Conan the Barbarian

CHAPTER 14

“STUPID BARBARIAN. HAD to hold on to me for a reward.” The one-eyed man spat in the dust. “Only reward you’re getting will be steel in your belly. And you are just too stupid to understand that, aren’t you?”

Conan, who to this point in the long walk to the lead mines had kept silent, looked down at his companion. “Stupid enough to know that a scrawny Shemite dog like you would be worthless in a lead mine.”

“What?”

“And no man would send six guards after an escaped mine slave.” The Cimmerian chuckled. “Why does he want you?”

The little man’s mouth gaped in shock. “You must know who I am. Why else would you have delivered me to my enemies?”

Conan shook his head.

The small man pressed a manacled hand to his breastbone. “I am Ela Shan, the world’s greatest thief. There is no lock which will not yield to me.”

Conan rattled his chains. “Your bracelets have locks.”

“Yes, well, I lack the proper tools at the moment.” Ela sniffed. “Nonetheless, my accomplishments speak for themselves.”

The Cimmerian raised an eyebrow.

Ela sighed. “You have, perhaps, heard of the Tower of the Elephant? Home to the Elephant’s Heart?”

“You stole it?”

“Not precisely. Yara, its master, had a small villa which I located after his demise and from which I deftly liberated certain treasures.”

“You are a scavenger, a jackal.”

“I am a thief.” Ela shrugged. “I simply choose to ply my trade in places where the passing of aeons blurs the provenance of those items I collect.”

Conan smiled. Had the little man claimed to have stolen the Elephant’s Heart, the Cimmerian would have considered strangling him on the spot. The fact that he did not claim the feat that Conan had performed, and the delicacy with which he chose to describe his career, amused the larger man. Given Ela Shan’s current state and lot in life, he could not be a terribly successful thief, but that he had gotten to his age and had only lost one eye did speak to his survival skills.

Before Conan could press him on why Lucius had put a bounty on his head, the dusty canyon through which they had been walking opened into a vast expanse. To the right, two holes opened like nostrils into the side of a hill. Men bent beneath leather hods stuffed with ore hauled their cargo to where other men with sledges pounded large rocks into smaller ones. Yet other slaves shoveled the small rocks into carts that carried them to the smelting ovens. Black smoke rose from them, distantly reminding Conan of his father’s forge.

All the way to the left stood a makeshift garrison building composed of large stones and mud walls. The guards guided Conan and Ela toward it.

Ela glanced at the Cimmerian. “Do you honestly believe Lucius will reward you for my return?”

Conan shrugged easily.

The thief frowned. “No, you cannot be that stupid.”

As they entered the garrison, an effete man rose from a table and smiled. “Gave us a chase, Ela Shan. My master is disappointed.”

The guards pointed Conan to a stool and indicated he should sit. He did, remaining silent. The two guards behind him and the one man before appeared to be the only soldiers on station. Overpowering them would be as nothing, but the effort would be fruitless without knowing where his quarry lay.

Lucius’s bailiff sniffed. “And what is this?”

“He disabled four armed men. He came seeking a reward for capturing the thief.”

“Why is he in chains?”

The Aquilonian with whom Conan had bargained smiled. “A show of good faith. He hopes our master will employ him.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” A sly smile twisted the bailiff’s features. He grabbed Ela Shan by the scruff of the neck and started marching him deeper into the garrison building. “Once our master has dealt with the thief, he will have time for you.”

The two of them disappeared around a corner. Conan caught the buzz of murmurs, but could make no sense of them. Bolts clicked as they shot back, and a door creaked, then the bolts returned to their sockets. The bailiff, his smile now more cruel than clever, returned to his desk. He picked up a triangular stylus and held it poised above a soft clay tablet, but did not begin to make impressions until Ela’s first muffled scream filled the hall.

Conan looked up. “Where is your master?”

The bailiff regarded him curiously. “So, the hill ape can speak. As you might surmise, our master is currently . . . otherwise engaged.”

The thief cried out again, clearly in pain.

The bailiff made impressions with the stylus, then pointed it at Conan. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance with him very soon.”

“I would rather it be now.”

Conan smashed his manacles together and the left one popped open. Coming to his feet, the Cimmerian shouldered one guard into the wall and dropped the other with a fist to the face. As the first guard rebounded, Conan kicked him in the chest. That slammed him against the wall again. He bounced harder, then collapsed on top of his companion.

The bailiff, horror on his face, had risen and turned to run. Conan pounced, looping the chain around the man’s neck, and yanked the bailiff back against his chest. “You will take me to Lucius now.”

“You’ll never get in. The door is locked from within.” The bailiff clutched at the chain. “They will only open the door for me.”

IN RESPONSE TO the insistent pounding on the chamber’s stout door, a guard slid back the peephole cover. The bailiff stared at him. Cursing, the guard closed the peephole then slid the bolts back. “He does not want to be disturbed.”

Conan delivered a heavy kick to the door, driving it into the guard’s face. He reeled back, stumbling into a table and upsetting it. Dice flew along with the coins being wagered on the outcome of throws. Before the other three guards could rise, the Cimmerian had entered the room and flung the bailiff’s severed head. It caught one guard full in the face, spilling him backward. A quick slash cut one man down, a thrust opened another’s throat, and Conan gutted a third. He left the blade in that man’s belly, then caught the door guard by the ears. With a quick twist, the Cimmerian snapped his neck.

Before the body hit the floor, Conan burst from the antechamber and into Lucius’s den. The fat man, who had been bent over a table, tightening screws on a device that had trapped Ela’s wrists, looked up. This close and in good light, there was no mistaking his identity. He was the man from Cimmeria.

Lucius spun away from Ela and reached for his sword, which hung on the wall. Conan reached it first, drawing it in a heartbeat. He drove the pommel into Lucius’s forehead, just hard enough to daze him and open a small wound, then shoved the man back into a chair.

Conan pressed the blade to Lucius’s throat with one hand while releasing Ela with the other. “Do you remember me, fat man?”

Lucius narrowed piggish eyes. “Should I?”

Conan nodded, then tore away the man’s mask, exposing the gaping holes in the middle of his face. “I did this to you.”

Blood drained from the Aquilonian’s face. “Impossible.”

Conan dragged the table with the clamps on it over in front of Lucius. “Fix his hands.”

The thief left off rubbing his own wrists and wrestled Lucius’s into the torture device. Conan would have bet the little man would have failed, but grim determination contorted his face. He locked the shackle bar over the Aquilonian’s wrists, then gave the screw enough twists to elicit a hiss from mine’s master.

“Please, Cimmerian, we can be civilized about this.” Lucius forced a smile. “I have gold. I can make you rich.”

Conan snorted. “I want the man who destroyed my village. I want Klarzin.”

“Klarzin?” Lucius blinked. “You want Khalar Zym?”

The Cimmerian’s icy eyes narrowed. Khalar Zym. Weariness and delirium had contracted the name into Klarzin. Hearing it again brought back memories, sharpening recollections that years and dreams had done much to dull. The cruel face, the hawk nose, the curved blade, and the memory of the blood that Conan had drawn; all of these things came back to him.

“Yes. Khalar Zym.” Conan nodded grimly. The name felt like a curse on his tongue, meant to be spat with contempt.

“This is perfect.” Lucius smiled and half turned, spitting at a banner on the wall. “There, you see his crest. The tentacled Mask of Acheron. I spit on it.”

Ela gave the screw another half turn.

“Stop, stop, I tell you the truth. We are allies, barbarian.” Lucius, tears brimming in deep-set eyes, opened his hands innocently. “He was once my master, but no more. I know how you can get him. I know where he is.”

Conan nodded. “Speak.”

“You have me at a disadvantage.” Lucius nodded toward his wrists. “Please.”

The Cimmerian nodded at Ela, who loosened the screw.

Lucius smiled carefully. “I will tell you everything I know, Cimmerian. You will find it all useful, but on your word of honor, promise you will not kill me.”

Conan nodded. “Speak. I won’t kill you.”

“You won’t regret this, my friend.” The noseless man licked his lips. “Khalar Zym . . . he traveled the world and promised us great power. In your village, we found the last piece of the Mask of Acheron. It had been shattered and divided millennia ago. We thought, with it complete, he would become a god. He told us so.”

The Cimmerian turned away and found a pair of pliers, which he placed on a small brazier. “You make much noise, but I hear nothing of value.

Lucius looked from Conan to the pliers and back. “Wait. Wait. He said there was another component. Something he needed to activate the mask. To bring it to its full power. I could not wait, so I left his service. But I know he lairs at Khor Kalba. And your friend here, he knows the way through Khor Kalba. With him I was going to steal the mask.”

Conan arched an eyebrow.

Ela smiled sheepishly. “What he says is true—half true. I know of Khor Kalba. I have studied it. I intended to enter, but then Khalar Zym took possession.” He tightened the screw another turn. “But I was no partner to this one.”

Lucius smiled weakly. “We would have reached an agreement, Ela Shan. You needed to take me seriously.”

“Is Khalar Zym at Khor Kalba now?”

“No, Cimmerian, no. But I do know where he is. I do.”

Conan turned back to the pliers, which had begun to glow a merry red. “Where?”

“The Wastes, the Red Wastes.”

“You lie. There is nothing there.”

“What is there is hidden, Cimmerian; and what he seeks is hidden well.” Lucius smiled. “And he shall return to Khor Kalba through the Shaipur Pass.”

Ela nodded. “That is a welcome place for an ambush.”

But does Lucius seek to have me ambushed or his former master? Conan picked up the glowing pliers. “What does Khalar Zym want in the Wastes?”

“Foolishness. He and that witch spawn of his seek a girl.”

Conan laughed. “The world is full of girls.”

“A special one, of special blood.” Lucius’s eyes focused past the pliers. “Her blood will activate the mask and make the wearer a god.”

The Cimmerian shivered involuntarily. He had no use for sorcery, and no inclination to tolerate those who lusted after such power.

He shook his head, leaning in closely, letting the pliers singe a lock of Lucius’s hair. “I think you lie to me, Aquilonian dog. You seek to send me into the Wastes on a fool’s mission.”

“I agree.” Ela gave the screw a full turn.

“No, no! I speak the truth!” Tears streamed down the fat man’s face. “By all the gods, you must believe me. I hate him as much as you do. I have no loyalty to him.”

Your loyalty is only to yourself. Conan stared at the man, lost in distant recollections of their first meeting.

“Please, Cimmerian. I have upheld my end of the bargain. You promised.”

Conan nodded. “I did. Ela, the ring of keys on the wall. Find the one that would free the slaves.”

Lucius’s eyes grew wide. “You cannot. They would riot.”

“Calm yourself, Aquilonian.” Conan poured ale from a pitcher into a cup. “I will not kill you. I will not free the slaves.”

“Here.” Ela handed him a small key.

The Cimmerian stared down at where it rested across the scar on his palm, then forced Lucius’s head back. The Aquilonian’s mouth opened in surprise. Conan dropped the key into it, then poured the ale down the fat man’s throat.

Lucius swallowed, then sputtered, ale glistening on his chin and chest. “By Mitra, why?”

“It’s you who invoked the gods, Lucius.” Conan flipped the catch, freeing him from the clamps, then hauled him to his feet. “Come.”

“Wait, what are you doing?”

Conan’s grasp remained firm on the back of Lucius’s tunic. He marched the man out into the sunlight. Conan caught sight of only a half-dozen guards, and all he saw was the back of them as they scurried away. Lips twisted in contempt, he tossed Lucius sprawling to the ground as slaves slowly crept closer.

The barbarian pointed at the blubbering fat man. “The key that unlocks your chains sits in this man’s gullet.”

Lucius, who had scrambled to his knees, stared at Conan. “Cimmerian, you gave your word. You promised you would spare my life.”

“I promised I would not kill you.” Conan turned and walked away, relishing how the crunch of gravel beneath his feet devoured Lucius’s dying screams.

“Northerner . . .” Ela ran to catch up with Conan. “You have earned my gratitude.”

“Have I?”

“And Ela Shan is known to be a man who keeps his promises, honors his debts.”

“Rare qualities among thieves.”

The little man ran in front of Conan and walked backward as quickly as he could. “If you should be so foolish as to pursue this Khalar Zym to Khor Kalba, seek me out in Asgalun. I shall talk you out of it.”

Conan nodded slowly. “And you, Ela Shan, if you hear that the master of Khor Kalba has died in the Wastes, know you have Conan of Cimmeria to thank for clearing your way.”

The little thief smiled. “Then may Bel smile on you, Conan of Cimmeria, and may your sword speed Khalar Zym to hell.”