Part 2 (1/2)

”Then let me aid you in your vengeance!”

”You? An outsider, who knows nought of the secret ways of Asgalun?”

”Of course! So much the better; having no local ties, I can be trusted.

Come on; let's make a plan. Where is the swine and how do we get to him?”

Farouz, though no weakling, recoiled a little before the primitive elemental force that blazed in the eyes and showed in the manner of the other. ”Let me think,” he said. ”There is a way, if one is swift and daring...”

Later, two hooded figures halted in a group of palms among the ruins of nighted Asgalun. Before them lay the waters of a ca.n.a.l, and beyond it, rising from its bank, the great bastioned wall of sun-dried brick which encircled the inner city. The inner city was really a gigantic fortress, sheltering the king and his trusted n.o.bles and mercenary troops, forbidden to common men without a pa.s.s.

”We could climb the wall,” muttered Conan.

”And find ourselves no nearer our foe,” answered Farouz, groping in the shadows. ”Here!”

Conan saw the Hyrkanian fumble at a shapeless heap of marble. ”An ancient ruined shrine,”' grumbled Farouz. ”But-ah!”

He lifted a broad slab, revealing steps leading down into darkness.

Conan frowned suspiciously.

Farouz explained: ”This tunnel leads under the wall and up into the house of Othbaal, which stands just beyond.”

”Under the ca.n.a.l?”

”Aye. Once Othbaal's house was the pleasure-house of King Uriaz, who slept on a down-cus.h.i.+on floating on a pool of quicksilver, guarded by tame lions-yet fell before the avenger's dagger in spite of all. He prepared secret exits from all parts of his houses. Before Othbaal took the house, it belonged to his rival Mazdak. The Anaki knows nothing of this secret, so come!”

Swords drawn, they groped down a flight of stone steps and advanced along a level tunnel in blackness. Conan's groping fingers told him that the walls, floor, and ceiling were composed of huge blocks of stone. As they advanced, the stones became slippery and the air grew dank. Drops of water fell on Conan's neck, making him s.h.i.+ver and swear.

They were pa.s.sing under the ca.n.a.l. Later, this dampness abated. Farouz hissed a warning, and they mounted another flight of stairs.

At the top, the Hyrkanian fumbled with a catch. A panel slid aside, and a soft light streamed in. Farouz slipped through the opening and, after Conan had followed, closed it behind them. It became one of the inlaid panels of the wall, not differing to the sight from the other panels.

They stood in a vaulted corridor, while Farouz pulled his kaffia around to hide his face and motioned Conan to do likewise. Farouz then led the way down the corridor without hesitation. The Cimmerian followed, sword in hand, glancing to right and left.

They pa.s.sed through a curtain of dark velvet and came upon an arched doorway of gold-inlaid ebony. A brawny black, naked but for a silken loincloth, started up from his doze, sprang to his feet, and swung a great scimitar. But he did not cry out; his open mouth revealed the cavernous emptiness of the mouth of a mute.

”Quietly!” snapped Farouz, avoiding the sweep of the mute's sword. As the Negro stumbled from his wasted effort, Conan tripped him. He fell sprawling, and Farouz pa.s.sed his sword through the dark body.

”That was quick and silent enough!” breathed Farouz with a grin. ”Now for the real prey!”

Cautiously he tried the door, while the giant Cimmerian crouched at his shoulder, eyes burning like those of a hunting tiger. The door gave inward, and they sprang into the chamber. Farouz closed the door behind them and set his back to it, laughing at the man who leaped up from his divan with a startled oath. Beside him, a woman half-rose from the cus.h.i.+ons and screamed. Farouz said:

”We've run the buck to cover, brother!”

For a fraction of a second, Conan took in the spectacle. Othbaal was a tall, l.u.s.ty man, his thick black hair gathered in a knot at his nape and his black beard oiled, curled, and precisely trimmed. Late as the hour was, he was fully clad in silken kilt and velvet vest, under which gleamed the links of a mail s.h.i.+rt. He dove for a scabbarded sword that lay on the floor beside the couch.

As for the woman, she was not conventionally pretty but still good to look at: red-haired, with a broad, slightly freckled face, and brown eyes sparkling with intelligence.

She was rather broadly built, with shoulders wider than the average, a big bust, and full hips. She gave the impression of great physical vigor.

”Help!” shouted Othbaal, rising to meet the Cimmerian's rush. ”I am beset!”