chamber. And as the door closed behind him, Conan moved withthe devastating fury of unchained blood-lust. He had held himself incheck so long as he could. The sight of his enemy so near him set hiswild blood seething and swept away all caution and restraint.

  Tarascus was turning toward an inner door when Conan tore aside thehangings and leaped like a blood-mad panther into the room. Tarascuswheeled, but even before he could recognize his attacker, Conan'sponiard ripped into him.

  But the blow was not mortal, as Conan knew the instant he struck. Hisfoot had caught in a fold of the curtains and tripped him as he leaped.The point fleshed itself in Tarascus' shoulder and plowed down along hisribs, and the king of Nemedia screamed.

  The impact of the blow and Conan's lunging body hurled him back againstthe table and it toppled and the candle went out. They were both carriedto the floor by the violence of Conan's rush, and the foot of thetapestry hampered them both in its folds. Conan was stabbing blindly inthe dark, Tarascus screaming in a frenzy of panicky terror. As if fearlent him superhuman energy, Tarascus tore free and blundered away in thedarkness, shrieking: 'Help! Guards! Arideus! Orastes! Orastes!'

  Conan rose, kicking himself free of the tangling tapestries and thebroken table, cursing with the bitterness of his blood-thirstydisappointment. He was confused, and ignorant of the plan of the palace.The yells of Tarascus were still resounding in the distance, and a wildoutcry was bursting forth in answer. The Nemedian had escaped him in thedarkness, and Conan did not know which way he had gone. The Cimmerian'srash stroke for vengeance had failed, and there remained only the taskof saving his own hide if he could.

  Swearing luridly, Conan ran back down the passage and into the alcove,glaring out into the lighted corridor, just as Zenobia came running upit, her dark eyes dilated with terror.

  'Oh, what has happened?' she cried. 'The palace is roused! I swear Ihave not betrayed you--'

  'No, it was I who stirred up this hornet's nest,' he grunted. 'I triedto pay off a score. What's the shortest way out of this?'

  She caught his wrist and ran fleetly down the corridor. But before theyreached the heavy door at the other end, muffled shouts arose frombehind it and the portals began to shake under an assault from the otherside. Zenobia wrung her hands and whimpered.

  'We are cut off! I locked that door as I returned through it. But theywill burst it in a moment. The way to the postern gate lies through it.'

  Conan wheeled. Up the corridor, though still out of sight, he heard arising clamor that told him his foes were behind as well as before him.

  'Quick! Into this door!' the girl cried desperately, running across thecorridor and throwing open the door of a chamber.

  Conan followed her through, and then threw the gold catch behind them.They stood in an ornately furnished chamber, empty but for themselves,and she drew him to a gold-barred window, through which he saw trees andshrubbery.

  'You are strong,' she panted. 'If you can tear these bars away, you mayyet escape. The garden is full of guards, but the shrubs are thick, andyou may avoid them. The southern wall is also the outer wall of thecity. Once over that, you have a chance to get away. A horse is hiddenfor you in a thicket beside the road that runs westward, a few hundredpaces to the south of the fountain of Thrallos. You know where it is?'

  'Aye! But what of you? I had meant to take you with me.'

  A flood of joy lighted her beautiful face.

  'Then my cup of happiness is brimming! But I will not hamper yourescape. Burdened with me you would fail. Nay, do not fear for me. Theywill never suspect that I aided you willingly. Go! What you have justsaid will glorify my life throughout the long years.'

  He caught her up in his iron arms, crushed her slim, vibrant figure tohim and kissed her fiercely on eyes, cheeks, throat and lips, until shelay panting in his embrace; gusty and tempestuous as a storm-wind, evenhis love-making was violent.

  'I'll go,' he muttered. 'But by Crom, I'll come for you some day!'

  Wheeling, he gripped the gold bars and tore them from their sockets withone tremendous wrench; threw a leg over the sill and went down swiftly,clinging to the ornaments on the wall. He hit the ground running andmelted like a shadow into the maze of towering rose-bushes and spreadingtrees. The one look he cast back over his shoulder showed him Zenobialeaning over the window-sill, her arms stretched after him in mutefarewell and renunciation.

  Guards were running through the garden, all converging toward thepalace, where the clamor momentarily grew louder--tall men in burnishedcuirasses and crested helmets of polished bronze. The starlight struckglints from their gleaming armor, among the trees, betraying their everymovement; but the sound of their coming ran far before them. To Conan,wilderness-bred, their rush through the shrubbery was like theblundering stampede of cattle. Some of them passed within a few feet ofwhere he lay flat in a thick cluster of bushes, and never guessed hispresence. With the palace as their goal, they were oblivious to all elseabout them. When they had gone shouting on, he rose and fled through thegarden with no more noise than a panther would have made.

  So quickly he came to the southern wall, and mounted the steps that ledto the parapet. The wall was made to keep people out, not in. No sentrypatrolling the battlements was in sight. Crouching by an embrasure heglanced back at the great palace rearing above the cypresses behind him.Lights blazed from every window, and he could see figures flitting backand forth across them like puppets on invisible strings. He grinnedhardly, shook his fist in a gesture of farewell and menace, and lethimself over the outer rim of the parapet.

  A low tree, a few yards below the parapet, received Conan's weight, ashe dropped noiselessly into the branches. An instant later he was racingthrough the shadows with the swinging hillman's stride that eats up longmiles.

  Gardens and pleasure villas surrounded the walls of Belverus. Drowsyslaves, sleeping by their watchman's pikes, did not see the swift andfurtive figure that scaled walls, crossed alleys made by the archingbranches of trees, and threaded a noiseless way through orchards andvineyards. Watchdogs woke and lifted their deep-booming clamor at agliding shadow, half scented, half sensed, and then it was gone.

  * * * * *

  In a chamber of the palace Tarascus writhed and cursed on ablood-spattered couch, under the deft, quick fingers of Orastes. Thepalace was thronged with wide-eyed, trembling servitors, but the chamberwhere the king lay was empty save for himself and the renegade priest.

  'Are you sure he still sleeps?' Tarascus demanded again, setting histeeth against the bite of the herb juices with which Orastes wasbandaging the long, ragged gash in his shoulder and ribs. 'Ishtar, Mitraand Set! That burns like molten pitch of hell!'

  'Which you would be experiencing even now, but for your good fortune,'remarked Orastes. 'Whoever wielded that knife struck to kill. Yes, Ihave told you that Xaltotun still sleeps. Why are you so urgent uponthat point? What has he to do with this?'

  'You know nothing of what has passed in the palace tonight?' Tarascussearched the priest's countenance with burning intensity.

  'Nothing. As you know, I have been employed in translating manuscriptsfor Xaltotun, for some months now, transcribing esoteric volumes writtenin the younger languages into script he can read. He was well versed inall the tongues and scripts of his day, but he has not yet learned allthe newer languages, and to save time he has me translate these worksfor him, to learn if any new knowledge has been discovered since histime. I did not know that he had returned last night until he sent forme and told me of the battle. Then I returned to my studies, nor did Iknow that you had returned until the clamor in the palace brought me outof my cell.'

  'Then you do not know that Xaltotun brought the king of Aquilonia acaptive to this palace?'

&nb
sp; Orastes shook his head, without particular surprise.

  'Xaltotun merely said that Conan would oppose us no more. I supposedthat he had fallen, but did not ask the details.'

  'Xaltotun saved his life when I would have slain him,' snarled Tarascus.'I saw his purpose instantly. He would hold Conan captive to use as aclub against us--against Amalric, against Valerius, and against myself.So long as Conan lives he is a threat, a unifying factor for Aquilonia,that might be used to compel us into courses we would not otherwisefollow. I mistrust this undead Pythonian. Of late I have begun to fearhim.

  'I followed him, some hours after he had departed eastward. I wished tolearn what he intended doing with Conan. I found that he had imprisonedhim in the pits. I intended to see that the barbarian died, in spite ofXaltotun. And I accomplished----'

  A cautious knock sounded at the door.

  'That's Arideus,' grunted Tarascus. 'Let him in.'

  The saturnine squire entered, his eyes blazing with suppressedexcitement.

  'How, Arideus?' exclaimed Tarascus. 'Have you found the man who attackedme?'

  'You did not see him, my lord?' asked Arideus, as one who would assurehimself of a fact he already knows to exist. 'You did not recognizehim?'

  'No. It happened so quick, and the candle was out--all I could think ofwas that it was some devil loosed on me by Xaltotun's magic----'

  'The Pythonian sleeps in his barred and bolted room. But I have been inthe pits.' Arideus twitched his lean shoulders excitedly.

  'Well, speak, man!' exclaimed Tarascus impatiently. 'What did you findthere?'

  'An empty dungeon,' whispered the squire. 'The corpse of the great ape!'

  '_What?_' Tarascus started upright, and blood gushed from his openedwound.

  'Aye! The man-eater is dead--stabbed through the heart--and Conan isgone!'

  Tarascus was gray of face as he mechanically allowed Orastes to forcehim prostrate again and the priest renewed work upon his mangled flesh.

  'Conan!' he repeated. 'Not a crushed corpse--escaped! Mitra! He is noman; but a devil himself! I thought Xaltotun was behind this wound. Isee now. Gods and devils! It was Conan who stabbed me! Arideus!'

  'Aye, your Majesty!'

  'Search every nook in the palace. He may be skulking through the darkcorridors now like a hungry tiger. Let no niche escape your scrutiny,and beware. It is not a civilized man you hunt, but a blood-madbarbarian whose strength and ferocity are those of a wild beast. Scourthe palace-grounds and the city. Throw a cordon about the walls. If youfind he has escaped from the city, as he may well do, take a troop ofhorsemen and follow him. Once past the walls it will be like hunting awolf through the hills. But haste, and you may yet catch him.'

  'This is a matter which requires more than ordinary human wits,' saidOrastes. 'Perhaps we should seek Xaltotun's advice.'

  'No!' exclaimed Tarascus violently. 'Let the troopers pursue Conan andslay him. Xaltotun can hold no grudge against us if we kill a prisonerto prevent his escape.'

  'Well,' said Orastes, 'I am no Acheronian, but I am versed in some ofthe arts, and the control of certain spirits which have cloakedthemselves in material substance. Perhaps I can aid you in this matter.'

  * * * * *

  The fountain of Thrallos stood in a clustered ring of oaks beside theroad a mile from the walls of the city. Its musical tinkle reachedConan's ears through the silence of the starlight. He drank deep of itsicy stream, and then hurried southward toward a small, dense thicket hesaw there. Rounding it, he saw a great white horse tied among thebushes. Heaving a deep gusty sigh he reached it with one stride--amocking laugh brought him about, glaring.

  A dully glinting, mail-clad figure moved out of the shadows into thestarlight. This was no plumed and burnished palace guardsman. It was atall man in morion and gray chain-mail--one of the Adventurers, a classof warriors peculiar to Nemedia; men who had not attained to the wealthand position of knighthood, or had fallen from that estate; hard-bittenfighters, dedicating their lives to war and adventure. They constituteda class of their own, sometimes commanding troops, but themselvesaccountable to no man but the king. Conan knew that he could have beendiscovered by no more dangerous a foeman.

  A quick glance among the shadows convinced him that the man was alone,and he expanded his great chest slightly, digging his toes into theturf, as his thews coiled tensely.

  'I was riding for Belverus on Amalric's business,' said the Adventurer,advancing warily. The starlight was a long sheen on the great two-handedsword he bore naked in his hand. 'A horse whinnied to mine from thethicket. I investigated and thought it strange a steed should betethered here. I waited--and lo, I have caught a rare prize!'

  The Adventurers lived by their swords.

  'I know you,' muttered the Nemedian. 'You are Conan, king of Aquilonia.I thought I saw you die in the valley of the Valkia, but----'

  Conan sprang as a dying tiger springs. Practised fighter though theAdventurer was, he did not realize the desperate quickness that lurks inbarbaric sinews. He was caught off guard, his heavy sword half lifted.Before he could either strike or parry, the king's poniard sheatheditself in his throat, above the gorget, slanting downward into hisheart. With a choked gurgle he reeled and went down, and Conanruthlessly tore his blade free as his victim fell. The white horsesnorted violently and shied at the sight and scent of blood on thesword.

  Glaring down at his lifeless enemy, dripping poniard in hand, sweatglistening on his broad breast, Conan poised like a statue, listeningintently. In the woods about there was no sound, save for the sleepycheep of awakened birds. But in the city, a mile away, he heard thestrident blare of a trumpet.

  Hastily he bent over the fallen man. A few seconds' search convinced himthat whatever message the man might have borne was intended to beconveyed by word of mouth. But he did not pause in his task. It was notmany hours until dawn. A few minutes later the white horse was gallopingwestward along the white road, and the rider wore the gray mail of aNemedian Adventurer.