Chapter 6
"Not so!" cried an older man, whose eyes were wild and weird. "It was Atali, the daughter of Ymir, the frost-giant! To fields of the dead she comes, and shows herself to the dying! Myself when a boy I saw her, when I lay half-slain on the b.l.o.o.d.y field of Wolraven. I saw her walk among the dead in the snows, her naked body gleaming like ivory and her golden hair unbearably bright in the moonlight. I lay and howled like a dying dog because I could not crawl after her. She lures men from stricken fields into the wastelands to be slain by her brothers, the ice-giants, who lay men's red hearts smoking on Ymir's board. The Cimmerian has seen Atali, the frost-giant's daughter!"
"Bah!" grunted Horsa. "Old Gorm's mind was touched in his youth by a sword cut on the head.
Conan was delirious from the fury of battle look how his helmet is dinted. Any of those blows might have addled his brain. It was an hallucination he followed into the wastes. He is from the south; what does he know of Atali?"
"You speak truth, perhaps," muttered Conan. "It was all strange and weird by Crom!"
He broke off, glaring at the object that still dangled from his clenched left fist; the others gaped silently at the veil he held up a wisp of gossamer that was never spun by human distaff.45.
The G.o.d in the Bowl
The G.o.d in the Bowl
Arus the watchman grasped his crossbow with shaky hands, and he felt beads of clammy perspiration on his skin as he stared at the unlovely corpse sprawling on the polished floor before him. It is not pleasant to come upon Death in a lonely place at midnight.
Arus stood in a vast corridor, lighted by huge candles in niches along the walls. These walls were hung with black velvet tapestries, and between the tapestries hung s.h.i.+elds and crossed weapons of fantastic make. Here and there too, stood figures of curious G.o.ds images carved of stone or rare wood, or cast of bronze, iron or silver dimly reflected in the gleaming black mahogany floor.
Arus shuddered; he had never become used to the place, although he had worked there as watchman for some months. It was a fantastic establishment, the great museum and antique house which men called Kallian Publico's Temple, with its rarities from all over the world and now, in the lonesomeness of midnight, Arus stood in the great silent hall and stared at the sprawling corpse that had been the rich and powerful owner of the Temple.
It entered even the dull brain of the watchman that the man looked strangely different now, than when he rode along the Palian Way in his golden chariot, arrogant and dominant, with his dark eyes glinting with magnetic vitality. Men who had hated and feared Kallian Publico would scarcely have recognized him now as he lay like a disintegrated tun of fat, his rich robe half torn from him, and his purple tunic awry. His face was blackened, his eyes almost starting from his head, and his tongue lolled blackly from his gaping mouth. His fat hands were thrown out as in a gesture of curious futility. On the thick fingers gems glittered.
"Why didn't they take his rings?" muttered the watchman uneasily, then he started and glared, the short hairs p.r.i.c.kling at the nape of his neck. Through the dark silken hangings that masked one of the many doorways opening into the hallway, came a figure.
Arus saw a tall powerfully built youth, naked but for a loin-cloth, and sandals strapped high about his ankles. His skin was burned brown as by the suns of the wastelands, and Arus glanced nervously at his broad shoulders, ma.s.sive chest and heavy arms. A single look at the moody, broad-browed features told the watchman that the man
Arus felt his skin crawl, and he fingered his crossbow tensely, of half a mind to drive a bolt through the stranger's body without parley, yet fearful of what might happen if he failed to inflict death at the first shot.
The stranger looked at the body on the floor more in curiosity than surprize.
"Why did you kill him?" asked Arus nervously.
The other shook his tousled head.
"I didn't kill him," he answered, speaking Nemedian with a barbaric accent. "Who is he?
"Kallian Publico," replied Arus, edging back.
A flicker of interest showed in the moody blue eyes.
"The owner of the house?
"Aye." Arus had edged his way to the wall, and now he took hold of a thick velvet rope whichswung there, and jerked it violently. From the street outside sounded the strident clang of the bell that hung before all shops and establishments to summon the watch.
The stranger started."Why did you do that?" he asked. "It will fetch the watchman.
"I am the watchman, knave," answered Arus, bracing his rocking courage. "Stand where you are; don't move or I'll loose a bolt through you.
".His finger was on the trigger of his arbalest, the wicked square head of the quarrel leveled full on the other's broad breast. The stranger scowled and his dark face was lowering. He showed no fear, but seemed to be hesitating in his mind as to whether he should obey the command or chance a sudden break of some kind. Arus licked his lips and his blood turned cold as he plainly saw indecision struggle with a murderous intent in the foreigner's cloudy eyes.
Then he heard a door crash open, and a medley of voices, and he drew a deep breath of amazed thankfulness. The stranger tensed and glared worriedly, like a startled hunting beast, as half a dozen men entered the hall. All but one wore the scarlet tunic of the Numalian police, were girt with stabbing swords and carried bills long shafted weapons, half pike, half axe.47.
"What devil's work is this?" exclaimed the foremost man, whose cold grey eyes and lean keen features, no less than his civilian garments, set him apart from his burly companions.
"By Mitra, Demetrio!" exclaimed Arus thankfully. "Fortune is a.s.suredly with me tonight. I had no hope that the watch would answer the summons so swiftly or that you would be with them!"
"I was making the rounds with Dionus," answered Demetrio. "We were just pa.s.sing the Temple when the watch-bell clanged. But who is this? Mitra! The master of the Temple himself!"
"No other," replied Arus, "and foully murdered. It is my duty to walk about the building steadily all night, because, as you know, there is an immense amount of wealth stored here.
Kallian Publico had rich patrons scholars, princes and wealthy collectors of rarities. Well, only a few minutes ago I tried the door which opens on the portico, and found it to be only bolted. The door is provided with a bolt, which works both from within or without, and a great lock which can be worked only from without. Only Kallian Publico had a key to that, the key which you see now hanging at his girdle.
"Naturally my suspicions were roused, for Kallian Publico always locks the door with the great lock when he closes the Temple; and I had not seen him return since he left earlier in the evening for his villa in the eastern suburbs of the city. I have a key that works the bolt; I entered and found the body lying as you see. I have not touched it."
"So," Demetrio's keen eyes swept the sombre stranger. "And who is this?"
"The murderer, without doubt!" cried Arus. "He came from that door yonder. He is a northern barbarian of some sort a Hyperborean or a Bossonian, perhaps."
"Who are you?" asked Demetrio.
"I am Conan," answered the barbarian. "I am a Cimmerian."
"Did you kill this man?"
The Cimmerian shook his head.
"Answer me!" snapped the questioner.
An angry glint rose in the moody blue eyes.48.
"I am no dog," he replied resentfully.
"Oh, an insolent fellow!" sneered Demetrio's companion, a big man wearing the insignia of prefect of police. "An independent cur! One of these citizens with rights, eh? I'll soon knock it out of him! Here, you! Come clean! Why did you murder "
"Just a moment, Dionus," ordered Demetrio curtly. "Fellow, I am chief of the Inquisitorial Council of the city of Numalia. You had best tell me why you are here, and if you are not the murderer, prove it."
The Cimmerian hesitated. He was not afraid, but slightly bewildered, as a barbarian always is when confronted by the evidence of civilized networks and systems, the workings of which are so baffling and mysterious to him.
"While he's thinking it over," rapped Demetrio, turning to Arus, "tell me did you see Kallian Publico leave the Temple this evening?"
"No, he's usually gone when I arrive to begin my sentry-go. But the great door was bolted and locked."
"Could he have entered the building again without your having seen him?"
"Why, it's possible, but hardly probable. The Temple is large, and I walk clear around it in a few minutes. If he had returned from his villa, he would of course have come in his chariot, for it is a long way and who ever heard of Kallian Publico travelling otherwise? Even if I had been on the other side of the Temple, I'd have heard the wheels of the chariot on the cobblestones. And I've heard no such thing, nor seen any chariots, except those which always pa.s.s along the streets just at dusk."
"And the door was locked earlier in the night?"
"I'll swear to it. I try all doors several times during the night. The door was locked on the outside until perhaps half an hour ago that was the last time I tried it, until I found it unlocked."
"You heard no cries or struggles?"
"No. But that's not strange. The walls of the Temple are so thick, they're practically soundproof an effect increased by the heavy hangings."
"Why go to all this trouble of questions and speculations?" complained the burly prefect. "It's49.much easier to beat a confession out of a suspect. Here's our man, no doubt about it. Let's take him to the Court of Justice I'll get a statement if I have to smash his bones to a pulp."
Demetrio looked at the barbarian.
"You understand what he said?" asked the Inquisitor. "What have you to say?"