Conan - 106 - Conan the Avenger by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Adventure, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780441116089
Publisher: Lancer Books
Published: 1967-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

"So you think I'm mad, Artus? By Crom, I hope Yezdigerd thinks so too!"

Conan's hearty laughter resounded in the well-appointed cabin as he sprawled in a chair, a tumbler of wine in his hand. Conan had casually possessed himself of the wardrobe of his predecessor and clad himself in the colorful garb of a Vilayet pirate: scarlet breeches, flaring sea boots, a yellow shirt of fine Vendhyan silk with wide sleeves, and a wide, varicolored sash around his waist. The costume was topped off by a red cloth around his head. Into the sash was thrust a long dirk with an ornately-carved ivory handle.

Together with Rolf, Artus the shipmaster lounged in Conan's company while the galley swiftly cleaved the waters of the inland sea. With clouded brow, he set his goblet on the table.

"No, Conan, I know you too well. But this seems a hare-brained scheme, dashing straight into the jaws of the Turanian. You could at least tell us what you are planning. The men are drunk with confidence and do not think of the fact that Yezdigerd will bring at least two large war galleys. I am old and sober enough to stop and ponder. What are your intentions?"

With sudden gravity, Conan rose and went to a gilded wooden cupboard. Opening it, he brought out a roll of parchment. This he spread upon the table. It was a chart of the waters they were now sailing.

"Here is our position. Yezdigerd has been four days on his way from Aghrapur. The Turanian ships are running free. With their mean speed, I compute them to be somewhere in this area." (He pointed to a spot on the chart.) "With our present course and speed, we shall rendezvous with Yezdigerd somewhere off the Zhurazi Archipelago."

"The Zhurazi, eh?" muttered Artus. "Those are dangerous waters. The charts show no soundings. That cursed cluster is shunned by sane men. Some say it is haunted by demons and monsters from the darker realms and that you are lost if you set foot on its shores."

"Lost, Hell!" rumbled Conan. "I once lived on the north main island for a fortnight after shipwreck. There was a tribe of yellow savages dwelling among the crags, and I had the devil of a time stopping them from sacrificing me to their lizard-god!"

Thus lightly he dismissed the hair-raising drama played out on these islands years before. The pantherish Cimmerian had not only stayed alive in a land of hostile people but also had slain the monster out of forgotten ages that terrorized the inhabitants. Conan was not wont to dwell upon the past; the violent and colorful present held all his attention.

He stood for a while in silence, regarding the chart. Then, with a sudden gesture, he swept it off the table and swung about to face his friends.

"Right you are, Artus. There are no soundings on this chart. Turanian, isn't it? Drawn by the king's own surveyors in Aghrapur—the very type of map our bloodthirsty pursuer will have. That is our advantage.

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