11
Swords of the South
Dawn that rose over the distant hills shone on the sails of a smallcraft that dropped down the river which curves to within a mile of thewalls of Tarantia, and loops southward like a great shining serpent.This boat differed from the ordinary craft plying the broadKhorotas--fishermen and merchant barges loaded with rich goods. It waslong and slender, with a high, curving prow, and was black as ebony,with white skulls painted along the gunwales. Amidships rose a smallcabin, the windows closely masked. Other craft gave the ominouslypainted boat a wide berth; for it was obviously one of those 'pilgrimboats' that carried a lifeless follower of Asura on his last mysteriouspilgrimage southward to where, far beyond the Poitanian mountains, ariver flowed at last into the blue ocean. In that cabin undoubtedly laythe corpse of the departed worshipper. All men were familiar with thesight of those gloomy craft; and the most fanatical votary of Mitrawould not dare touch or interfere with their somber voyages.
Where the ultimate destination lay, men did not know. Some said Stygia;some a nameless island lying beyond the horizon; others said it was inthe glamorous and mysterious land of Vendhya where the dead came home atlast. But none knew certainly. They only knew that when a follower ofAsura died, the corpse went southward down the great river, in a blackboat rowed by a giant slave, and neither boat nor corpse nor slave wasever seen again; unless, indeed, certain dark tales were true, and itwas always the same slave who rowed the boats southward.
The man who propelled this particular boat was as huge and brown as theothers, though closer scrutiny might have revealed the fact that the huewas the result of carefully applied pigments. He was clad in leatherloin-cloth and sandals, and he handled the long sweep and oars withunusual skill and power. But none approached the grim boat closely, forit was well known that the followers of Asura were accursed, and thatthese pilgrim boats were loaded with dark magic. So men swung theirboats wide and muttered an incantation as the dark craft slid past, andthey never dreamed that they were thus assisting in the flight of theirking and the Countess Albiona.
It was a strange journey, in that black, slim craft down the great riverfor nearly two hundred miles to where the Khorotas swings eastward,skirting the Poitanian mountains. Like a dream the ever-changingpanorama glided past. During the day Albiona lay patiently in the littlecabin, as quietly as the corpse she pretended to be. Only late at night,after the pleasure boats with their fair occupants lounging on silkencushions in the flare of torches held by slaves had left the river,before dawn brought the hurrying fisherboats, did the girl venture out.Then she held the long sweep, cunningly bound in place by ropes to aidher, while Conan snatched a few hours of sleep. But the king neededlittle rest. The fire of his desire drove him relentlessly; and hispowerful frame was equal to the grinding test. Without halt or pausethey drove southward.
So down the river they fled, through nights when the flowing currentmirrored the million stars, and through days of golden sunlight, leavingwinter behind them as they sped southward. They passed cities in thenight, above which throbbed and pulsed the reflection of the myriadlights, lordly river villas and fertile groves. So at last the bluemountains of Poitain rose above them, tier above tier, like ramparts ofthe gods, and the great river, swerving from those turreted cliffs,swept thunderously through the marching hills with many a rapid andfoaming cataract.
* * * * *
Conan scanned the shoreline closely, and finally swung the long sweepand headed inshore at a point where a neck of land jutted into thewater, and fir trees grew in a curiously symmetrical ring about a gray,strangely shaped rock.
'How these boats ride those falls we hear roaring ahead of us is morethan I can see,' he grunted. 'Hadrathus said they did--but here's wherewe halt. He said a man would be waiting for us with horses, but I don'tsee anyone. How word of our coming could have preceded us I don't knowanyway.'
He drove inshore and bound the prow to an arching root in the low bank,and then, plunging into the water, washed the brown paint from his skinand emerged dripping, and in his natural color. From the cabin hebrought forth a suit of Aquilonian ring-mail which Hadrathus hadprocured for him, and his sword. These he donned while Albiona put ongarments suitable for mountain travel. And when Conan was fully armed,and turned to look toward the shore, he started and his hand went to hissword. For on the shore, under the trees, stood a black-cloaked figureholding the reins of a white palfrey and a bay war-horse.
'Who are you?' demanded the king.
The other bowed low.
'A follower of Asura. A command came. I obeyed.'
'How, "came"?' inquired Conan, but the other merely bowed again.
'I have come to guide you through the mountains to the first Poitanianstronghold.'
'I don't need a guide,' answered Conan. 'I know these hills well. Ithank you for the horses, but the countess and I will attract lessattention alone than if we were accompanied by an acolyte of Asura.'
The man bowed profoundly, and giving the reins into Conan's hands,stepped into the boat. Casting off, he floated down the swift current,toward the distant roar of the unseen rapids. With a baffled shake ofhis head, Conan lifted the countess into the palfrey's saddle, and thenmounted the war-horse and reined toward the summits that castellated thesky.
The rolling country at the foot of the towering mountains was now aborderland, in a state of turmoil, where the barons reverted to feudalpractises, and bands of outlaws roamed unhindered. Poitain had notformally declared her separation from Aquilonia, but she was now, to allintents, a self-contained kingdom, ruled by her hereditary count,Trocero. The rolling south country had submitted nominally to Valerius,but he had not attempted to force the passes guarded by strongholdswhere the crimson leopard banner of Poitain waved defiantly.
The king and his fair companion rode up the long blue slopes in the softevening. As they mounted higher, the rolling country spread out like avast purple mantle far beneath them, shot with the shine of rivers andlakes, the yellow glint of broad fields, and the white gleam of distanttowers. Ahead of them and far above, they glimpsed the first of thePoitanian holds--a strong fortress dominating a narrow pass, the crimsonbanner streaming against the clear blue sky.
Before they reached it, a band of knights in burnished armor rode fromamong the trees, and their leader sternly ordered the travelers to halt.They were tall men, with the dark eyes and raven locks of the south.
'Halt, sir, and state your business, and why you ride toward Poitain.'
'Is Poitain in revolt then,' asked Conan, watching the other closely,'that a man in Aquilonian harness is halted and questioned like aforeigner?'
'Many rogues ride out of Aquilonia these days,' answered the othercoldly. 'As for revolt, if you mean the repudiation of a usurper, thenPoitain is in revolt. We had rather serve the memory of a dead man thanthe scepter of a living dog.'
Conan swept off his helmet, and shaking back his black mane, stared fullat the speaker. The Poitanian stared violently and went livid.
'Saints of heaven!' he gasped. 'It is the king--alive!'
The others stared wildly, then a roar of wonder and joy burst from them.They swarmed about Conan, shouting their war-cries and brandishing theirswords in their extreme emotion. The acclaim of Poitanian warriors was athing to terrify a timid man.
'Oh, but Trocero will weep tears of joy to see you, sire!' cried one.
'Aye, and Prospero!' shouted another. 'The general has been like onewrapped in a mantle of melancholy, and curses himself night and day thathe did not reach the Valkia in time to die beside his king!'
'Now we will strike for empery!' yelled another, whirling his greatsword about his head. 'Hail, Conan, king of Poitain!'
The clangor of bright steel about him and the thunder of their acclaimfrightened the birds that rose in gay-hued clouds from the surroundingtrees. The hot southern blood was afire, and they desired nothing butfor their new-found sovereign to lead them to battle and pillage.
'What is your command, sire?' they cried. 'Let one of us ride ahead andbear the news of your coming into Poitain! Banners will wave from everytower, roses will carpet the road before your horse's feet, and all thebeauty and chivalry of the south will give you the honor due you--'
Conan shook his head.
'Who could doubt your loyalty? But winds blow over these mountains intothe countries of my enemies, and I would rather these didn't know that Ilived--yet. Take me to Trocero, and keep my identity a secret.'
So what the knights would have made a triumphal procession was more inthe nature of a secret flight. They traveled in haste, speaking to noone, except for a whisper to the captain on duty at each pass; and Conanrode among them with his vizor lowered.
The mountains were uninhabited save by outlaws and garrisons of soldierswho guarded the passes. The pleasure-loving Poitanians had no need nordesire to wrest a hard and scanty living from their stern breasts. Southof the ranges the rich and beautiful plains of Poitain stretched to theriver Alimane; but beyond the river lay the land of Zingara.
Even now, when winter was crisping the leaves beyond the mountains, thetall rich grass waved upon the plains where grazed the horses and cattlefor which Poitain was famed. Palm trees and orange groves smiled in thesun, and the gorgeous purple and gold and crimson towers of castles andcities reflected the golden light. It was a land of warmth and plenty,of beautiful men and ferocious warriors. It is not only the hard landsthat breed hard men. Poitain was surrounded by covetous neighbors andher sons learned hardihood in incessant wars. To the north the land wasguarded by the mountains, but to the south only the Alimane separatedthe plains of Poitain from the plains of Zingara, and not once but athousand times had that river run red. To the east lay Argos and beyondthat Ophir, proud kingdoms and avaricious. The knights of Poitain heldtheir lands by the weight and edge of their swords, and little of easeand idleness they knew.
So Conan came presently to the castle of Count Trocero....
* * * * *
Conan sat on a silken divan in a rich chamber whose filmy curtains thewarm breeze billowed. Trocero paced the floor like a panther, a lithe,restless man with the waist of a woman and the shoulders of a swordsman,who carried his years lightly.
'Let us proclaim you king of Poitain!' urged the count. 'Let thosenorthern pigs wear the yoke to which they have bent their necks. Thesouth is still yours. Dwell here and rule us, amid the flowers and thepalms.'
But Conan shook his head. 'There is no nobler land on earth thanPoitain. But it cannot stand alone, bold as are its sons.'
'It _did_ stand alone for generations,' retorted Trocero, with the quickjealous pride of his breed. 'We were not always a part of Aquilonia.'
'I know. But conditions are not as they were then, when all kingdomswere broken into principalities which warred with each other. The daysof dukedoms and free cities are past, the days of empires are upon us.Rulers are dreaming imperial dreams, and only in unity is therestrength.'
'Then let us unite Zingara with Poitain,' argued Trocero. 'Half a dozenprinces strive against each other, and the country is torn asunder bycivil wars. We will conquer it, province by province, and add it to yourdominions. Then with the aid of the Zingarans we will conquer Argos andOphir. We will build an empire--'
Again Conan shook his head. 'Let others dream imperial dreams. I butwish to hold what is mine. I have no desire to rule an empire weldedtogether by blood and fire. It's one thing to seize a throne with theaid of its subjects and rule them with their consent. It's another tosubjugate a foreign realm and rule it by fear. I don't wish to beanother Valerius. No, Trocero, I'll rule all Aquilonia and no more, orI'll rule nothing.'
'Then lead us over the mountains and we will smite the Nemedians.'
Conan's fierce eyes glowed with appreciation.
'No, Trocero. It would be a vain sacrifice. I've told you what I must doto regain my kingdom. I must find the Heart of Ahriman.'
'But this is madness!' protested Trocero, 'The maunderings of aheretical priest, the mumblings of a mad witch-woman.'
'You were not in my tent before Valkia,' answered Conan grimly,involuntarily glancing at his right wrist, on which blue marks stillshowed faintly. 'You didn't see the cliffs thunder down to crush theflower of my army. No, Trocero, I've been convinced. Xaltotun's nomortal man, and only with the Heart of Ahriman can I stand against him.So I'm riding to Kordava, alone.'
'But that is dangerous,' protested Trocero.
'Life is dangerous,' rumbled the king. 'I won't go as king of Aquilonia,or even as a knight of Poitain, but as a wandering mercenary, as I rodein Zingara in the old days. Oh, I have enemies enough south of theAlimane, in the lands and the waters of the south. Many who won't knowme as king of Aquilonia will remember me as Conan of the Barachanpirates, or Amra of the black corsairs. But I have friends, too, and menwho'll aid me for their own private reasons.' A faintly reminiscent grintouched his lips.
Trocero dropped his hands helplessly and glanced at Albiona, who sat ona near-by divan.
'I understand your doubts, my lord,' said she. 'But I too saw the coinin the temple of Asura, and look you, Hadrathus said it was dated fivehundred years _before_ the fall of Acheron. If Xaltotun, then, is theman pictured on the coin, as his Majesty swears he is, that means he wasno common wizard, even in his other life, for the years of his life werenumbered by centuries, not as the lives of other men are numbered.'
Before Trocero could reply, a respectful rap was heard on the door and avoice called: 'My lord, we have caught a man skulking about the castle,who says he wishes to speak with your guest. I await your orders.'
'A spy from Aquilonia!' hissed Trocero, catching at his dagger, butConan lifted his voice and called: 'Open the door and let me see him.'
The door was opened and a man was framed in it, grasped on either handby stern-looking men-at-arms. He was a slender man, clad in a darkhooded robe.
'Are you a follower of Asura?' asked Conan.
The man nodded, and the stalwart men-at-arms looked shocked and glancedhesitantly at Trocero.
'The word came southward,' said the man. 'Beyond the Alimane we can notaid you, for our sect goes no farther southward, but stretches eastwardwith the Khorotas. But this I have learned: the thief who took the Heartof Ahriman from Tarascus never reached Kordava. In the mountains ofPoitain he was slain by robbers. The jewel fell into the hands of theirchief, who, not knowing its true nature, and being harried after thedestruction of his band by Poitanian knights, sold it to the Kothicmerchant Zorathus.'
'Ha!' Conan was on his feet, galvanized. 'And what of Zorathus?'
'Four days ago he crossed the Alimane, headed for Argos, with a smallband of armed servants.'
'He's a fool to cross Zingara in such times,' said Trocero.
'Aye, times are troublous across the river. But Zorathus is a bold man,and reckless in his way. He is in great haste to reach Messantia, wherehe hopes to find a buyer for the jewel. Perhaps he hopes to sell itfinally in Stygia. Perhaps he guesses at its true nature. At any rate,instead of following the long road that winds along the borders ofPoitain and so at last comes into Argos far from Messantia, he hasstruck straight across eastern Zingara, following the shorter and moredirect route.'
Conan smote the table with his clenched fist so that the great boardquivered.
'Then, by Crom, fortune has at last thrown the dice for me! A horse,Trocero, and the harness of a Free Companion! Zorathus has a long start,but not too long for me to overtake him, if I follow him to the end ofthe world!'