His feet found the paving stones, and he squatted against the wall to get his bearings. Scattered lamps, brass serpents with wicks burning in their mouths, cast occasional pools of light within the fortress. The heavy iron-strapped gates letting into the inner bailey stood open, and apparently unguarded. But that would be a dangerous assumption to make. He was choosing a spot to scale the inner rampart when a movement caught his eye.
From the shadows to his left down the wall a man darted across the bailey. As he passed through the meager light cast by a serpent lamp Conan recognized Talbor. So the man was not waiting to find his two coppers to steal. The Cimmerian only hoped the other raised no alarm to make his own task more difficult. Talbor ran straight to the open gate into the inner bailey and passed through.
Conan forced himself to wait. If Talbor was taken it would be no time for him to be halfway up the inner wall. No alarm was raised. Still he waited, and still there was no sound.
The Cimmerian uncoiled from his crouch and walked across the bailey, carefully avoiding the sparse pools of light from the serpent lamps. If glimpsed, he would be no more than another moving shadow, and it was rapid motion that drew the eye at night. He slowed, examining the gateway carefully. The guardpost was empty.
He went through the gate at the same slow walk and crossed the inner bailey. From the walls behind he could hear the tread of sentries’ boots, their pace unchanging.
As he approached the huge cube of the donjon he chose his entry point. Best, because highest, would have been the single black tower that rose into the darkness at one corner, but he had seen in the daylight that whatever mason had constructed it had been a master. He had been able to detect no slightest crack between the carefully fitted stones. It reminded him uncomfortably of the Elephant Tower of the necromancer Yara, though that had glittered even in the dark where this seemed one with the night.
The walls of the donjon itself presented no such problem, though, and he quickly found himself squeezing with difficulty through an overly broad arrowslit on the top level. Once inside he swiftly drew his sword. A single oil lamp on the wall was lit; he began to examine his surroundings.
The purpose of the room he could not fathom. Its only furnishing, other than tapestries on the walls, seemed to be a single high-backed chair of carved ivory set before a gameboard, one hundred squares of alternating colors set in the floor. Pieces in the shapes of bizarre animals, each as high as his knee, were scattered about the board. He hefted one, and grunted in surprise. He had thought it gilded, but from its weight it had to be of solid gold. Could he depart with two or three of those, he would have no need of the pendants. Even one might do.
Regretfully he set the piece, a snarling, winged ape-creature, back on the board. He must yet find Velita, and to attempt to do so burdened with that weight would be madness. With great care he cracked the door. The marble-walled hall was brightly lit by silver lamps. And empty. He slipped out.
As he moved along that corridor, its floor red-and-white marble lozenges in an intricate pattern, he realized that he moved through a strange silence. He had entered many great houses and palaces in the dead of night, and always there was some sound, however slight. Now he could have moved through a tomb in which no thing breathed. Indeed, as he cautiously examined room after room he saw no living thing. No S’tarra. No human servant. No Velita. He hurried his pace, and went down curving alabaster stairs to the next floor.
Through two more floors he searched, and the opulence he saw paled the golden figures to insignificance. A silver statue of a woman with sapphires for eyes, rubies for nipples and pearls for the nails of her fingers. A table encrusted with diamonds and emeralds till it cast back the light of silver lamps a hundredfold. A golden throne set with a king’s ransom in black opals.
And then he was peering into a room, plain beside the others for merely being paneled in amber and ivory, peering at a pair of rounded female buttocks. Their owner knelt, naked, with her back to the door and her face pressed to the floor. The muscular youth found himself smiling at the view, and sternly drew his mind back to the matter at hand. She was the first living soul he had seen, and human rather than S’tarra.
One quick stride took him to the bent form; a big hand clasped over her mouth lifted her from the floor. And he was staring into Velita’s large, liquid brown eyes.
“Come, girl,” he said, loosing his hold, “I was beginning to think I’d never find you.”
She threw her arms around him, pressing her soft breasts against his broad chest. “Conan! You did come. I never really believed, though I hoped and prayed. But it’s too late. You must go away before Amanar returns.” A shudder went through her slim form as she said the name.
“I swore to free you, didn’t I?” he said gruffly. “Why are you kneeling here like this? I’ve seen no one else at all, neither S’tarra nor human.”
“S’tarra are not allowed in the donjon when Amanar isn’t here, and humans are locked in their quarters unless he desires them.” She tilted her head up, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t betray you, Conan. Not even when Sitha whipped me. I would not tell Amanar who you are.”
“It’s over, Velita,” he said.
She seemed not to hear. Tears trembled on her long lashes. “He became enraged. For my punishment several times a day, without warning, I am commanded to come to this room and kneel until I am told to leave. When I hear footsteps I never know if I am to be sent back to my mat, or if it is Amanar. Sometimes he merely stands, listening to me weep. I hate him for making me fear him so, and I hate myself for weeping, but I can’t help it. Sometimes he beats me while I kneel, and if I move the punishment begins again.”
“I’ll kill him,” Conan vowed grimly. “This I swear to you on pain of my life. Come, we’ll find the pendants, and I’ll take you away this night.”
The lithesome naked girl shook her small head firmly. “I cannot go, Conan. I am spell-caught.”
“Spell-caught!”
“Yes. Once I tried to escape, and my feet carried me to Amanar. Against
my will I found myself telling him what I intended. Another time I tried to kill myself, but when the dagger point touched my breast my arms became like iron. I could not move them, even to set the knife down. When they found me Amanar made me beg before he would free me.”
“There must be a way. I could carry you away.” But he saw the flaw in that even as she laughed sadly.
“Am I to remain bound the rest of my life for fear of returning to his place? I don’t know why I even tried to take my life,” she sighed heavily. “I’m sure Amanar will kill me soon. Only Susa and I remain. The others have disappeared.”
The big Cimmerian nodded. “Mages are not easily killed—this I know for truth—but once dead their spells die with them. Amanar’s death will free you.”
“Best you take the pendants and go,” she said. “I can tell you where they are. Four are in the jeweled casket, in a room I can show you. The fifth, the one I wore, is in the chamber where he works his magics.” She frowned and shook her head. “The others he tossed aside like offal. That one he wrapped in silk and laid in a crystal coffer.”
The memory of the stone came back to Conan. A black oval the length of his finger joint, with red flecks that danced within. Suddenly he seized Velita’s arms so hard that she cried out. “His eyes,” he said urgently. “That stone is like his eyes. In some way it is linked to him. He’ll free you rather than have it destroyed. We’ll go down to his thaumaturgical chamber—”
“Down? His chamber is in the top of the tower above us. Please release me, Conan. My arms are growing numb.”