Read Conan and the Spider God Online
Authors: Lyon Sprague de Camp
Conan and the Spider God (11 page)
“But even then, I never learned the art of picking locks. My fellow th—my associates said my thick fingers were too clumsy to make it worth their while to teach me. So how could I enter her locked chamber? I am no weakling, but those stout oaken doors are beyond my power to burst by main force. I should need an axe, the sound of whose strokes would bring the guards on the run.”
The Turanian smiled. “As to that, I can help you. When I came hither, it was with His Majesty’s orders to recover the lady, by personally invading the temple if need be, or face loss of my head on my return. To tip the odds further in my favor, he caused the royal sorcerer to present me with this bauble.”
Parvez produced a bejeweled silver arrow, as long as a man’s finger. “This,” he said, “is the Clavis of Gazrik, one of the magical gimcracks in the royal strongbox. With it you can unlock any door. Having no practical experience at burglary, I dreaded this undertaking; but your appearance simplifies my task.”
“How does that thing work?” queried Conan.
“Touch the point of the arrow to the lock and say
kapinin achilir genishi!
and the lock will unlock itself. The Clavis will even make a bolt slide back, if it be not too heavy. I can lend you the object until your mission be accomplished.”
kapinin achilir genishi!
and the lock will unlock itself. The Clavis will even make a bolt slide back, if it be not too heavy. I can lend you the object until your mission be accomplished.”
“Hm. What shall be my price for this work?”
“Let me think,” said the Turanian. “I can pay you fifty pieces of gold from what I have with me. I must needs keep enough to assure my return to Turan with the lady.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Conan. “For such a risk? Not so, my lord. It would have to be much, much more.”
“I could recommend you to high office and an additional emolument when I got home. I have influence, and I am sure I could at least assure you of a senior captainship.”
Conan shook his head. “Had this come ere my unfortunate encounter with Tughril’s son … But as things stand, Tughril has already set one assassin on my trail, and he is likely to set others. From what I know of his little ways with traps and poisons, in Turan I shouldn’t have the chance of a snowball in Lush.”
“Well, young man, what
do
you wish that is within my power to grant?”
do
you wish that is within my power to grant?”
Conan’s eyes blazed bluely across the table. “I’ll take your fifty pieces of gold—in advance, mind you—and also that silver arrow, but not as a loan. I’ll take it to keep.”
Parvez argued briefly against giving up the Clavis of Gazrik; but Conan was firm, and the older man gave in. “It is yours,” he said at last. “His Majesty will not be pleased, but gratitude for the return of Jamilah may outweigh his resentment at the loss of the bauble.” Parvez handed over the arrow and counted out the gold. “I suspect you have further plans for the use of the device. King Yildiz would pay handsomely for the Eyes of Zath.”
He winked at Conan and extended a hand, which the Cimmerian gripped to seal the bargain. With a glance at the still-sleeping Rudabeh, Parvez added: “How will you get your fair companion home? At least, I presume she is fair beneath all those swathings.”
Conan reached over and shook the girl. He even slapped her lightly, to no avail. Rudabeh slumbered on.
“I’ll carry her,” grunted Conan, rising. He gathered the dancing girl in his arms and bade Parvez a curt good-night. As he passed the table at which sat the four Turanians of Parvez’s suite, Chagor spat on the floor and muttered something that sounded like a threat. Ignoring it, Conan strode out into the starlit night.
T
he cooler air outside failed to revive Rudabeh, who was still dead to the world. So Conan marched up the hillside path to the gate of Yezud with the girl in his arms. He endured in silence the gibes of the Brythunian guards who opened the small door in the gate for him. He was confident that they would not carry tales to the priests, because to do so might spoil their own off-duty amusements.
he cooler air outside failed to revive Rudabeh, who was still dead to the world. So Conan marched up the hillside path to the gate of Yezud with the girl in his arms. He endured in silence the gibes of the Brythunian guards who opened the small door in the gate for him. He was confident that they would not carry tales to the priests, because to do so might spoil their own off-duty amusements.
Conan had meant to lead Rudabeh directly to the back door of the temple. But it occurred to him that, if he delivered her in this unconscious state, he might get her into the gods only knew what kind of trouble. The priests might ask Conan awkward questions, too. After a moment’s thought, he carried her through his smithy and into his private abode.
Since the night was moonless, Conan’s room was pitch-dark, save for a few dull red coals in the brazier. Feeling his way, he laid Rudabeh on his pallet and loosed her veils. She stirred but did not awaken.
Conan ignited a splinter from the coals in the brazier and lit a candle. When he brought the light closer to Rudabeh, he saw that she was indeed a beautiful girl. As he looked down upon her, his passions rose. The blood pounded in his temples; he set down the candle and began gently to unfasten the girl’s garments.
He untied her cloak and spread it out. He unlaced the flimsy jacket and spread it, baring Rudabeh’s firm breasts.
The dim-lit room swam to Conan’s gaze as he looked upon his prize. His breath quickened. He started to unfasten his own garments when a thought made him pause.
Conan prided himself upon never having forced or deceived a woman. If one wanted to extend her ultimate hospitality to him, he would quickly accept; but he had never coerced a girl or tried to befool her with false promises. To take advantage of Rudabeh’s present condition would offend his code almost as gravely as an outright rape.
Still, his passions were strong. For an instant he stood immobile as a statue while the two opposing urges battled within him.
A fleeting vision of his aged mother, back in her Cimmerian village, tipped the balance. Telling himself that there would be other chances openly to solicit Rudabeh’s love, he stooped and was just tying up her jacket when she stirred and opened her eyes.
“What do you?” she mumbled.
“Oh,” said Conan. “You’re alive, thank Mitra. I was going to listen to your heart to see if it still beat.”
“I think you had something else in mind,” she said as he helped her up. “
Ulp—
I am going to be sick!”
Ulp—
I am going to be sick!”
“Not on the floor! Over here!” he pushed her to the washstand and bent her head over the basin.
Half an hour later, just before midnight, Conan delivered Rudabeh, clean and sober, to the back door of the temple, on the north side. “I thank you,” she said, “but you should not have been so generous with the wine of Kyros.”
“I’ll be stingier next time. How can I see you again?”
She sighed. “Ere Feridun became High Priest, you could come to this door and knock four times. Then old Oxyathres would open it, and you could tell him which girl you wished speech with and give him a coin. But Feridun has ended all that. Now you must wait until the priests give me leave to spend an evening at home; and that is something not even the keenest astrologer could predict. We shall have to meet by chance at my mother’s house again.”
“Would you like another visit to Bartakes’s place, when that time comes?”
“Ah, no indeed! I dare not go outside the city wall again; it was godlike luck that the priest Darius failed to mark my presence, and I cannot face such a risk a second time.”
She gave him a quick kiss and was gone. Conan walked back to his smithy, scowling and muttering. He wondered: if he had taken advantage of her, would it have left him feeling a bigger fool than he felt now?
THE EIGHT EYES OF ZATH
F
or several days, Conan labored at his craft. He looked forward to seeing Rudabeh again at her mother’s home, but the dancing girl failed to appear.
or several days, Conan labored at his craft. He looked forward to seeing Rudabeh again at her mother’s home, but the dancing girl failed to appear.
“The way the priests work the poor lass,” said Amytis, “a body never knows when she will get home. She is supposed to have four evenings off each month, but it’s a lucky month when she gets three.”
Once he had caught up with the backlog of work that had piled up in the smithy before his employment, Conan performed his duties in a more leisurely manner. Every day he took an hour or two off to exercise his horse. Once he stopped at Bartakes’s Inn to chat with Parvez, who showed increasing impatience.
“I cannot free the woman until I know where she is kept!” expostulated Conan.
“Then you must redouble your efforts to find out,” said Parvez. “Rumor tells me that the doom wherewith the High Priest threatens us may be unleashed within a fortnight.”
Conan grunted. “Perhaps you are right. I’ll do what I can.”
T
he next day, Conan attended another service in the temple of Zath, partly to keep on the good side of the priests and partly to familiarize himself with the layout. He stood through Feridun’s harangue predicting the great, purifying revolution. When the dancing girls came on, he stared eagerly to see Rudabeh. At her appearance, he trembled with desire at the sight of her gyrating in nothing but a sparse cobweb of black beads. He tossed a larger coin than before into the acolytes’ offering bowl, to give the impression that he was leaning toward the cult of Zath.
he next day, Conan attended another service in the temple of Zath, partly to keep on the good side of the priests and partly to familiarize himself with the layout. He stood through Feridun’s harangue predicting the great, purifying revolution. When the dancing girls came on, he stared eagerly to see Rudabeh. At her appearance, he trembled with desire at the sight of her gyrating in nothing but a sparse cobweb of black beads. He tossed a larger coin than before into the acolytes’ offering bowl, to give the impression that he was leaning toward the cult of Zath.
He also stared at the great gems that ornamented the statue of the spider-god—eight great opals, each as large as a child’s fist; four in a row across the front, one on each side, and two on top. If he could steal them and get away whole, he could go to some far country, buy an estate and a title of nobility, or a high rank in the army, and be secure for life. Not that he would ever cease wandering in search of adventure and danger; but it would be pleasant to know that he had a secure base to return to, where he could rest and enjoy life between bouts of derring-do. He turned over and discarded one plan after another for getting the jewels into his possession.
After the service, he lingered in the vestibule, pretending to get a stone out of his shoe. When the rest of the congregation had streamed out, instead of following them, he entered the corridor leading off from the vestibule to the right as one entered the temple—the side opposite that into which Morcant had led him on his first arrival. He prowled the hallway, glancing keenly to right and left to orient himself and to find clues as to what lay behind the massive oaken doors.
The corridor made a bend, and as Conan came around the corner he found himself facing one of the Brythunian guards. The man stood at the junction of the corridor with another passage, which led off into semidarkness to the right. From his knowledge of the temple’s exterior, Conan was sure that this passage occupied the first of the four wings on that side.
The immediate problem was to allay the suspicions of the guard. Casually, Conan said: “Hail, Urien! Have you lost your pay gaming again?”
The guardsman frowned. “I hold my own. But what do you here, Nial? A layman like you should be accompanied by a priest or an acolyte.”
“I do but work in the temple’s interest …” began Conan, but stopped as he saw Urien’s eyes look past him. He spun around, to find that Harpagus the Vicar, in black robe and white turban, had come up softly behind him. Conan said:
“It occurred to me, Vicar, that some of the metal furnishings in the temple may need repairs. If I could inspect the place, examining every hinge and fitting, I might save trouble anon.”
Harpagus gave a cold little smile. “It is good of you to think of our welfare, Nial. The servants of Zath watch vigilantly for such defects. When they find one, they will inform you in due course. How goes your smithery?”
“Well, I thank you,” grumbled Conan. “It keeps me occupied.”
“Good! One of your customers complained that your craftsmanship was rough compared with your predecessor’s. I explained that you had been soldiering and thus were out of practice. I trust we shall see an improvement.”
Conan resisted an impulse to tell the Vicar what the dissatisfied customer could do with the piece Conan had made for him. “I’ll do my best, sir. I am now on my way to finish an iron ornament for someone’s door.”
“One moment, Master Nial. I wish speech with you in my closet; but meanwhile I have a small task to perform. Pray walk with me.”
Wondering, Conan followed the priest back to the vestibule and out the front doors of the temple. There Conan found that the worshipers, instead of dispersing to their homes and workshops, were kept on the temple steps by the Brythunian guards, holding pikes parallel to the ground to form a barrier. The reason, Conan saw, was that a flock of sheep was being driven in from the city gate. The animals flowed past the front of the temple and around to the west side, chivvied on their way by two skin-clad shepherds and a dog.
When at last the Brythunians raised their pikes, the Vicar strode around the corner after the sheep, while Conan followed the Vicar. They found the flock huddled near the door at the end of the first wing of the temple they came to on that side. This wing, like its fellow on the opposite side, had a massive door set in its end wall.
The dog raced around the flock, chasing animals back into the mass whenever one started to stray. The shepherds leaned on their crooks and watched. The Vicar pushed through the sheep to the door at the end of the wing. Here he thrust back the massive bolt that secured the door from the outside, unlocked the door with a key, and heaved it open. Stepping back, he waved to indicate that the shepherds should drive their flock in.
With the noisy help of their dog, the shepherds forced the sheep into the opening. When the animals were nearly all inside, the dog behaved strangely, backing away from the opening with its hair bristling and snarling, as if it had encountered a strange and menacing smell. The shepherds drove the remaining beasts into the passage by blows of their crooks.
Harpagus closed the door, locked it, and slammed the big bolt across. He turned, put away his key, and from his robe brought out a small purse, which he handed to the older shepherd. The shepherds bowed, mumbled thanks in their dialect, and walked off with their dog.
“Now, Master Nial,” said the Vicar, “we shall repair to my cabinet.”
Unable to think of a reason to gainsay the command, Conan followed Harpagus into the chamber where he had received his appointment as blacksmith. Harpagus sat down behind his flat-topped writing table, saying: “Look at me, Nial!”
The priest raised the hand that bore the ring set with the huge gemstone. His piercing eyes caught Conan’s and held them as he began to wave the ring-decked fingers back and forth. In a low monotone he intoned:
“You are becoming drowsy—drowsy—drowsy. You are losing your will to think for yourself. You shall tell me, truthfully, all that which I am fain to know … .”
The priest’s eyes seemed to expand to inhuman size; the room faded away, and Conan stood as in a dense fog, seeing nothing save the priest’s huge eyes.
Just in time, Conan recalled the lessons he had received from Kushad, the blind seer of Sultanapur. With a mighty effort, he tore his gaze away and concentrated on his mental picture of the room in which he stood, reciting to himself: “Two threes are six; three threes are nine …”
Little by little the fog cleared, and the Vicar’s study swam into view. Conan silently faced the Vicar, who said: “Now tell me, Nial, what were you truly doing, loitering in the temple after the service, instead of issuing forth with the others?”
“I had a stone in my shoe, my lord. Then the thought struck me that I could better fulfill my duties as smith to the temple by examining the metalwork in this building for defects.”
Harpagus frowned in a puzzled manner and repeated the question, receiving the same reply.
“Are you truly under my influence?” asked the Vicar, “or are you shamming?”
“Ask what you will, sir, and I will answer truly.”
“Foolish question,” muttered Harpagus. “But let us try another. Tell me of your feelings for and relations with the dancer Rudabeh—everything, even to intimate details.”
“Mistress Rudabeh is the daughter of the woman at whose house I take my meals,” said Conan. “I once supped with the lass when she visited her home; that is all.”
“You have never escorted her out—say, to Bartakes’s Inn in Khesron?”
“Nay, sir; she said it were against the temple’s rules.”
“What did you and she discuss when you met her at her mother’s house?”
“We talked of local gossip, and I told of my adventures.”
“Have you had carnal knowledge of the wench?”
“Nay, sir; I understand that to be forbidden.”
Harpagus sat for a moment, tapping an index finger softly on his desk top. At last he said: “Very well. When I snap my fingers, you shall awaken; but you shall remember none of this discourse. Then you may go.”
The priest snapped his fingers. Conan drew a long breath, squared his enormous shoulders, and said: “What did you wish to ask me about, my lord Vicar?”
“Oh, I have forgotten,” snapped Harpagus testily. “Go on about your business.”
Conan nodded, turned, and started to stride out; but the Vicar called: “Eldoc!”
The Brythunian standing guard before Harpagus’s door thrust his head in. “Aye, Vicar?”
“Show Master Nial out. And you, Nial,” he added severely, “seem prone to forget that we do not allow laymen to wander the temple unescorted. Do not give me occasion to mention this rule again.”
Out in the corridor, Conan wiped his sleeve across his sweat-beaded brow and ground his teeth in suppressed rage. At least, he hoped that his impersonation of a hypnotic subject had taken in the Vicar.
W
hen Conan reached Amytis’s house that day, he again found Rudabeh there before him. Since the time was close to midsummer and the light lingered late, they went out after supper into the garden behind the house. Rudabeh said: “Have a care that you step not on our cabbages!”
hen Conan reached Amytis’s house that day, he again found Rudabeh there before him. Since the time was close to midsummer and the light lingered late, they went out after supper into the garden behind the house. Rudabeh said: “Have a care that you step not on our cabbages!”
When Conan had boasted of his adventures, he asked: “What’s this doom the High Priest is ever threatening to loose?”
“I know not,” she replied. “The inner circle keep their secrets.”
“It sounds like some plague. I’ve heard of sorcerous pestilences.”
She shrugged. “All will become clear in time, I ween.”
“Sorcery ofttimes escapes the sorcerer’s control,” mused Conan. “We might well be among the victims.”
“You can always flee.”
“But what of you?”
She shrugged again. “I must take my chances. Yezud is my home; I am not a wanderer like you, to whom all places are as one.”
“If the plague gets loose in Yezud, you may have no kith or kin left.”
“If so,” she murmured, “that is my fate.”
“Oh, curse your Eastern fatalism! Why not flee with me?”
She gave him a level look. “I wondered how soon you would come to that. Know, Nial, that I am no man’s plaything. When my term ends, I will settle down with some likely lad, to keep his house and rear his children.”
Conan made a wry face. “It sounds as dull as life in my native village. I could show you some real living.”
“Doubtless; but to be the drab of a footloose adventurer is not to my taste.”
“How do you know, girl, if you’ve never tried it?”
“If I found housewifery intolerable, I suppose I could flee with a man like you. But if I went with you, I could never return to Yezud; the priests would feed me to Zath.”
Conan threw up his hands. “Mitra save me from intelligent women, who plan their lives like a general setting up a battle! Half the spice of life is not knowing what the morrow will bring—or even if you will be alive. But still, I like you better than any other woman I have known, even though you be as cold as ice to me.”
“I like you, too, Nial; but not to the point of folly. Of course if you changed your ways—if you settled down, as they say—but I must not make rash promises. I pray you to escort me back to the temple.”
A
fter saying good-night to Rudabeh, Conan returned to his smithy. Finding himself bored and restless, he went down to Khesron, where in the inn he found Parvez studying a map of Zamora. To him Conan said:
fter saying good-night to Rudabeh, Conan returned to his smithy. Finding himself bored and restless, he went down to Khesron, where in the inn he found Parvez studying a map of Zamora. To him Conan said:
“Meseems our enterprise must be done, if done it be, from the outside. The interior is too well guarded.” He told of his attempt to prowl the temple corridors and his subsequent interrogation by Harpagus. “For this,” he concluded, “I shall need a good length of rope—perhaps forty or fifty cubits. Do you know where I could get one?”
“Not I,” said the diplomat; “but our host may. Oh, Bartakes!”
Other books
Two Thin Dimes by Caleb Alexander
Crustaceans by Andrew Cowan
Being a Teen by Jane Fonda
Summerset Abbey by Brown, T. J.
Demon Accords 8: College Arcane by John Conroe
Redemption (Night Marchers #2) Written by: Rebecca Gober and Courtney Nuckels by Nuckels, Courtney, Rebecca Gober
Noah by Elizabeth Reyes
Nasty Girls by Erick S. Gray
With My Little Eye by Francis King
Chasin' Eight: Rough Riders, Book 12 by Lorelei James
