The Hour of the Dragon
'When the magic of the Mitran priests failed against the magic of
Xaltotun's acolyte, Altaro, they remembered the ancient legend of the
heart, and the high priest and an acolyte went down into the dark and
terrible crypt below the temple into which no priest had descended for
three thousand years. In the ancient iron-bound volumes which speak of
the Heart in their cryptic symbolism, it is also told of a creature of
darkness left by the ancient priest to guard it.
'Far down in a square chamber with arched doorways leading off into
immeasurable blackness, the priest and his acolytes found a black stone
altar that glowed dimly with inexplicable radiance.
'On that altar lay a curious gold vessel like a double-valved sea-shell
which clung to the stone like a barnacle. But it gaped open and empty.
The Heart of Ahriman was gone. While they stared in horror, the keeper
of the crypt, the creature of darkness, came upon them and mangled the
high priest so that he died. But the acolyte fought off the being--a
mindless, soulless waif of the pits brought long ago to guard the
Heart--and escaped up the long black narrow stairs carrying the dying
priest, who before he died, gasped out the news to his followers, bade
them submit to a power they could not overcome, and commanded secrecy.
But the word has been whispered about among the priests, and we of Asura
learned of it.'
'And Xaltotun draws his power from this symbol?' asked Conan, still
skeptical.
'No. His power is drawn from the black gulf. But the Heart of Ahriman
came from some far universe of flaming light, and against it the powers
of darkness cannot stand, when it is in the hands of an adept. It is
like a sword that might smite at him, not a sword with which he can
smite. It restores life, and can destroy life. He has stolen it, not to
use against his enemies, but to keep them from using it against him.'
'A shell-shaped bowl of gold on a black altar in a deep cavern,' Conan
muttered, frowning as he sought to capture the illusive image. 'That
reminds me of something I have heard or seen. But what, in Crom's name,
is this notable Heart?'
'It is in the form of a great jewel, like a ruby, but pulsing with
blinding fire with which no ruby ever burned. It glows like living
flame--'
But Conan sprang suddenly up and smote his right fist into his left palm
like a thunderclap.
'Crom!' he roared, 'What a fool I've been! The Heart of Ahriman! The
heart of my kingdom! Find the heart of my kingdom, Zelata said. By Ymir,
it was the jewel I saw in the green smoke, the jewel which Tarascus
stole from Xaltotun while he lay in the sleep of the black lotus!'
Hadrathus was also on his feet, his calm dropped from him like a
garment.
'What are you saying? The Heart stolen from Xaltotun?'
'Aye!' Conan boomed. 'Tarascus feared Xaltotun and wanted to cripple his
power, which he thought resided in the Heart. Maybe he thought the
wizard would die if the Heart was lost. By Crom--ahhh!' With a savage
grimace of disappointment and disgust he dropped his clenched hand to
his side.
'I forgot. Tarascus gave it to a thief to throw into the sea. By this
time the fellow must be almost to Kordava. Before I can follow him he'll
take ship and consign the Heart to the bottom of the ocean.'
'The sea will not hold it!' exclaimed Hadrathus, quivering with
excitement. 'Xaltotun would himself have cast it into the ocean long
ago, had he not known that the first storm would carry it ashore. But on
what unknown beach might it not land!'
'Well,' Conan was recovering some of his resilient confidence, 'there's
no assurance that the thief will throw it away. If I know thieves--and I
should, for I was a thief in Zamora in my early youth--he won't throw it
away. He'll sell it to some rich trader. By Crom!' he strode back and
forth in his growing excitement. 'It's worth looking for! Zelata bade me
find the heart of my kingdom, and all else she showed me proved to be
truth. Can it be that the power to conquer Xaltotun lurks in that
crimson bauble?'
'Aye! My head upon it!' cried Hadrathus, his face lightened with fervor,
his eyes blazing, his fists clenched. 'With it in our hands we can dare
the powers of Xaltotun! I swear it! If we can recover it, we have an
even chance of recovering your crown and driving the invaders from our
portals. It is not the swords of Nemedia that Aquilonia fears, but the
black arts of Xaltotun.'
Conan looked at him for a space, impressed by the priest's fire.
'It's like a quest in a nightmare,' he said at last. 'Yet your words
echo the thought of Zelata, and all else she said was truth. I'll seek
for this jewel.'
'It holds the destiny of Aquilonia,' said Hadrathus with conviction. 'I
will send men with you--'
'Nay!' exclaimed the king impatiently, not caring to be hampered by
priests on his quest, however skilled in esoteric arts. 'This is a task
for a fighting man. I go alone. First to Poitain, where I'll leave
Albiona with Trocero. Then to Kordava, and to the sea beyond, if
necessary. It may be that, even if the thief intends carrying out
Tarascus' order, he'll have some difficulty finding an outbound ship at
this time of the year.'
'And if you find the Heart,' cried Hadrathus, 'I will prepare the way
for your conquest. Before you return to Aquilonia I will spread the word
through secret channels that you live and are returning with a magic
stronger than Xaltotun's. I will have men ready to rise on your return.
They will rise, if they have assurance that they will be protected from
the black arts of Xaltotun.
'And I will aid you on your journey.'
He rose and struck a gong.
'A secret tunnel leads from beneath this temple to a place outside the
city wall. You shall go to Poitain on a pilgrim's boat. None will dare
molest you.'
'As you will.' With a definite purpose in mind Conan was afire with
impatience and dynamic energy. 'Only let it be done swiftly.'
* * * * *
In the meantime events were moving not slowly elsewhere in the city. A
breathless messenger had burst into the palace where Valerius was
amusing himself with his dancing-girls, and throwing himself on his
knee, gasped out a garbled story of a bloody prison break and the escape
of a lovely captive. He bore also the news that Count Thespius, to whom
the execution of Albiona's sentence had been entrusted, was dying and
begging for a word with Valerius before he passed.
Hurriedly cloaking himself, Valerius accompanied the man through various
winding ways, and came to a chamber where Thespius lay. There was no
doubt that the count was dying; bloody froth bubbled from his lips at
each shuddering gasp. His severed arm had been bound to stop the flow of
blood, but even without that, the gash in his side was mortal.
Alone in the chamber with the dying man, Valerius swore softly.
'By Mitra, I had believed that only one man ever lived who could strike
such a blow.'
'Valerius!' gasped the dying man. 'He lives! Conan lives!'
'What are you saying?' ejaculated the other.
'I swear by Mitra!' gurgled Thespius, gagging on the blood that gushed
to his lips. 'It was he who carried off Albiona! He is not dead--no
phantom come back from hell to haunt us. He is flesh and blood, and more
terrible than ever. The alley behind the tower is full of dead men.
Beware, Valerius--he has come back--to slay us all--'
A strong shudder shook the blood-smeared figure, and Count Thespius went
limp.
Valerius frowned down at the dead man, cast a swift glance about the
empty chamber, and stepping swiftly to the door, cast it open suddenly.
The messenger and a group of Nemedian guardsmen stood several paces down
the corridor. Valerius muttered something that might have indicated
satisfaction.
'Have all the gates been closed?' he demanded.
'Yes, your Majesty.'
'Triple the guards at each. Let no one enter or leave the city without
strictest investigation. Set men scouring the streets and searching the
quarters. A very valuable prisoner has escaped, with the aid of an
Aquilonian rebel. Did any of you recognize the man?'
'No, your Majesty. The old watchman had a glimpse of him, but could only
say that he was a giant, clad in the black garb of the executioner,
whose naked body we found in an empty cell.'
'He is a dangerous man,' said Valerius. 'Take no chances with him. You
all know the Countess Albiona. Search for her, and if you find her, kill
her and her companion instantly. Do not try to take them alive.'
Returning to his palace chamber, Valerius summoned before him four men
of curious and alien aspect. They were tall, gaunt, of yellowish skin,
and immobile countenances. They were very similar in appearance, clad
alike in long black robes beneath which their sandaled feet were just
visible. Their features were shadowed by their hoods. They stood before
Valerius with their hands in their wide sleeves; their arms folded.
Valerius looked at them without pleasure. In his far journeyings he had
encountered many strange races.
'When I found you starving in the Khitan jungles,' he said abruptly,
'exiles from your kingdom, you swore to serve me. You have served me
well enough, in your abominable way. One more service I require, and
then I set you free of your oath.
'Conan the Cimmerian, king of Aquilonia, still lives, in spite of
Xaltotun's sorcery--or perhaps because of it. I know not. The dark mind
of that resurrected devil is too devious and subtle for a mortal man to
fathom. But while Conan lives I am not safe. The people accepted me as
the lesser of two evils, when they thought he was dead. Let him reappear
and the throne will be rocking under my feet in revolution before I can
lift my hand.
'Perhaps my allies mean to use him to replace me, if they decide I have
served my purpose. I do not know. I do know that this planet is too
small for two kings of Aquilonia. Seek the Cimmerian. Use your uncanny
talents to ferret him out wherever he hides or runs. He has many friends
in Tarantia. He had aid when he carried off Albiona. It took more than
one man, even such a man as Conan, to wreak all that slaughter in the
alley outside the tower. But no more. Take your staffs and strike his
trail. Where that trail will lead you, I know not. But find him! And
when you find him, slay him!'
The four Khitans bowed together, and still unspeaking, turned and padded
noiselessly from the chamber.
11
Swords of the South
Dawn that rose over the distant hills shone on the sails of a small
craft that dropped down the river which curves to within a mile of the
walls of Tarantia, and loops southward like a great shining serpent.
This boat differed from the ordinary craft plying the broad
Khorotas--fishermen and merchant barges loaded with rich goods. It was
long and slender, with a high, curving prow, and was black as ebony,
with white skulls painted along the gunwales. Amidships rose a small
cabin, the windows closely masked. Other craft gave the ominously
painted boat a wide berth; for it was obviously one of those 'pilgrim
boats' that carried a lifeless follower of Asura on his last mysterious
pilgrimage southward to where, far beyond the Poitanian mountains, a
river flowed at last into the blue ocean. In that cabin undoubtedly lay
the corpse of the departed worshipper. All men were familiar with the
sight of those gloomy craft; and the most fanatical votary of Mitra
would 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 in
the glamorous and mysterious land of Vendhya where the dead came home at
last. But none knew certainly. They only knew that when a follower of