Seeing his weapon entrapped in the corpse of their comrade, the last two soldiers advanced toward Conan from their position at the dock's end. As they moved to attack him from two sides, the Cimmerian acted.

Gripping his hilt with both hands, the barbarian hoisted the dead man bodily over his head and hurled him off of his sword with a convulsive heave of his mighty shoulders. The torn corpse flopped on the stone at the soldiers' feet.

"Come join him in h.e.l.l," snarled Conan in Stygian, his eyes aflame with unfettered bloodl.u.s.t.

The soldiers were of two minds about this. The stout soldier on the left leapt over the b.l.o.o.d.y body of his fellow and engaged Conan, while his more gangly companion hesitated a moment before dodging around the combatants and sprinting away down the dock. If the fighter was dismayed by his erstwhile comrade's desertion, he didn't show it. He carried the fight to the barbarian, sending a whistling series of expertly aimed blows at the Cimmerian's head and torso. The strident clangor of steel on steel rang out over the calm river. Their blades flickered and clashed in a dire but elegant dance of death. The Stygian rallied, driving Conan back among the scattered packs with a flurry of skillful cuts and slashes. The heel of the barbarian's boot trod upon the corner of a saddlebag, and he staggered, seeming to lose his balance. His arms shot out to steady himself, and his foe lunged in.

The stumble was a ruse. Conan abruptly dropped to one knee and brought his blade forward point-first. The Stygian's killing thrust drove him directly onto Conan's sword. The man was transfixed, his own blade pa.s.sing harmlessly beside the barbarian's head.

For a suspended instant the tableau held; then the impaled soldier dropped his sword to clatter loudly on the stone, and Conan sensed movement behind him. Wrenching his weapon free of the, falling body, Conan spun about to see the Stygian captain advancing upon him with a small crossbow held c.o.c.ked in shaking hands.

"Are you a demon?" choked the ashen-faced officer. "A bolt from my crossbow will send you back, to h.e.l.l!"

As his fingers tightened on the crossbow's trigger, Conan dove headlong to the side, rolling over packs and saddlebags and sliding into a crouch.

But the captain had not fired. He pointed the crossbow steadily at the Cimmerian's breast. The barbarian's fingers sank into the cool leather of a waterskin. He gripped it, his mind in a split-second debate as to whether he should shield himself with the waterskin or hurl it at his foe.

"You're d.a.m.ned fast," said the officer, "but now-"

The Stygian's head shot from his shoulders on a jet of liquid scarlet.

It sailed through the summer air like a child's thrown ball, falling into the Styx with a hollow splash. The headless body stood in place for a moment, then collapsed bonelessly. Heng Shih stood behind the corpse. Bending ponderously, he wiped his flare-bladed scimitar upon the captain's silken breeches.

Conan shoved himself to his feet and pointed down the length of the dock with his dripping sword.

"That one escapes," he said grimly.

The gangly soldier who had fled from Conan was now mounted upon one of the camels at the base of the dock. He turned a white face to the men standing among the sprawled bodies of his fallen companions.

"You are already dead!" he shouted in a shrill voice. "I will lead the king's men to you no matter where you hide! I'll see you dead!" His voice broke as Conan suddenly advanced down the dock. Wheeling his camel around, the soldier drove the beast forward and away. The ungainly creature broke into a gallop, pa.s.sing both Lady Zelandra and Neesa upon the waterfront's stone boulevard.

As the camel and its rider hurtled toward the bazaar, Neesa turned smoothly, watching them go by. With supple grace she pulled the knife from her nape sheath and drew her arm back as though c.o.c.king it.

Conan's lips grew tight as the rider moved swiftly away from the woman.

Precious seconds fled, and Neesa stood motionless. Then her body uncoiled, sending the knife flying after the Stygian. It struck square between the man's shoulder blades.

The soldier slouched lifeless over the neck of his mount. The camel slowed to a trot, then a walk, and then stopped altogether. The man's limp body fell to the pavement, where his mount sniffed at it indifferently.

Temoten was crouched cowering on the carven stone stair. His mouth opened and closed several times before words issued forth.

"Ishtar, Ashtoreth, Mitra, and Set! I have never seen such things in all my life!" He stared at Conan as though the barbarian had sprouted antlers. "Where did you learn to fight like that? Who is this woman who can hurl a dagger so? Who in nine h.e.l.ls are you people?"

Conan cleaned his blade and sheathed it.

"Be silent, Temoten, else I shall wish I had let the headsman finish his job."

"Yes, yes," sputtered the ferryman. "I thank you."

A small crowd was gathering at the base of the dock. From their midst came Lady Zelandra, her n.o.ble face dark with fury. Heng Shih ran a hand over his bald pate and became interested in the setting sun.

"You great idiots! Now we shall have to fight the entire Stygian army!"

"I doubt it," said Conan easily. "I'm surprised that there were this many soldiers in town. And I couldn't let them behead Temoten and steal our gear, could I?" Zelandra's anger did not abate.

"And how shall we deal with these people?" She waved a hand toward the burgeoning crowd. "Shall we kill them, too?"

"We need not deal with them at all. The soldiers have kindly left us their camels. We shall be gone before the good people of Bel-Phar decide if they wish to fight us or not. Come, let us load our packs onto our new mounts. Temoten, you should get the h.e.l.l out of here."

The ferryman hurriedly cast off his line and leapt from the dock without another word. Using one of the poles, he pushed his ferry into the river and then poled out beyond the shallows. As the four looked on, his sail unfurled and caught the wind with a resounding snap.

Neesa led back the camel whose rider she had slain, and the party busied itself loading their gear onto the uncooperative beasts. The crowd grew larger, some men even venturing down the dock to examine the bodies, but no one hindered the imminent departure of the travelers.

The soldiers did not seem to have been popular men. When Conan and his comrades rode out of Bel-Phar, the crowd parted to let them pa.s.s. The Cimmerian saw curious faces and fearful faces, but none who threatened to bar his pa.s.sage.

As they rode free of the town's stone foundation out onto the arid soil of Stygia, Conan turned in his saddle and looked back across the Styx.

The sail of Temoten's ferry was a small, sable silhouette moving against the purple breast of the evening sky. For a long moment, Conan watched it surging away, then turned back to the road that lay ahead.

Chapter Nineteen.

Ethram-Fal and his captain, Ath, rode down from highlands of stone into a measureless desert of sand and gravel. They led eight riderless camels through an oppressive haze of heat. The unrelenting sun blasted the landscape with a merciless glare, hammering the crumbling soil so that waves of dizzying heat were reflected up from the ground to meet those falling from the sky.

The jagged saw-teeth of the Dragon's Spine lay against the horizon behind them. From the rugged, rocky crests of the highland ridges, the land descended gradually in an irregular series of broken foothills and canyon-cracked plateaus until it opened out into level desert.

The pair rode in silence. Ath wore full armor beneath a flowing white cloak but seemed to take little notice of the heat. Ethram-Fal wore a baggy, hooded caftan that was far too large for his stunted body. Every few moments, with mechanical regularity, he brought a goatskin full of watered wine and Emerald Lotus powder to his lips and drank.

As the white sun hove past its apogee in the colorless dome of the sky, the crusted gravel beneath their camels' hooves slowly gave way to rolling dunes of ochre sand. The flowing dunes reached to the shimmering horizon, seeming to stretch to the rim of the world. Only an occasional outcrop of ruddy stone, carved cruelly by erosion, broke the monotony of the vast sea of sand.

It was well into the afternoon when the sorcerer and his soldier crested a ma.s.sive dune and looked down its long slope at a sight to give a traveler joy. An oasis lay upon the naked desert like a bright broach of emerald and turquoise pinned to the breast of a withered mummy. A cl.u.s.ter of vegetation, impossibly vivid against the sand, surrounded a pool struck radiant by the sun.

"There," said Ath needlessly, lifting a long arm to point. Ethram-Fal merely nodded and urged his camel on.

Only hardy scrub clung to the outer boundaries of the oasis, but close to the pool the growth was lush and plentiful. A tall date palm stood beside the water. At the base of its trunk lay the tattered remnants of a simple lean-to, left behind by some traveler.

The two men rode to the pool's edge and dismounted, falling to their bellies to drink the warm, clear water. Ath finished his drink, splashed his face and went to work. A set of four large ceramic water jugs was strapped across the back of each camel. Ath began filling them one at a time, wading out into the pool to submerge the jug and then climbing out to refasten it to a camel's saddle. Ethram-Fal sat cross-legged in the shade of a date palm and watched.

"Ath," he said after a time, "I have been so absorbed in my researches that I have seen little of the men. Do they grow lax from inactivity?"

"No, milord," panted Ath, hoisting a heavy-laden jug from the pool. "I drill them three times each day in the courtyard, and they entertain themselves sparring with one another or hunting the rest of the day."

Rills of water ran along the captain's arms as he tied the full jug into place upon the disgruntled animal, who shifted unhappily beneath the added weight.

"They hunt? What is there to hunt?"

"Tiny antelope, milord. The men have only caught one and now place bets as to who shall catch the next."

Ethram-Fal scowled in resentment. "If they catch another, I want a portion of its flesh. Fresh meat would be much superior to our tedious provisions."

Ath waded back into the pool, relishing the flow of water over his skin. "Yes, milord." The next jug bubbled as it filled.

"So their morale is good?" The sorcerer drank from his wineskin and gave a barely perceptible shudder. Ath hesitated a moment before replying.

"There were some complaints when you forbade torches within the palace, and the gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s of light that you gave us to take their place made some of the men nervous."