Conan the Outcast Read online

  " 'Tis done as decreed; two bold kisses for two bold heroes,” Queen Regula was saying— though the blush that suffused her features suggested that the outcome was far from what she had decreed or expected. "True, the one called Conan is an outlander, and not a communicant of the temple—” as Regula glanced down at him with eyes that hinted disdain and a little fear, Conan gathered that her priestess’s mind was racing for explanations. "But clearly he has been singled out for special favour by the Goddess, acting through her sacred delegate, Princess Afriandra.”

  Indeed the princess, returning to her elevated seat, looked pale and breathless enough to have been recently possessed by a goddess. Now she avoided Conan’s eyes along with everyone else’s.

  "So, in view of this highly beneficent omen, it is my duty to welcome the stranger Conan into the bosom of Saditha’s temple, and confer on him all privileges thereto, as an honorary Qjaran.”

  The queen’s glossings and explanations could themselves have been divinely inspired, Conan thought. Her words seemed to meet acceptance and satisfy the crowd—except for one sharp, strident voice: Zaius's, as he strode before the dais and appealed to the king.

  "How can a ragged infidel be honoured before the realm as I am—nay, more even than I! This outlander is unclean—a blight, a smudge on the honour of battle and the purity of the temple! Reward him for his unsought help, by all means, your Majesty, but do not exalt him! Cast him out quickly, before his rank savagery takes root in our city, among our youth!”

  "Zaius!” Conan rasped angrily as he tried to push past the temple warriors who now protected their leader.

  "Nay, look at him,” the champion raged on. "He is an animal, worse than the nomads he slew, lacking the first rudiment of how to behave in a civilized land! He might make a manageable servant someday, like a wild mountain ape—if some wise master were to pluck out his teeth, his nails and his private parts, and school him to obedience with a whip! Short of that, he can be nothing but a threat to order and decency—”

  "Zaius!” Conan, hurling temple warriors to either side, confronted his nemesis. "I respect the ways of your city enough not to gut you here and now!” His hand clutched reflexively toward his knife, though he did not grasp it. "But I challenge you, Zaius, as before! Listen, all,” he said, looking around.

  "If I am now favoured of the temple, with all the sacred privileges of your countrymen—why, the only privilege I claim is to slit this vile buffoon’s slandering gullet! For life and honour, before the Goddess, I call on you!" At Conan's use of the ritual words, gasps and exclamations issued from the crowd nearby. There was no longer any doubt that the challenge had been heard.

  Sneering back at the target of his contempt, Zaius gave his answer. "Very well, then, before the Goddess—for your life, and for Qjara’s honour!” He looked out at the crowd with a supercilious smile. "If it enables me to end your noxious life, without making my sword and the. arm that wields it unclean... why then, gladly I welcome you to the temple! One stipulation, though...” Turning back to Conan, he spoke with feigned, exaggerated politeness. "... One thing for which I must ask your very gracious indulgence.

  "In days to come there is a meeting at the highest level of leadership—” he glanced to King Semiarchos for approval before he went on "—the planned visit to our city by a foreign ruler, King Anaximander of Sark. I have been asked to take part in these high deliberations— a matter which rivals even your urgent demand on my time, outlander! If you will allow me some few days’ dispensation to meet this obligation first, before I am constrained to soil my hands with the removal of foreign rubbish—" he smiled archly around at the crowd "—why then, I am at your service!”

  Lacking suitable words, Conan spat onto the pavement at Zaius' feet—an answer which was evidently taken as affirmative.”

  " 'Tis set, then.” Queen Regula’s voice wavered slightly as she once more addressed the crowd. “A duel of heroes—for life and honour, before the Goddess!”

  VIII

  Mission to Qjara

  King Anaximander of Sark made his entry to Qjara from the south. Eldest and grandest of the city’s three portals, the Old Gate was little used since the caravan quarter and its adjoining entries were built along the river. King Semiarchos and Queen Regula, in an extraordinary gesture of welcome, rode to the city's south wall to meet their guest, driven in a bronze war-chariot by Zaius, the temple champion.

  Because they faced no danger, they took only a handful of holy warriors with them. Anaximander, for his part, had offered to enter Qjara without bodyguards. The hundred-and-a-half troopers and the camel-train that had escorted him across the desert, he ordered to camp outside in the dry grain fields. He declined his hosts’ offer of the caravan quarter or a riverside camp—to avoid, as he told the Qjaran king, any lapse of discipline. Even when apprised of the recent nomad attack, Anaximander declined graciously on his men’s behalf, explaining that they were inured to vigilance and hardship.

  The only Sarkads who accompanied Anaximander into the city were his troupe of temple dancers. This half-score of fit, comely young men and maids bore up his royal litter lightly— the more so once he alighted from it to join his hosts in their splendid conveyance.

  “Greetings from the city of Sark, its humble priest-king, and its high god Votantha,” he told his Qjaran hosts, bowing stiffly from the neck.

  “Welcome, O Brother King,” Semiarchos proclaimed. Extending a hand, he guided Anaximander down from his sedan chair into the chariot. “Blessings upon you from our city and goddess. You will ride back with us, then?— good. Here, Zaius, hand me the reins. You dismount and follow close behind. Then our honoured guest can ride in comfort with my noble wife and myself.”

  “This, then, must be the fabled queen and high priestess Regula.” Anaximander’s look was keenly evaluating. “A partner well-suited to a king as prosperous and well-loved as yourself."

  “Many thanks,” Semiarchos said, pleased.

  “Yes, thank you, O King,” the queen said, colouring only faintly. “Both in my royal office and my priestly one I exalt this historic day, and welcome you!”

  "Rightly so, for I am leader of the civil and the religious administration of Sark rolled into one.” The chariot wheeled round and got under way, jolting and jostling in the cobbled gateyard. Anaximander, obviously unused to standing in a wheeled conveyance, steadied himself with one hand on the bronze rail. “You receive me very familiarly, Semiarchos! Some kings would be insulted by such an airy, informal reception. But I am not one to let a grudge fester for long. On the contrary, I find your foreign ways most instructive. And your city—it is more prosperous than ever!”

  "You have seen Qjara before?” Queen Regula asked with interest.

  "Only in gracious dreams and visions,” the Sarkad king assured her. "I have never travelled this far north."

  The Old Gate led into the merchants’ quarter, along a boulevard lined with the stately villas of Qjara’s wealthiest families. Anaximander, standing with his royal hosts in the rumbling chariot, nodded approvingly at their grandeur and at the smiling, well-dressed citizens who waved from doorways and balconies. "Your nobles do not cower or abase themselves before you,” he said in an appraising tone. "They are open-minded, and most willing to trust a foreigner.”

  "Yes, most certainly,” Semiarchos said. "Their wish for good relations between our two cities is as fervent as Queen Regula’s and my own.”

  The way proceeded through the old marketplace—a raucous, odoriferous alley, now scrubbed and flower-decked for the momentous occasion. Near its centre, the chariot rolled past a low-curbed public fountain, in whose basin naked children splashed and frolicked while their parents waved and greeted the kings.

  “You are plentifully blessed with water,” Anaximander observed. “A watchful god looks down on you.”

  "Yes, our Goddess is generous,” Queen Regula affirmed.

  "This,” Semiarchos explained, "is one of four municipal fountains charged by
an aqueduct my father, King Demiarchos, built along the wall of the caravan quarter.”

  "Ah yes, the caravans," Anaximander said, "they follow the water. You are enriched by a good many of them too, I trust.”

  "Yes, as a rule. This year’s season may be late in starting, though. The same copious snows that fill our river bottoms still block the passes to the north.”

  "Indeed.” Anaximander smiled. "But when those caravans do wend their way southward and westward, they will find a city that is eager to welcome them, I do not doubt."

  "Yes.” Semiarchos nodded, beaming from his guest to his wife. "That is a certainty.”

  The Qjaran king, plying the reins at the centre of the chariot, was the older and more broad-chested of the two regents. His silver-grey hair and beard hinted at a lineage harking more from Corinthia in the north than from the opulent Shemitish states nearby. At his side stood Queen Regula—chestnut-haired, if one discounted the grey streaks at her temples, yet statuesque and full-featured, and fairer by far than the tall, lean Sarkad King with his oiled black curls and square-cut beard. The joining of these three royal personages seemed somehow pregnant with history, likely to generate forces that would cause vast changes in the lives of those around them.

  The street took them briefly between thronged tenements, then across a broad intersecting boulevard and through the lightly guarded and seldom-closed Trellis Gate to the Qjaran temple quarter. Just beyond the flower-draped gate spread the Agora, an open stone-paved meeting place for civil and religious gatherings, enclosed by the high, colonnaded façades of Saditha’s temple and the royal palace.

  "What a fine, spacious, royal enclave you enjoy,” Anaximander exclaimed. "How free it is of defences. and unsightly military trappings.” He gazed around admiringly as the chariot rolled forth into the plaza, which was fringed with enthusiastic onlookers. "We are now at the heart of Qjara, are we not?” the foreign king asked. "Here, just across from the splendid temple of your goddess Saditha, would be the perfect spot for our holy mission, and the shrine I would like to erect in honour of our two cities’ new-found brotherhood.

  "Shrine?” Semiarchos asked. "You mean an altar, or an idol?”

  "More of a monument, actually, to serve as a focus of our rituals.” Anaximander spoke lightly, reassuringly. "There would be no real need to erect any new buildings. The acolytes we send to you could lodge in the town—assuming, of course, that you would permit it."

  "This monument would be comely to look on, I hope,” Queen Regula ventured. "Not too austere or menacing, I mean to say...?”

  "No, no, good Queen, I assure you! In point of fact I had in mind an ornamental statue in the form of a tree. Of course, the shape has religious significance to us.” Anaximander smiled graciously at Regula, laying a hand on the shoulder of King Semiarchos as the latter guided the team past the crowds in the Agora. "One such is even now being cast by my temple artisans, from a rare and precious metal found in the southern hills. I will be happy to have it sent here, a gift from my city to yours. It would convey the true regard I have for you."

  "Anaximander, you are too generous!” Semiarchos cried. "If it is of surpassing value, then let me offer to share the cost—”

  "No, not at all, my good friend! Say no more. Whatever the cost, it will be less dear to me than the harmony between our two lands.” Anaximander clapped his host familiarly on the shoulder. "The main thing is to raise a monument to our alliance—here, in the heart of your city—to provide a locus for the followers of Votantha to worship and make sacrifice. Know you, it is the custom of our god’s devotees to offer up lavish sacrifices."

  "Well, then,” Queen Regula declared, "be sure that we shall bestow on your city an equally gracious shrine, and fine sacrifices too! Let us see to it that the cultural exchange you have so kindly proposed enriches both our realms, and not only Qjara.”

  “Gracious Queen, I am sure the benefits to my city of Sark will be great indeed.”

  As Anaximander spoke, the chariot wheeled up before the steps of the royal palace. Behind it trotted the temple warriors, followed by the brightly robed dancers who bore Anaximander’s litter. These groups halted, then proceeded after their royal masters into the palace. The colonnaded front entry of the place opened into a vestibule, where the highest dignitaries of Qjara waited to greet the visiting potentate. The very loftiest of this group, including the sword master Zaius, were then led by servants into a broader gallery. Plush divans, pillows, and tables spread with all manner of sumptuous food and drink awaited the guests’ pleasure.

  There, the two kings and the sword master were entertained by Saditha’s temple dancers, under the stern direction of Queen Regula. The young women darted and whirled about the hall to the lilting of musicians, in a manner somewhat more artistic and daring than would have been thought proper in the holy premises of the temple. The featured dancer, one Sharia, gave a surprising solo performance before the King of Sark that made his features darken in a blush, leaving the other regents laughing good-naturedly at his discomfiture.

  When the dance ended he told the company, “Truly, you Qjarans are a frank and pleasant-natured people. You are not overly afraid of giving a foreigner offence with some petty trifle. Our future dealings will be a source of great pleasure to me, I can tell, if they will allow me to repay you for this little entertainment. But now, friends—having learned from my viziers that ritual dance is an honoured form of expression in your city, as in Sark—my own dancers will perform a dance of sacred prophecy, the Marriage of Votantha!’’

  The dancers had filed into place at either side of the hall. Now, at a sharp clap of their king's hands, they sprang silently into motion, their dance paced only by the scuffing of their sandalled feet. Two of them, the fittest-looking young male and female, had borrowed swords from the guards; this was done over Zaius’s protests, but with the approval of King Semiarchos himself. These two pranced and leaped in an intricate series of moves among the other dancers, simulating a fierce battle.

  In all it was a dashing, exhilarating spectacle. It ended with a triumphant wedding march and tableau; the handsome young male and female sword bearers were united upon an altar formed of dancers’ recumbent bodies, and were worshipped in the midst of their nuptial embrace by the remaining dancers. The performance left the royal watchers in a fervour of enthusiasm.

  Queen Regula, who was openly in tears, sobbed “Beautiful... just beautiful! But tell me, O King, in a dance of such precision—how do you induce your performers to train so perfectly, to execute such fine moves without doubt or hesitation, even when they risk a wound, as they did with those whirling blades? Surely there is much I could learn from you. I could never make my dancers honour their goddess with such rigid control... pray, how do you do it?"

  Anaximander shrugged airily in reply. “It must be, fair Queen, that they know their king has a sharp eye for detail—that I am watching, and that I care deeply about the result. After all, this ritual dance has tremendous significance in the worship of our lord Votantha.” “Just what does it mean, Your Majesty?” Regula asked. “The young hero is your god Votantha, I take it—but who are his enemies, and who is the sword woman he takes to wife?” “I cannot tell you certainly,” Anaximander replied. “As I said, it is a dance of prophecy. And it foretells events among the gods, not necessarily on this earth. But if you asked me to venture a guess as to its meaning—”

  “Saditha, our goddess, is a warrior-woman,” King Semiarchos put in. “She has no male consort in our tradition—yet she is also a goddess of family life and fertility. That would imply a husband somewhere along the line—a god, I would think. Surely no mere man!”

  “That is precisely my thought,” Anaximander said, smiting the gold-leafed arm of his chair. “Perhaps the prophecy is destined to come true in our lifetime.”

  “You mean,” Queen Regula breathed, “that Saditha might marry Votantha, and in so doing, cement the alliance of our two cities in the realm of the gods! What an
inspired thought!” She cast an appreciative eye on the muscular, olive-skinned young dancer who had portrayed the sword-wielding god. Costumed for the dance in the sheepskin so favoured of wandering Shemitish prophets, he wore his fleece cap at a jaunty angle as he waited beside the slender girl who had danced the part of his bride. His beaded sword-girdle was empty now, his sandals bound high on his lithe young calves. “It would seem that your Votantha is a handsome, manly god, well-fitted to tarry with our Saditha.”

  Anaximander laughed. “Yes, ’tis so. To myself and to my temple priests Votantha is a stern law-giver, but to the common folk of the land he is beloved too as hero and fire-bringer, and even a merry trickster! I find these common themes in the traditions of many of the Shemitish gods, by the way." He scanned the others with an ingenuous look. “Without doubt such common ground exists between our cities.”

  “It certainly sounds like an interesting notion to me,” King Semiarchos mused “—providing, of course, that the One True Goddess were to send us her consent through favourable signs, as interpreted by my queen, the high priestess.” He nodded respectfully at Regula. “And you, Zaius, what think you of it? Would our goddess be well-advised to take a husband from our neighbour city?”

  “I, Your Majesty?” The temple champion, who had seemed somewhat preoccupied of late, bestirred himself from his sullen thoughts. “Thank you for seeking my opinion, Sire— yes, I was thinking there is much we could learn from this foreign faith. The introduction of a firm, masculine side to our worship could strengthen our city, and rectify certain moral problems... that is to say, it could have a freshening, invigorating effect on us all!” He turned respectfully to Queen Regula. “Not to imply, of course, that our worship of the Goddess lacks vigour.”