come uponhim in the deserted palace, from which his acolytes, fleeing, had toldtales of horror that had for a hundred years frightened the priests fromthe city and the oracle.
But Gorulga, the present high priest, as one confident in his knowledgeof his own integrity, announced that he would go with a handful offollowers to revive the ancient custom. And in the excitement tonguesbuzzed indiscreetly, and Conan caught the clue for which he had soughtfor weeks--the overheard whisper of a lesser priest that sent theCimmerian stealing out of Keshia the night before the dawn when thepriests were to start.
Riding as hard as he dared for a night and a day and a night, he came inthe early dawn to the cliffs of Alkmeenon, which stood in thesouthwestern corner of the kingdom, amidst uninhabited jungle which wastaboo to common men. None but the priests dared approach the hauntedvale within a distance of many miles. And not even a priest had enteredAlkmeenon for a hundred years.
No man had ever climbed these cliffs, legends said, and none but thepriests knew the secret entrance into the valley. Conan did not wastetime looking for it. Steeps that balked these people, horsemen anddwellers of plain and level forest, were not impossible for a man bornin the rugged hills of Cimmeria.
Now on the summit of the cliffs he looked down into the circular valleyand wondered what plague, war or superstition had driven the members ofthat ancient race forth from their stronghold to mingle with and beabsorbed by the tribes that hemmed them in.
This valley had been their citadel. There the palace stood, and thereonly the royal family and their court dwelt. The real city stood outsidethe cliffs. Those waving masses of green jungle vegetation hid itsruins. But the domes that glistened in the leaves below him were theunbroken pinnacles of the royal palace of Alkmeenon which had defied thecorroding ages.
Swinging a leg over the rim he went down swiftly. The inner side of thecliffs was more broken, not quite so sheer. In less than half the timeit had taken him to ascend the outer side, he dropped to the swardedvalley floor.
With one hand on his sword, he looked alertly about him. There was noreason to suppose men lied when they said that Alkmeenon was empty anddeserted, haunted only by the ghosts of the dead past. But it wasConan's nature to be suspicious and wary. The silence was primordial;not even a leaf quivered on a branch. When he bent to peer under thetrees, he saw nothing but the marching rows of trunks, receding andreceding into the blue gloom of the deep woods.
Nevertheless he went warily, sword in hand, his restless eyes combingthe shadows from side to side, his springy tread making no sound on thesward. All about him he saw signs of an ancient civilization; marblefountains, voiceless and crumbling, stood in circles of slender treeswhose patterns were too symmetrical to have been a chance of nature.Forest-growth and underbrush had invaded the evenly planned groves, buttheir outlines were still visible. Broad pavements ran away under thetrees, broken, and with grass growing through the wide cracks. Heglimpsed walls with ornamental copings, lattices of carven stone thatmight once have served as the walls of pleasure pavilions.
Ahead of him, through the trees, the domes gleamed and the bulk of thestructure supporting them became more apparent as he advanced.Presently, pushing through a screen of vine-tangled branches, he cameinto a comparatively open space where the trees straggled, unencumberedby undergrowth, and saw before him the wide, pillared portico of thepalace.
As he mounted the broad marble steps, he noted that the building was infar better state of preservation than the lesser structures he hadglimpsed. The thick walls and massive pillars seemed too powerful tocrumble before the assault of time and the elements. The same enchantedquiet brooded over all. The cat-like pad of his sandaled feet seemedstartlingly loud in the stillness.
Somewhere in this palace lay the effigy or image which had in times pastserved as oracle for the priests of Keshan. And somewhere in the palace,unless that indiscreet priest had babbled a lie, was hidden the treasureof the forgotten kings of Alkmeenon.
Conan passed into a broad, lofty hall, lined with tall columns, betweenwhich arches gaped, their door long rotted away. He traversed this in atwilight dimness, and at the other end passed through greatdouble-valved bronze doors which stood partly open, as they might havestood for centuries. He emerged into a vast domed chamber which musthave served as audience hall for the kings of Alkmeenon.
It was octagonal in shape, and the great dome up to which the loftyceiling curved obviously was cunningly pierced, for the chamber was muchbetter lighted than the hall which led to it. At the farther side of thegreat room there rose a dais with broad lapis-lazuli steps leading up toit, and on that dais there stood a massive chair with ornate arms and ahigh back which once doubtless supported a cloth-of-gold canopy. Conangrunted explosively and his eyes lit. The golden throne of Alkmeenon,named in immemorial legendry! He weighed it with a practised eye. Itrepresented a fortune in itself, if he were but able to bear it away.Its richness fired his imagination concerning the treasure itself, andmade him burn with eagerness. His fingers itched to plunge among thegems he had heard described by story-tellers in the market squares ofKeshia, who repeated tales handed down from mouth to mouth through thecenturies--jewels not to be duplicated in the world, rubies, emeralds,diamonds, bloodstones, opals, sapphires, the loot of the ancient world.
He had expected to find the oracle-effigy seated on the throne, butsince it was not, it was probably placed in some other part of thepalace, if, indeed, such a thing really existed. But since he had turnedhis face toward Keshan, so many myths had proved to be realities that hedid not doubt that he would find some kind of image or god.
Behind the throne there was a narrow arched doorway which doubtless hadbeen masked by hangings in the days of Alkmeenon's life. He glancedthrough it and saw that it let into an alcove, empty, and with a narrowcorridor leading off from it at right angles. Turning away from it, hespied another arch to the left of the dais, and it, unlike the others,was furnished with a door. Nor was it any common door. The portal was ofthe same rich metal as the throne, and carved with many curiousarabesques.
At his touch it swung open so readily that its hinges might recentlyhave been oiled. Inside he halted, staring.
He was in a square chamber of no great dimensions, whose marble wallsrose to an ornate ceiling, inlaid with gold. Gold friezes ran about thebase and the top of the walls, and there was no door other than the onethrough which he had entered. But he noted these details mechanically.His whole attention was centered on the shape which lay on an ivory daisbefore him.
He had expected an image, probably carved with the skill of a forgottenart. But no art could mimic the perfection of the figure that lay beforehim.
It was no effigy of stone or metal or ivory. It was the actual body of awoman, and by what dark art the ancients had preserved that formunblemished for so many ages Conan could not even guess. The verygarments she wore were intact--and Conan scowled at that, a vagueuneasiness stirring at the back of his mind. The arts that preserved thebody should not have affected the garments. Yet there they were--goldbreast-plates set with concentric circles of small gems, gilded sandals,and a short silken skirt upheld by a jeweled girdle. Neither cloth normetal showed any signs of decay.
Yelaya was coldly beautiful, even in death. Her body was like alabaster,slender yet voluptuous; a great crimson jewel gleamed against the darklypiled foam of her hair.
Conan stood frowning down at her, and then tapped the dais with hissword. Possibilities of a hollow containing the treasure occurred tohim, but the dais rang solid. He turned and paced the chamber in someindecision. Where should he search first, in the limited time at hisdisposal? The priest he had overheard babbling to a courtesan had saidthe treasure was hidden in the palace. But that included a space ofconsiderable vastness. He wondered if he should hide himself until thepriests had come and gone, and then renew the search. But there was astrong chance that they might take the jewels with them when theyreturned to Keshia. For he was convinced that Thutmekri had corruptedGorulga.
; Conan could predict Thutmekri's plans from his knowledge of the man. Heknew that it had been Thutmekri who had proposed the conquest of Punt tothe kings of Zembabwei, which conquest was but one move toward theirreal goal--the capture of the Teeth of Gwahlur. Those wary kings woulddemand proof that the treasure really existed before they made anymove. The jewels Thutmekri asked as a pledge would furnish that proof.
With positive evidence of the treasure's reality, the kings of Zembabweiwould move. Punt would be invaded simultaneously from the east and thewest, but the Zembabwans would see to it that the Keshani did most ofthe fighting, and then, when both Punt and Keshan were exhausted fromthe struggle the Zembabwans would crush both races, loot Keshan and takethe treasure by force, if they had to destroy every building and tortureevery living human in the kingdom.
But there was always another possibility: if Thutmekri could get hishands on the hoard, it would be characteristic of the man to cheat hisemployers, steal the jewels for himself and decamp, leaving