Conan of Cimmeria Part 3

"Come and taste of death yourself, dog!" Conan laughed wildly, speaking Zamorian with a barbarous accent.

The Kezankian, weak from torture, slid back a bolt and threw open a door giving upon a small court. He stumbled across the court while behind him Conan faced his tormentors in the doorway, where in the confined s.p.a.ce their very numbers hindered them. He laughed and cursed them as he parried and thrust. Red Turban was dancing behind the mob, shrieking curses. Conan's scimitar licked out like the tongue of a cobra, and a Zamorian shrieked and fell, clutching his belly. Jillad, lunging, tripped over him and fell. Before the cursing, squirming figures that jammed the doorway could untangle themselves, Conan turned and ran across the yard toward a wall over which the Kezankian had already disappeared.

Sheathing his weapons, Conan leaped and caught the coping, swung himself up, and had one glimpse of the black, winding street outside.

Then something smashed against his head, and limply he toppled from the wall into the shadowy street below.

The tiny glow of a taper in his face roused Conan. He sat up, blinking and cursing, and groped for his sword. Then the light was blown out and a voice spoke in the darkness:

"Be at ease, Conan of Cimmeria. I am your friend."

"Who in Crom's name are you?" demanded Conan. He had found his scimitar on the ground nearby, and he stealthily gathered his legs under him for a spring. He was in the street at the foot of the wall from which he had fallen, and the other man was but a dim bulk looming over him in the shadowy starlight.

"Your friend," repeated the other in a soft Iranistanian accent. "Call me Sa.s.san."

Conan rose, scimitar in hand. The Iranistani extended something toward him. Conan caught the glint of steel in the starlight, but before he could strike he saw that it was his own knife, hilt first.

"You're as suspicious as a starving wolf, Conan," laughed Sa.s.san. "But save your steel for your enemies."

"Where are they?" Conan took the knife.

"Gone. Into the mountains, on the trail of the bloodstained G.o.d."

Conan started and caught Sa.s.san's khilat in an iron grip and glared into the man's dark eyes, mocking and mysterious in the starlight.

"d.a.m.n you, what know you of the bloodstained G.o.d?" Conan's knife touched the Iranistani's side below his ribs.

"I know this," said Sa.s.san. "You came to Arenjun following thieves who stole from you the map of a treasure greater than Yildiz's h.o.a.rd. I, too, came seeking something. I was hiding nearby, watching through a hole in the wall, when you burst into the room where the Kezankian was being tortured. How did you know it was they who stole your map?"

"I didn't," muttered Conan. "I heard a man cry out and thought it a good idea to interfere. If I had known they were the men I sought... how much do you know?"

"This much. Hidden in the mountains near here is an ancient temple which the hill folk fear to enter. It is said to go back to Pre-Cataclysmic times, though the wise men disagree as to whether it is Grondarian or was built by the unknown pre-human folk who ruled the Hyrkanians just after the Cataclysm.

"The Kezankians forbid the region to all outsiders, but a Nemedian named Ostorio did find the temple. He entered it and discovered a golden idol crusted with red jewels, which he called the bloodstained G.o.d. He could not bring it away with him, as it was bigger than a man, but he made a map, intending to return. Although he got safely away, he was stabbed by some ruffian in Shadizar and died there. Before he died he gave the map to you, Conan."

"Well?" demanded Conan grimly. The house behind him was dark and still.

"The map was stolen," said Sa.s.san. "By whom, you know."

"I didn't know at the time," growled Conan. "Later I learned the thieves were Zyras, a Corinthian, and Arshak, a disinherited Turanian prince. Some skulking servant spied on Ostorio as he lay dying and told them. Though I knew neither by sight, I traced them to this city.

Tonight I learned they were hiding in this alley. I was blundering about looking for a clue when I stumbled into that brawl."

"You fought them in ignorance!" said Sa.s.san. "The Kezankian was Rustum, a spy of the Kezankian chieftain Keraspa. They lured him into their house and were singeing him to make him tell them of the secret trails through the mountains. You know the rest."

"All except what happened when I climbed the wall."

"Somebody threw a stool at you and hit your head. When you fell outside the wall they paid you no more heed, either thinking you were dead or not knowing you in your mask. They chased the Kezankian, but whether they caught him I know not. Soon they returned, saddled up, and rode like madmen westward, leaving the dead where they fell. I came to see who you were and recognized you."

"Then the man in the red turban was Arshak," muttered Conan. "But where was Zyras?"

"Disguised as a Turanian-the man they called Jillad."

"Oh. Well then?" growled Conan.

"Like you, I want the red G.o.d, even though of all the men who have sought it down the centuries only Ostorio escaped with his life. There is supposed to be some mysterious curse on would-be plunderers-"

"What know you of that?" said Conan, sharply.

Sa.s.san shrugged. "Nothing much. The folk of Kezankia speak of a doom that the G.o.d inflicts on those who raise covetous hands against him, but I'm no superst.i.tious fool. You're not afraid, are you?"

"Of course not!" As a matter of fact Conan was. Though he feared no man or beast, the supernatural filled his barbarian's mind with atavistic terrors. Still, he did not care to admit the fact. "What have you in mind?"

"Why, only that neither of us can fight Zyras' whole band alone, but together we can follow them and take the idol from them. What do you say?"

"Aye, I'll do it. But I'll kill you like a dog if you try any tricks!"

Sa.s.san laughed. "I know you would, so you can trust me. Come; I have horses waiting."

The Iranistani led the way through twisting streets overhung with latticed balconies and along stinking alleys until he stopped at the lamplit door of a courtyard. At his knock, a bearded face appeared at the wicket. After some muttered words, the gate opened. Sa.s.san strode in, Conan following suspiciously. But the horses were there, and a word from the keeper of the serai set sleepy servants to saddling them and filling the saddle pouches with food.

Soon Conan and Sa.s.san were riding together out of the west gate, perfunctorily challenged by the sleepy guard. Sa.s.san was portly but muscular, with a broad, shrewd face and dark, alert eyes. He bore a horseman's lance over his shoulder and handled his weapons with the expertness of practice. Conan did not doubt that in a pinch he would fight with cunning and courage. Conan also did not doubt that he could trust Sa.s.san to play fair just so long as the alliance was to his advantage, and to murder his partner at the first opportunity when it became expedient to do so in order to keep all the treasure himself.

Dawn found them riding through the rugged defiles of the bare, brown, rocky Kezankian Mountains, separating the easternmost marches of Koth and Zamora from the Turanian steppes. Though both Koth and Zamora claimed the region, neither had been able to subdue it, and the town of Arenjun, perched on a steep-sided hill, had successfully withstood two sieges by the Turanian hordes from the east. The road branched and became fainter until Sa.s.san confessed himself at a loss to know where they were.

"I'm still following their tracks," grunted Conan. "If you cannot see them, I can."

Hours pa.s.sed, and signs of the recent pa.s.sage of horses became clear.

Conan said: "We're closing on them, and they still outnumber us. Let us stay out of sight until they get the idol, then ambush them and take it from them."

Sa.s.san's eyes gleamed. "Good! But let's be wary; this is the country of Keraspa, who robs all he catches."

Midafternoon found them still following the trace of an ancient, forgotten road. As they rode toward a narrow gorge, Sa.s.san said:

"If that Kezankian got back to Keraspa, the Kezankians will be alert for strangers..."

They reined up as a lean, hawk-faced Kezankian rode out of the gorge with hand upraised. "Halt!" he cried. "By what leave do you ride in the land of Keraspa?"

"Careful," muttered Conan. "They may be all around us."

"Keraspa claims toll on travelers," answered Sa.s.san under his breath.

"Maybe that is all this fellow wants." Fumbling in his girdle, he said to the tribesman: "We are but poor travelers, glad to pay your brave chief's toll. We ride alone."

"Then who is that behind you?" demanded the Kezankian, nodding his head in the direction from which they had come.

Sa.s.san half turned his head. Instantly the Kezankian whipped a dagger from his girdle and struck at the Iranistani.

Quick as he was, Conan was quicker. As the dagger darted at Sa.s.san's throat, Conan's scimitar flashed and steel rang. The dagger whirled away, and with a snarl the Kezankian caught at his sword. Before he could pull the blade free, Conan struck again, cleaving turban and skull. The Kezankian's horse neighed and reared, throwing the corpse headlong. Conan wrenched his own steed around.

"Ride for the gorge!" he yelled. "It's an ambus.h.!.+"