Nath mechanically drew and loosed another arrow, which found its mark beside the first. The rider was jolted once again, but remained in the saddle as the horse came to within a dozen paces and slowed to a halt.

"G.o.ds," breathed Neb-Khot, "what manner of man have we slain?"

Putting his bow back over a shoulder, Nath drew his scimitar and spurred forward, cautiously approaching the horseman.

Seen up close, the horse was in terrible condition. White foam dripped from slack jaws while its sides heaved in the last extremity of exhaustion. Spurs had torn b.l.o.o.d.y marks in its flanks and its legs quivered unsteadily beneath the weight of its rider. The man's appearance was obscured by his dust-caked caftan, which was nailed to his broad chest by Nath's arrows. He sat his mount with the breathless silence of the dead.

Nath's horse snorted suddenly, but the Shemite jerked at the reins, pulling it up beside the lifeless rider. The archer poked at the horseman with the point of his scimitar, thinking to shove him from the saddle.

The dead man's hand knocked aside Nath's blade and swung back around in an arc of incredible speed. A fist like the head of a mace cracked into the side of Nath's skull, bowling him off of his horse and sending him sprawling unconscious in the dust.

The horseman swung a leg over his saddle and dismounted. Neb-Khot drew his sword without thinking. Then he was struck motionless, his limbs seeming to lock up in helpless horror. The rider had caught the reins of Nath's horse with one hand and was drawing one of the arrows out of his chest with the other. The shaft came out slowly and with a thick, grating rasp, as though it were being pulled from a wooden beam afflicted with dry rot. Bloodlessly, the arrow was removed and discarded. When the rider grasped at the second arrow, Neb-Khot's reason broke.

"Die, demon!" The Stygian chieftain stumbled forward, bringing his sword down in an overhand cut that should have cleft the crown of the rider's head. But his twisted ankle gave way beneath his weight even as the horseman sidestepped the attack. Neb-Khot fell awkwardly on the road, gravel scoring his palms as he caught himself.

There was no time to recover, to strike upward at his nemesis, or even to roll away. A knee came down solidly in the middle of Neb-Khot's back. A cold hand locked onto each shoulder, iron fingers sinking into his flesh. Struggling, the Stygian was bent backwards with monstrous, irresistible strength.

Gulbanda spoke a single word, then snapped Neb-Khot's spine.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Zelandra's band of travelers traversed the waste beneath a molten sun.

Conan led them unerringly across the desert's level floor, over red earth baked by centuries of ceaseless heat until it was the consistency of brick. As the long miles pa.s.sed, the stony solidity of the soil gave way to crumbling gravel, and then to shifting sand.

The party crested a low rise, and drew to a halt at the Cimmerian's command. Ahead stretched an ocean of rolling dunes, a seemingly endless expanse of ochre sand that reached for the shimmering horizon, raked by the sunlight of late morning and dappled by black shadow. A single band of cloud, burnt transparent by the sun, moved upon the blank blue slate of the sky. "Here the true desert begins," said the barbarian. "Any sane caravan would traverse the dune sea only at night, but we are in haste and have no time for comforts. Drink sparingly. I doubt I'll be able to find another source of water until we've crossed the dunes and reached the highlands."

Zelandra bent in her saddle, digging a hand into her baggage. The sorceress produced a worn tube of pale leather, from which she drew a roll of yellowed parchment. Thrusting the tube beneath an arm, Zelandra unrolled the scroll for Conan to see.

"This is an ancient map of this part of Stygia," she explained. "I found it before we left. It dates back to the days of Old Stygia, and shows the city of Pteion and its environs. I doubt that the map will be of much use, but I noticed that it depicted an oasis near the eastern highlands. Do you think it might still be there, Conan?"

The barbarian squinted at the map, lifting a thick forearm to shade his eyes. "It may be. I have heard of an old oasis in the dune sea, though not from anyone who claimed to have seen it with his own eyes. This part of the world is wisely avoided by most. Only men who wish to travel in secrecy cross these sands." Conan nudged his camel forward, and the travelers started down the gentle slope into the dunes.

Neesa pulled her hood over her tousled locks and said, "Do the caravans fear becoming lost amid the trackless sand? Traveling by night, as you say, could they not steer by the stars?"

"They fear losing their way, as they fear the heat and the absence of water, but they also fear the slumbering sorcery of the dead city of Pteion. These sands are said to be accursed."

"We are not going near Pteion," put in Zelandra. "We shall skirt its evil rains by many miles. Your barbaric superst.i.tions do you little credit, Conan. These sands are no more accursed than the gra.s.sy hills of Shem."

The Cimmerian made no reply. His blue eyes smoldered against his bronzed face as he scanned the horizon uneasily.

As the party rode into the sea of sand, the sun lifted into the sky and seemed to halt there, suspended in the heavens like a torch in a sconce. The camels labored over the dunes steadily, if unenthusiastically, occasionally snorting and moaning their distaste for the task.

Neesa followed Conan's example and draped herself in her cloak so that not an inch of skin was exposed to the merciless sun. Closing her eyes against the glare, she settled back in the swaying saddle and tried to doze. Between the movement of the camel and the steady creaking of her gear, she could almost imagine herself back on the deck of Temoten's ferry. A cry from Zelandra snapped the scribe back into full awareness.

"Look there! Is that not a palm?" The sorceress stood in her stirrups at the crest of a tall dune. "Conan, is that our oasis?"

The barbarian pulled at his mount's reins, urging the camel up the dune's face until he was at Zelandra's side. Heng Shih pointed to the southeast, where a fleck of emerald glimmered in the haze of heat.

"It looks like it," agreed Conan, "though it is nowhere near where it is shown on your map."

Zelandra's high brows knitted in impatience. "Well, one could hardly expect the oasis to be in exactly the same position after the pa.s.sage of so many centuries. Let us go fill our waterskins and lounge in the shade for a time. It will do us all good."

The Cimmerian said nothing, and the travelers turned from their trail.

The distant palms beckoned, wavering like a green flame on the face of the desert. Conan watched the palms draw nearer, coming into view as his camel slogged up a dune, then dropping from sight as his mount descended into the valleys between each hill of sand. Unlike his civilized companions, the barbarian had never learned to distrust or disregard his instincts. He was troubled by a vague and creeping unease.

The terrain altered as the party proceeded. The dunes flattened, and the sand became a hardened skin that crunched beneath their camels'

feet! Conan stared at the oasis, now close enough for him to discern lazily swaying palms and the thick cl.u.s.ter of ground vegetation that marked the location of the waterhole. His nostrils flared.

"Something is amiss," said the barbarian. "The oasis appears green, yet I smell no water."

"For the love of Ishtar, Conan, would you attempt to contain your barbarian superst.i.tions?" Zelandra sounded exasperated. "Pteion is many miles away. This oasis is a blessing that we shall not overlook. We..."

A wave of beat rolled over the travelers. Though the sky was clear, the sun brightened as if it had emerged from behind a thick wall of clouds.

Ahead, the oasis blurred like a waking dream, its outlines softening in the harsh glare. The brightness made Conan squint and look down. He saw that he rode over a hardened surface of solidified sand. The sculpted dunes had flattened into an uneven plain of fused gla.s.s. The ground resembled the congealed bottom of a gla.s.s-blower's forge. Conan jerked his camel to a halt, looked up, and saw that the oasis had vanished.

Where the palms and brush had been was now a stout, flat-topped cone of dark stone, standing almost as tall as a man. Its deep gray hue contrasted sharply with the ochre tones of the desert. The sands around the cone were frozen in concentric whorls of fused gla.s.s. It sat at the center of a mile-wide spiral of seared sand, like a gray spider in a web of brittle stone. The earth around it was strewn with dark debris.

A sheet of white fire rippled across the sky, and a cry went up from the party. The camels bellowed and stumbled as the air itself seemed to turn to flame. Conan dismounted, seizing the reins of his reeling mount, and pulled away from the false oasis.

"Come away!" he roared. "Sorcery!"

The heat intensified incredibly, dazzling their eyes and searing their skin. Heng Shih and Neesa could not control their mounts. The camels reared and staggered, with their riders pulling at the reins in vain.

Conan saw Zelandra jump awkwardly from her saddle and fall, rolling on the ground beside her camel's stamping feet.

"Dismount!" bellowed the barbarian. "Leave the camels and flee or we'll be cooked in our skins!" Neesa and Heng Shih tried to obey as Zelandra scrambled away from her frenzied mount. Conan moved to help her. h.e.l.l seemed to swallow them all.

Blinding white fire filled the air. Breathing scorched the lips and tongue. The Cimmerian reached for Zelandra, and saw the sleeve of his burnoose was smoldering along the full length of his arm. Blisters sprang up on the back of his exposed hand.

"No!" shouted the sorceress, "Stand away from me!" Conan stepped back, and Zelandra knelt, lifting her hands to the incandescent sky.

"Dar-Asthkoth la Ithaqua!" her voice wailed. "Brykal Ithaqua Ftagn!"

The sky immediately lost much of its brilliance, and the heat waned.

Conan threw back the hood of his burnoose and looked about wildly. The acrid stench of burnt cloth filled the hot, still air. Heng Shih had been hurled from his camel's back. He rose from all fours, and limped to the side of his mistress. The Khitan drew his scimitar, as if his blade might protect Zelandra from the unnatural heat. Neesa had stayed in her saddle and succeeded in calming her mount, while the remainder of the camels milled about in a state of near panic.

Above the beleaguered party arced a translucent dome of azure light.

The Lady Zelandra raised her palms to it, as though holding it aloft.

Her breath came in short, harsh gasps. Outside the dome's circ.u.mference, the air blazed with rippling fire. The ominous cone of gray stone wavered in and out of visibility.

"What in the name of the G.o.ds is happening?" cried Neesa. She swung her long legs over her saddle and dismounted, hastening to Conan's side.

The barbarian brushed roughly at the smoking hem of her cloak, extinguishing the embers glowing there.

"Some sort of sorcerous sentinel," he rumbled, "trying to burn us to death like insects under a gla.s.s. It's a good thing that Zelandra made quick use of her power, else we might all be piles of smoking bone by now."

"Is it a weapon of Ethram-Fal's?" asked the scribe.