The Sword & Sorcery Anthology (5 page)

Conan glared about, but no other horror appeared, and he set
himself to working free of the web. The substance clung tenaciously
to his ankle and his hands, but at last he was free, and taking up his
sword, he picked his way among the grey coils and loops to the inner
door. What horrors lay within he did not know. The Cimmerian’s blood
was up and, since he had come so far and overcome so much peril,
he was determined to go through to the grim finish of the adventure,
whatever that might be. And he felt that the jewel he sought was not
among the many so carelessly strewn about the gleaming chamber.

Stripping off the loops that fouled the inner door, he found that it,
like the other, was not locked. He wondered if the soldiers below were
still unaware of his presence. Well, he was high above their heads, and
if tales were to be believed, they were used to strange noises in the
tower above them—sinister sounds, and screams of agony and horror.

Yara was on his mind, and he was not altogether comfortable as he
opened the golden door. But he saw only a flight of silver steps leading
down, dimly lighted by what means he could not ascertain. Down
these he went silently, gripping his sword. He heard no sound and
came presently to an ivory door, set with bloodstones. He listened,
but no sound came from within; only thin wisps of smoke drifted lazily
from beneath the door, bearing a curious exotic odour unfamiliar to
the Cimmerian. Below him the silver stair wound down to vanish in
the dimness, and up that shadowy well no sound floated; he had an
eerie feeling that he was alone in a tower occupied only by ghosts and
phantoms.

III

Cautiously he pressed against the ivory door, and it swung silently inward. On the shimmering threshold Conan stared like a wolf in strange surroundings, ready to fight or flee on the instant. He was looking into a large chamber with a domed golden ceiling; the walls were of green jade, the floor of ivory, partly covered with thick rugs. Smoke and exotic scent of incense floated up from a brazier on a golden tripod, and behind it sat an idol on a sort of marble couch. Conan stared aghast; the image had the body of a man, naked, and green in colour; but the head was one of nightmare and madness. Too large for the human body, it had no attributes of humanity. Conan stared at the wide flaring ears, the curling proboscis, on either side of which stood white tusks tipped with round golden balls. The eyes were closed, as if in sleep.

This then, was the reason for the name, the Tower of the Elephant,
for the head of the thing was much like that of the beasts described
by the Shemitish wanderer. This was Yara’s god; where then should
the gem be, but concealed in the idol, since the stone was called the
Elephant’s Heart?

As Conan came forward, his eyes fixed on the motionless idol,
the eyes of the thing opened suddenly! The Cimmerian froze in his
tracks. It was no image—it was a living thing, and he was trapped in
its chamber!

That he did not instantly explode in a burst of murderous frenzy is
a fact that measured his horror, which paralysed him where he stood.
A civilized man in his position would have sought doubtful refuge in
the conclusion that he was insane; it did not occur to the Cimmerian
to doubt his senses. He knew he was face to face with a demon of the
Elder World, and the realization robbed him of all his faculties except
sight.

The trunk of the horror was lifted and quested about, the topaz
eyes stared unseeingly, and Conan knew the monster was blind. With
the thought came a thawing of his frozen nerves, and he began to back
silently towards the door. But the creature heard. The sensitive trunk
stretched towards him, and Conan’s horror froze him again when the
being spoke, in a strange, stammering voice that never changed its
key or timbre. The Cimmerian knew that those jaws were never built
or intended for human speech.

“Who is here? Have you come to torture me again, Yara? Will you
never be done? Oh, Yag-kosha, is there no end to agony?”

Tears rolled from the sightless eyes, and Conan’s gaze strayed to
the limbs stretched on the marble couch. And he knew the monster
would not rise to attack him. He knew the marks of the rack, and
the searing brand of the flame, and tough-souled as he was, he stood
aghast at the ruined deformities which his reason told him had once
been limbs as comely as his own. And suddenly all fear and repulsion
went from him to be replaced by a great pity. What this monster was,
Conan could not know, but the evidences of its sufferings were so
terrible and pathetic that a strange aching sadness came over the
Cimmerian, he knew not why. He only felt that he was looking upon
a cosmic tragedy, and he shrank with shame, as if the guilt of a whole
race were laid upon him.

“I am not Yara,” he said. “I am only a thief. I will not harm you.”

“Come near that I may touch you,” the creature faltered, and
Conan came near unfearingly, his sword hanging forgotten in his
hand. The sensitive trunk came out and groped over his face and
shoulders, as a blind man gropes, and its touch was light as a girl’s
hand.

“You are not of Yara’s race of devils,” sighed the creature. “The
clean, lean fierceness of the wastelands marks you. I know your
people from of old, whom I knew by another name in the long, long
ago when another world lifted its jewelled spires to the stars. There is
blood on your fingers.”

“A spider in the chamber above and a lion in the garden,” muttered
Conan.

“You have slain a man too, this night,” answered the other. “And
there is death in the tower above. I feel; I know.”

“Aye,” muttered Conan. “The prince of all thieves lies there dead
from the bite of a vermin.”

“So—and so!” the strange inhuman voice rose in a sort of low
chant. “A slaying in the tavern and a slaying on the roof—I know;
I feel. And the third will make the magic of which not even Yara
dreams—oh, magic of deliverance, green gods of Yag!”

Again tears fell as the tortured body was rocked to and fro in the
grip of varied emotions. Conan looked on, bewildered.

Then the convulsions ceased; the soft, sightless eyes were turned
towards the Cimmerian, the trunk beckoned.

“O man, listen,” said the strange being. “I am foul and monstrous
to you, am I not? Nay, do not answer; I know. But you would seem
as strange to me, could I see you. There are many worlds besides this
earth, and life takes many shapes. I am neither god nor demon, but
flesh and blood like yourself, though the substance differ in part, and
the form be cast in different mould.

“I am very old, O man of the waste countries; long and long ago
I came to this planet with others of my world, from the green planet
Yag, which circles for ever in the outer fringe of this universe. We
swept through space on mighty wings that drove us through the
cosmos quicker than light, because we had warred with the kings
of Yag and were defeated and outcast. But we could never return,
for on earth our wings withered from our shoulders. Here we abode
apart from earthly life. We fought the strange and terrible forms of
life which then walked the earth, so that we became feared and were
not molested in the dim jungles of the East where we had our abode.

“We saw men grow from the ape and build the shining cities of
Valusia, Kamelia, Commoria, and their sisters. We saw them reel before
the thrusts of the heathen Atlanteans and Picts and Lemurians. We
saw the oceans rise and engulf Atlantis and Lemuria, and the isles of
the Picts, and the shining cities of civilization. We saw the survivors
of Pictdom and Atlantis build their stone-age empire and go down
to ruin, locked in bloody wars. We saw the Picts sink into abysmal
savagery, the Atlanteans into apedom again. We saw new savages
drift southward in conquering waves from the Arctic Circle to build
a new civilization, with new kingdoms called Nemedia, and Koth,
and Aquilonia, and their sisters. We saw your people rise under a new
name from the jungles of the apes that had been Atlanteans. We saw
the descendants of the Lemurians, who had survived the cataclysm,
rise again through savagery and ride westward, as Hyrkanians. And
we saw this race of devils, survivors of the ancient civilization that
was before Atlantis sank, come once more into culture and power—
this accursed kingdom of Zamora.

“All this we saw, neither aiding nor hindering the immutable cosmic
law, and one by one we died; for we of Yag are not immortal, though
our lives are as the lives of planets and constellations. At last I alone
was left, dreaming of old times among the ruined temples of jungle-
lost Khitai, worshipped as a god by an ancient yellow-skinned race.
Then came Yara, versed in dark knowledge handed down through
the days of barbarism, since before Atlantis sank.

“First he sat at my feet and learned wisdom. But he was not satisfied
with what I taught him, for it was white magic, and he wished evil
lore, to enslave kings and glut a fiendish ambition. I would teach
him none of the black secrets I had gained, through no wish of mine,
through the eons.

“But his wisdom was deeper than I had guessed; with guile gotten
among the dusky tombs of dark Stygia, he trapped me into divulging
a secret I had not intended to bare; and turning my own power upon
me, he enslaved me. Ah, gods of Yag, my cup has been bitter since
that hour!

“He brought me up from the lost jungles of Khitai where the grey
apes danced to the pipes of the yellow priests, and offerings of fruit
and wine heaped my broken altars. No more was I a god to kindly
junglefolk—I was slave to a devil in human form.”

Again tears stole from the unseeing eyes.

“He pent me in this tower, which at his command I built for him
in a single night. By fire and rack he mastered me, and by strange
unearthly tortures you would not understand. In agony I would
long ago have taken my own life, if I could. But he kept me alive—
mangled, blinded, and broken—to do his foul bidding. And for three
hundred years I have done his bidding, from this marble couch,
blackening my soul with cosmic sins, and staining my wisdom with
crimes, because I had no other choice. Yet not all my ancient secrets
has he wrested from me, and my last gift shall be the sorcery of the
Blood and the Jewel.

“For I feel the end of time draw near. You are the hand of Fate. I
beg of you, take the gem you will find on yonder altar.”

Conan turned to the gold and ivory altar indicated, and took up a
great round jewel, clear as crimson crystal; and he knew that this was
the Heart of the Elephant.

“Now for the great magic, the mighty magic, such as earth has
not seen before, and shall not see again, through a million million of
millenniums. By my life-blood I conjure it, by blood born on the green
breast of Yag, dreaming far-poised in the great, blue vastness of Space.

“Take your sword, man, and cut out my heart; then squeeze it so
that the blood will flow over the red stone. Then go you down these
stairs and enter the ebony chamber where Yara sits wrapped in lotus
dreams of evil. Speak his name and he will awaken. Then lay this
gem before him, and say, ‘Yag-kosha gives you a last gift and a last
enchantment.’ Then get you from the tower quickly; fear not, your
way shall be made clear. The life of man is not the life of Yag, nor is
human death the death of Yag. Let me be free of this cage of broken,
blind flesh, and I will once more be Yogah of Yag, morning-crowned
and shining, with wings to fly, and feet to dance, and eyes to see, and
hands to break.”

Uncertainly Conan approached, and Yag-kosha, or Yogah, as if
sensing his uncertainty, indicated where he should strike. Conan
set his teeth and drove the sword deep. Blood streamed over the
blade and his hand, and the monster started convulsively, then lay
back quite still. Sure that life had fled, at least life as he understood
it, Conan set to work on his grisly task and quickly brought forth
something that he felt must be the strange being’s heart, though it
differed curiously from any he had ever seen. Holding the still pulsing
organ over the blazing jewel, he pressed it with both hands, and a rain
of blood fell on the stone. To his surprise, it did not run off, but soaked
into the gem, as water is absorbed by a sponge.