Conan the Hunter Part 17

Xim clicked his fangs together. "Man-blood warm and fresh is better, yes it isss," he burbled. "Too long since man-blood has Xim tasted. But no lib-bary have I seen, no. What is lib-bary?"

Azora bared her black, hooked teeth in a snarl, biting back her temper.

"A hall of books and scrolls," she said impatiently. "There must be one here. Take me there, now!" Her voice rang commandingly in the chamber.

Xim bobbed up and down, hissing excitedly. Red froth bubbled from the points of his fangs. "Ssst... yes, yes, know this place, Xim does. Show she the way, he will! Far from here is lib-bary. Know secret paths."

"Show me, then," she demanded. "Quickly, little one!"

Xim jumped nimbly from her shoulder to the wall of the chamber, where he clung to the stone in a manner that defied gravity. He scuttled along the wall, away from the door Azora had been about to open.

Moments later, without warning, the spider vanished. She spun around, quickly looking for any signs of trickery. "Xim! Where have you gone, you treacherous-"

Xim's bubbling whisper came back in response, from behind the wall.

Azora could barely hear it; the wall m.u.f.fled his voice. "Through wall must she walk. No doors open, or wake old ones, she will. Ssst... no doors, no old ones, no, no!"

She put her hand out to touch the wall on the spot where Xim had disappeared. Her hand pa.s.sed through it. Then a section of the wall wavered and faded. Beyond it, she could see a narrow stone pa.s.sage, sloping upward into the stronghold. Xim clung to a large stone brick along the corridor's wall, waiting. Azora stomped forward, vexed that she had not seen through this childish illusion right away. It was a simple sorcerer's trick, designed to deceive the unwary. The translocation must have drained her more than she had realized. She would have to be more careful, since only the pa.s.sage of time would restore the energy that she had expended.

Unlike weak humans, she needed no sleep, no food or drink. She fed on the fear of the living, and drank their anguish. This was all the sustenance she needed. Without it, she would slowly wither; her power would evaporate like dew under the morning sun.

She moved down the corridor, following Xim. The faint light from the chamber faded quickly, but her eyes adjusted to the absence of light immediately. She could see farther in darkness than in light; her catlike red eyes pierced the blackness. A suffocating quiet shrouded the corridor; the only sounds were those of Xim's sporadic wheezing, the occasional, scuffing of Azora's boots on the stone floor, and the rustling of her heavy cloak.

They pa.s.sed several side pa.s.sages and doors, but Xim kept to the main corridor, turning only a few times. The strange arachnid knew the way well; not for a moment did he hesitate as they went deep into the stronghold. The Mutare priestess carefully memorized each turn they made, creating a mental map of their route.

One section of corridor looked much like another. The decor was unremarkable; it consisted of almost perfectly symmetrical brickwork.

Large, square blocks of dark stone had been laid evenly in unending rows along the floor and walls. No torches, tapestries, or rugs adorned the halls; the place was as bare as it was gloomy. Nearly every door she pa.s.sed by was made of iron, fas.h.i.+oned in strange but repet.i.tious patterns.

Azora wondered what forgotten secrets lay behind the closed doors, but she did not stop to satisfy her curiosity. She had taken a liking to the stronghold. She could sense its brooding evil, as if the very bricks were imbued with hostile intelligence. She mused as she walked, realizing that this would be a fitting place to enact her schemes.

Skauraul's influence had stretched from here to faraway lands in all directions; her power would soon be greater than his ever had been. She was eager to unearth the powerful, hidden knowledge lying within the dusty rooms of Skauraul's tower.

"Sssoon, soon," crooned Xim, as if he could read her thoughts. "Nearly there, she is, yes! Seen lib-bary, been there. Yes, yes," he bubbled as he crept along the corridor. "Soon, up long ssstair must we go, up-up-up!"

They had slowly been moving upward all along, Azora knew. She could feel the incline of the corridor, but could not tell precisely how far they had ascended. The way had gradually curved around and doubled back at least a dozen times'. The doors and walls were in increasingly better condition as they went higher and higher. The sensation of evil heightened as well, until she could feel its comforting presence all around her. There was something else here, too... a new presence, more forceful, but hostile. She wondered what it was.

Xim halted several feet before her, where the corridor came to an abrupt end. Before them was a spiral staircase of black iron, rising beyond the range of even her eyesight. A thick iron column, carved in painstaking detail, supported solid metal steps that wound about it.

The steps were narrow, with no rails.

"Ssst... long stair," Xim sputtered. "Up must she go. Yes, yes, up. At top is what she seek!"

Still distrustful of the strange spider, Azora followed it cautiously to the base of the winding stair. She was prepared to deal harshly with any treachery the little runt might attempt. At the present time, though, she was willing to risk following it. Earlier, before the translocation, she had tried using her Augur to peer within the stronghold, to see what secrets it held. Her Augur had failed to penetrate the walls. Again and again she had tried, but the Augur had stubbornly refused to focus for her. Obviously, some potent spell of Skauraul's, cast upon the tower long ago, was interfering.

No matter, she reflected, setting aside her misgivings about Xim as she reached the bottom step. After Xim led her to Skauraul's store of wisdom, she would beat the little multilegged runt to an oozing green pulp and feed the dripping carca.s.s to its "friends" in the antechamber below.

Spurred on by the image of the hairy spiders devouring Xim's pulped remains, Azora began the long walk up the serpentine iron staircase's countless steps.

Thirteen.

Targol ------.

Madesus heard the air rus.h.i.+ng past Kailash's blade as it hurtled toward him. Its keen edge sliced through his robes but missed his side by a fraction, biting into his leather sack instead. The sack's contents spilled forth in a jumble of crushed jars and smashed phials as the blade snagged into its metal hasp. Kailash tugged at it, temporarily blocking Conan's path.

The priest rolled to one side, hoping to rush for the door. His speed was no match for the Cimmerian's. As Kailash snarled and wrenched his blade free, Conan jumped forward to cut Madesus off. Both the hillman and the barbarian acted mechanically; they did not speak, and their eyes were glazed with madness. The demon's mesmerizing voice held them like puppets on a string. Madesus drew in his breath, preparing for the sword-thrust that would most likely end his life. He raised up his amulet, chanting rapidly, hoping he was not too late.

All three men froze in place as something in the doorway caught their attention. Even Balberoth's voice died on his bone-white lips. The shards of the bronze doors were rising from the floor, and the remaining pieces had detached themselves from the frame. Metal twisted and s.h.i.+fted before their eyes, changing into an increasingly familiar shape, and eventually melded into a single form. Before them stood a giant in bronze, with a profile similar to that of a human male, but crudely shaped and oddly proportioned, as if hastily chiseled from stone by some drunken sculptor.

The giant was over nine feet tall. Yellow-orange flames flickered in his eye sockets. He raised a bronze hand bigger than Conan's head and extended it toward the three men. He held the hand up, unbending the fingers slowly. Angular bronze lips parted, revealing teeth of red fire and a tongue of yellow-orange flame. A single word issued from this furnace-like orifice.

"STOP." The syllable boomed out like a searing blast of hot, desert wind, bringing beads of sweat to the faces of the three awestruck onlookers. Balberoth squinted and blinked, but said nothing.

The bronze giant took one stride forward into the room, his huge, squarish feet chipping the hard stone floor. Slowly his mouth opened and he spoke again. "I AM TARGOL."

Balberoth spared a quick glance at Madesus, then spoke to Conan and Kailash with apparent desperation. "Attack, fools! This is some trick of the priest, who would destroy thee with his treachery! Strike the priest down and this apparition will vanis.h.!.+"

Kailash shook himself and took a step toward Madesus, swinging his sword savagely. With incredible speed for his size, the bronze giant caught the blade in his left hand, wrenching it from the hillman's grasp. That powerful hand crumpled and twisted the weapon as if it were a piece of straw. Expertly forged, hardened Nemedian steel was no match for Targol's awesome strength. The mangled blade fell to the floor with an echoing metallic clank.

The giant's fiery gaze fixed on Balberoth. "YOU HAVE DEFILED TARGOL'S TEMPLE. YOU WILL CEASE TO EXIST." The words issued slowly from the mouth of fire, reverberating in the room. As they echoed, Balberoth burst into flames. The demon screamed as he was consumed in a column of smokeless, red-orange fire. When the screams and the fire died out, nothing remained of Balberoth but a small, greasy blue smear on the chamber floor.

Conan's mind cleared immediately, and he shook his head as if waking from a disorienting dream. He stared wide-eyed at the creature of bronze that stood before them, its eyes of flame flickering in the darkness. After a long pause, he found his voice. "Well done, Madesus!

Your amulet is powerful indeed! Why did you not summon up this giant earlier?"

Madesus said nothing in response. He continued to gape at the bronze t.i.tan in fascination, as if he had not even heard Conan speak.

Eventually his answer to the Cimmerian came out in a cracked whisper.

"My amulet has no such power. We stand before Targol himself!"

Kailash fell to his knees, turning away from the giant's face. Conan shuddered with superst.i.tious dread, glad that Balberoth was gone, but wondering if Targol would do away with them next. Madesus looked as if he was about to say something, when the misshapen giant spoke again.

"LEAVE THIS PLACE IN PEACE. TARGOL HAS NO QUARREL WITH YOU.".

Madesus cleared his throat nervously. "My companions and I thank you, mighty Targol. We will do as you say. But if I may ask, have you destroyed the Mutare priestess, or only the demon she summoned?"

Madesus's voice sounded small and faint in comparison to Targol's.

Conan and Kailash looked at him as if he had gone mad. Targol simply stood there, his fiery mouth still open, ignoring the priest's question. After a long, silent pause, his deep voice thundered again.

"SHE HAS FLED TO THE SHAN-E-SORKH. SHE IS OF NO CONCERN TO TARGOL. YOU.

WILL LEAVE THIS PLACE. COME BACK NO MORE.".

Conan and Kailash needed no further urging. As they fled the room, the hillman glanced wistfully at the remains of his sword, lying on the floor beside the giant's feet. Conan clapped a huge hand on Madesus's shoulder, propelling him toward the doorway. The bronze effigy stood aside, letting them pa.s.s through the doors. The corridor's macabre red carpeting m.u.f.fled the sound of their footsteps. Madesus looked over his shoulder for a final glimpse of Targol, but all he saw was the bronze door, no longer in pieces on the floor. It shut behind them, looking exactly as it had when they had first seen it. The priest shook his head and hastened to catch up with his companions.

They slowed to a half-run without speaking among themselves, quickly reaching the steep stone stairway leading into the auditorium above.

Conan went up first, climbing out into the huge chamber. Minutes later, all three stood in the temple, looking around. Conan observed that the bronze backs he had torn from the benches were back in place, as were the bronze handles on the back of the temple doors. However, the temple doors were no longer closed. They were wide open, beckoning them to leave.

Outside, the afternoon sky was bright, though none of the sun's rays shone directly through the open doors. When the last of them had stepped through, the doors slid shut with a resounding crash. Startled, they jumped at the sound. The Cimmerian breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be out of the strange temple. Kailash immediately fired questions at Madesus, wanting to know more about Targol and Balberoth.

"Why did he destroy the demon, yet spare us?" the hillman asked, still confused by the giant's actions. "Conan did more damage to the temple than Balberoth did!"

"There is ancient enmity between Targol and the Demon Lords," the priest replied absently. "Yog, a Demon Lord wors.h.i.+ped by the people of Darfar, was Targol's worst enemy of old. Yog was a fierce demon of the Elder Night; some say the most powerful. In Zamboula, where the wors.h.i.+p of Yog became most popular, the Yoggite hierarch tried to drive all other religions out of the area. Several centuries ago, on one b.l.o.o.d.y night, the priests of Targol were captured and marched to a pit of Yog, where their hearts were cut out and eaten by the Yoggites in a sacrificial ceremony. Stories are still told of that grim ritual of butchery, when the moonlight glinted redly as hundreds were slaughtered, filling the pit with blood.