Conan the Buccaneer

Chapter Nineteen: KING THOTH-AMON

The scene in the throne room of King Ferdrugo was one of tense drama. Fitful lightning flared in stormy skies without, and intermittent flashes of blue-tinged gray light flickered in the tall, pointed windows of diamond-paned glass.

The hall was huge and lofty. Circular walls and a ring of mighty columns of ponderous granite, faced with curved slabs of smooth marble, supported the enormous dome far above. This dome was the greatest architectural wonder of Ferdrugo's kingdom.

Huge candles, as thick as a warrior's biceps, shed a rich, wavering glow from mighty sconces of wrought gold. Torchlight and lamplight and lightning flashes were reflected from the mirrorlike polish of the shields and plume-crested helms of the guards stationed about the circumference of the hall.

There were many more guards present than was usual on such occasions. This in itself was a cause for uncertainty and suspicion on the part of the score of nobles and officials whom the king's heralds had summoned. The command had gone out in haste and in secret to be present during the reading of a proclamation from the throne.

The other cause for concern was the livery of these guards. While some wore the uniforms of the Throne Legion —the king's private bodyguard— far more displayed the colors of Villagro, duke of Kordava.

In the center of the hall, on a raised dais of glistening, green, black-veined malachite, rested the ancient rose-marble throne of the Ramiran Dynasty. Therein was seated Ferdrugo II.

The assembled dignitaries had seen but little of their monarch in recent months.

They watched the old man speculatively, for he had aged greatly during this time. His flesh seemed withered; his limbs, shrunken. His cheeks had fallen in, so that his cheekbones stood out in bold relief. Candlelight, falling from the sconces above, cast deep wells of black shadow beneath the prominent cheekbones, while the old man's eyes were lost in the dark shadows beneath his prominent eyebrow ridges and bushy white eyebrows. The lighting, together with his gaunt, frail aspect, lent the old monarch a ghastly semblance of a skeleton.

On his head, seeming too heavy for his thin, wattled neck to support, rested the ancient crown of the hero-king Ramiro, the founder of the dynasty. It was a plain ellipse of gold, with a castellated upper rim formed by simple, square projections, like the merlons and embrasures of the tower of a castle.

With waxen, transparent hands, the king clasped a large sheet of parchment, to which were affixed a number of seals. In a weak, uncertain voice, King Ferdrugo read from this sheet. The long formal preamble, the endless list of titles, the legalistic jargon all combined to feed the nervous speculation in the minds of the audience. None but felt the stirring of a premonition of dire events.

On the floor before the dais, directly in front of the throne, stood two men.

One was the duke of Kordava. In the absence of Prince Tovarro, the king's younger brother, Villagro was, after the king himself, the ranking peer of the realm. The expression on his lean, hungry features might have been described as complacent expectancy combined with nervous apprehension.

Beside Villagro stood another figure, a stranger to the rest of those present. A Stygian he seemed, from his shaven head, hawklike features, dusky skin, and tall, broad-shouldered build. He was, however, heavily robed, so that nothing of him but his head could be seen.

On his shaven skull rested a curious headpiece: a crown made in the likeness of a golden serpent, coiled round the wearer's head and crusted with thousands of glittering white gems. Some of the notables had nudged each other and murmured at the sight, when the stranger had thrown back the hood of his robe, revealing this extraordinary headgear. If, they whispered, the gems were in truth cut diamonds —the making of which was virtually unknown in the Hyborian Age— the value of the crown must be beyond calculation. Whenever the stranger moved slightly, the gems sent out a thousand rays of all the colors of the rainbow, reflected from the light sources overhead and around the circuit of the hall.

The dark-faced man bore a look of intense concentration. Such was his inner absorption that he seemed hardly aware of those around him. It was as if all his energies were focused upon one single objective.

Among the retinue of Duke Villagro could be seen the sinister features of Zarono the buccaneer and, also, a hooded figure that some recognized as that of the Setite priest, Menkara, whom they knew vaguely as one of Villagro's hangers-on.

Ferdrugo feebly droned on, but now he neared the end of the document. Then the audience froze in amazement as the import of the words reached their astounded ears:

"… and thus, by these presents, We, Ferdrugo of Zingara, renounce the throne in favor of Our daughter and heiress, the Princess Royal Chabela, and wed her in absentia to her betrothed and your next king, the high prince Thoth-Amon of Stygia! Long live queen and king! Long live Chabela and Thoth-Amon, thus created queen and king of the ancient and imperishable kingdom of Zingara!"

All over the chamber, jaws sagged and eyes widened in astonishment. No visage showed greater shock than that of Duke Villagro of Kordava. He goggled at old King Ferdrugo; his sallow features paled to a leaden hue. His thin, rouged lips writhed back in a voiceless snarl, exposing yellowed teeth.

Villagro turned as if to speak to the tall, silent figure beside him. The impassive Stygian gave him a quiet smile, brushed aside his hand, and ascended the steps to the top of the dais as if to receive the plaudits of the throng.

But there were no plaudits … only a rising buzz of astonishment and indignation.

Over the rising hum of voices rose die quavering tones of King Ferdrugo: "Kneel, my son!"

The tall Stygian halted in front of the Zamoran king and dropped to one knee. He raised both hands, lifted the Cobra Crown from his head, and gently laid it on the green-and-black stone of the dais beside him.

Ferdrugo stepped forward and took from his own head the plain ancient crown of the hero-king Ramiro. He turned it about and, with quivering hands, lowered it gently down upon Thoth-Amon's shaven skull.

His face sick with the full realization of his ally's treachery, Villagro snatched at the ornamental dagger he wore at his girdle. Perhaps he meant to throw caution to the winds and drive the steel into the back of the great magician as he knelt. But then he released the dagger as his staring eyes focused with maniacal intensity upon the Cobra Crown, where it rested beside the kneeling Thoth-Amon. He knew, or thought he knew, something of its powers. In reporting to him, Zarono had explained:

''From what Menkara told me and from what Thoth-Amon let slip on the voyage hither, Your Grace, I believe that it works as follows. It amplifies and multiplies the power of the human mind to affect the minds of other beings. Thus Menkara, who is at best a middling wizard, can control the mind of one other person … in this case, our doddering king. Thoth-Amon, a magician of vastly greater powers, can govern several other minds at once. But he who wears the Crown, if he knows the proper methods, can by the Crown's power rule the minds of hundreds or even thousands of other beings. He can, for instance, drive a regiment of soldiers, utterly reek-man of them be slain. He could dispatch a lion, a venomous serpent, or other deadly wild beast to seek out and destroy his enemy. None could stand against the wearer of the Cobra Crown. He could not be killed by ambush or assassination, for the Crown would convey to him the thoughts of those preparing the deed, and none could get within catapult shot of him without coming under his governance. Mortals like you and me, my lord, are ever plagued by the failure of our hirelings to carry out our commands … as when my sailors let the princess slip out of our grasp. But Thoth-Amon need fear no such blunders. When he issues a mental command, it will be carried out exactly, even at the cost of the henchman's life."

And now, to seal Thoth-Amon's elevation to the throne, Ferdrugo was, with his own hands, placing the ancient crown of Zingara upon the Stygian's swarthy pate.

To do so, however, it was necessary for Thoth-Amon to doff the Cobra Crown. In this act, Duke Villagro saw his opportunity.

Moving with a swiftness that belied his years, the duke hurled aside his velvet chaperon and bounded up the steps of the dais. Since Thoth-Amon was not wearing the Cobra Crown, the wizard had no warning of his former ally's action until Villagro snatched up the Cobra Crown and clapped it upon his own head.

As the duke started forward, he heard a muffled, guttural exclamation, which he recognized as the voice of the nearby Menkara. With the Crown on his head, Villagro whirled, to see Menkara coming swiftly up behind him with a bared dagger in his bony fist.

As soon as the Cobra Crown settled upon his dyed and curled hair, Villagro was conscious of a host of sensations pouring through his mind. It seemed as if the unspoken thoughts of every person in the chamber rushed into his consciousness at once, in a buzzing, booming confusion. No magician, Villagro could not sort out these random thoughts.

As Menkara neared him, the duke in desperation focused his mind upon the priest, at whom he thrust out his fingers in what he conceived to be a wizardly gesture.

With all his might, he concentrated on the mental picture of Menkara falling over backward, as if knocked down by a mighty blow of the fist.

And Menkara's rush did, in fact, slow and halt at the bottom step of the dais.

As if struck, Menkara staggered back. His dagger tinkled to the pavement.

A leonine roar from behind him caused Villagro to whirl again. It came from Thoth-Amon, who had risen to his feet and turned about.

"Dog! For this you shall die!" shouted the Stygian, speaking Zingaran with a guttural accent.

"Die thyself!" replied Villagro, extending his fingers toward Thoth-Amon.

The mighty wizard was not to be easily overcome, even with the help of the Cobra Crown, because the wearer of that Crown was ignorant of and unpracticed in its use. For a straining, quivering instant, the two men faced each other in a deadlocked contest of wills. The power of Villagro over others' minds with the Crown roughly equaled the powers of Thoth-Amon, one of the greatest magicians of the age, without it. They strained and staggered, but neither yielded.

Below, the nobles and officials regarded the tableau with slack-jawed astonishment. There were many brave men among them, who would instantly have rallied to whichever side stood for the welfare of Zingara … but in these chaotic moments, who could tell which side that was? A king reduced to imbecility, a sinister foreign sorcerer, and a notoriously unscrupulous and conniving duke… who could say where lay the right?

Behind him, Villagro heard Menkara muttering a spell. He felt his own mental strength weakening. Before him Thoth-Amon seemed to grow in stature and might…

Then a sudden eruption of noise shook the room and brought all eyes about to stare at the source. A crowd of rough, ragged seamen boiled suddenly out of a portal on a balcony above the hall. At their head strode a bronzed giant with an unshorn mane of raven-black hair and burning eyes of volcanic blue under heavy black brows, with a huge cutlass clenched in one mighty fist.

Zarono uttered a shout of astonishment: "Conan! By all the gods and devils … here!"

Seeing the burly barbarian appear so suddenly, the sallow-faced buccaneer paled.

Then his lean, wolfish countenance grew grim, and his hard black eyes blazed with wrath. He slid his rapier from its sheath.

The interruption had also distracted Thoth-Amon, who turned his swarthy, golden-crowned head to stare. Had he worn the Cobra Crown, he would have known of the approach of Conan and his men before they appeared; but he had doffed the magical headpiece just before they came within its range.

After a glance at the intruders, Villagro returned his attention to Thoth-Amon.

The Stygian, he knew, was by far the more dangerous foe. If he could, by the unpracticed use of the Crown, vanquish Thoth-Amon, then Conan could easily be disposed of by the same means. But, if he turned his full attention on Conan, Thoth-Amon would wipe him out as easily as swatting an insect.

Conan strode to the head of the stair and wind-mil ed his arms for attention.

"Ho, lords of Zingara!" he boomed. "Vile treason and blackest magic have enmeshed your King in their toils!" One brawny arm shot out, pointing at the silent figure of the Stygian. "No prince of Stygia he, but Hell's most stinking spawn! A sorcerer from the unholy depths of Stygia, come to steal the ancient throne of Zingara from its royal house. No blacker villain than Thoth-Amon has ever soiled the earth! Your king's wits have been stolen by some wizardly trick, so that he knows not what he says; he but parrots the thoughts that this would-be usurper puts into his mind!''

The assemblage wavered, some persuaded by Conan's words and some not. One fat nobleman cried: "What madness is this? A wild-eyed rogue of a pirate, bursting into the palace during a sacred ceremony, waving his sword and shouting nonsense? Guards, arrest those rascallions!"

A babble arose, over which Conan roared: "Look at the king and see the truth of my words, you simpletons!"

Beside his throne, pale and shrunken, Ferdrugo wavered, plucking at his wispy white beard. "What … what is happening here, my lords?" he quavered. His bewildered gaze swept from face to face. Then he noticed the document in his hand. "What … what is this? Was I reading it?" he murmured. "It makes no sense …"

It was obvious that King Ferdrugo did not recognize the proclamation that he had just read. Thoth-Amon, distracted by his contest with Villagro and Conan's intrusion, had let slip his mental control of Ferdrugo's will. Now his attention was forcibly brought back to the duke.

When Thoth-Amon had turned toward Conan, Villagro had hurled his will, amplified a thousandfold by the Cobra Crown, at the looming form of the Stygian.

Thoth-Amon staggered under the impact, nearly fell, and clutched the arm of the throne to steady himself. The Zingaran crown —which, being too small for him, rode unsteadily on his swarthy scalp— fell from his head and struck the stone of the dais with a clang.

Then he rallied. With the whites of his eyes showing in a hypnotic glare, he in turn sent Villagro staggering with a mental blast.

"Give me the Cobra Crown, fool!" snarled Thoth-Amon.

"Never!" shrilled Villagro.

The duke felt an increase of the mental power opposing him. Behind him he felt, without seeing, the mind-force of Menkara added to that of Thoth-Amon. The priest of Set had rallied to the side of his master. Again Villagro felt himself weakening, his mental defenses crumbling.

Eyes swung back to where Conan and his buccaneers stood at the head of the stairs. The air was taut and crackling with suspense. It was one of those moments when the fate of nations is balanced on a knife blade … when a single word, a look, or a gesture can turn the tide of events and topple empires.

And then, in that momentary silence, the word was spoken. The figure of a young girl appeared at Conan's side. She was well-rounded, with sleek olive skin, dark flashing eyes, and hair of silken jet. Though her buxom young body was garbed in a rough sailor's costume, it came to the lords of Zingara that they had seen her before, in more sumptuous rainment.

"The princess!" gasped a baron.

"Eh? Chabela?" muttered the old king, peering nervously about.

All saw that it was truly she. But, before a babble of questions could arise, the girl spoke:

"Nobles of Zingara, Captain Conan speaks the truth! Yonder black-hearted Stygian schemer has caught my father in his magical toils. Conan rescued me from the sorcerer, and we have raced back to Kordava to forestall his usurpation! Strike him down, guards!"

The captain of the royal guard snapped an order to his troops and ripped out his sword with a rasp of steel against leather. He advanced at the head of his men.

Conan and nine sailors clattered down the stairs, blades flashing in the lamplight. Chabela remained at the head of the stairs with Ninus, the priest of Mitra. The little man dropped to his knees, and his high voice rose in a frantic prayer:

"O Lord Mitra, great prince of light!" he intoned. "Stand by us in this hour against the dark power of Set! In the divine name of Sraosha and by the unthinkable name, Zurvan, lord of infinite time, we pray and conjure thee! Strike with thine holy fire, that the Old Serpent be smitten and fall from his high place!"

Whether Thoth-Amon weakened from his titanic mental exertions, or whether Villagro's command of the Cobra Crown was becoming stronger with practice, or whether in sooth Mitra took a hand in the contest, Thoth-Amon seemed to pale, shrink, and weaken. He reeled back a step. Villagro opened his mouth for a shout of triumph.

Before the cry could come forth, Thoth-Amon played his last card. His long, brown forefinger shot out toward the duke of Kordava. A nimbus of jade-green radiance flickered into being about the finger and elongated into a beam of emerald light.

The beam struck the head of Duke Villagro and the diamond-crusted crown on that head, bathing it in a blinding emerald refulgence. Then the gold itself of the crown glowed red.

Villagro uttered a piercing scream. He reeled back, clutching at his head as if trying to tear off the crown. Black smoke curled up as his black-dyed hair blazed.

Then the room was bathed in a blinding blue light as lightning flashed just outside the chamber, filling the tall windows with a furious glare. One of the windows shattered with a tinkle of glass. A narrow sheet of rain poured slantingly in. To some in the chamber, half blinded by the glare and wholly deafened by the earth-shaking boom of thunder that instantly followed, it seemed that a tendril of lightning flicked through the broken window, to lash downward like a cosmic whip at the stricken duke of Kordava.

Villagro fell headlong, face down upon the pavement. The Cobra Crown came off and rolled across the marble, leaving Villagro's body with its hair burnt to a mere stubble and the skin around the skull, where the crown had touched it, seared to a black crisp.

So ended the ambitious dreams of Duke Villagro, who, dissatisfied with his ducal coronet, had yearned after kingly crowns and died of a surfeit of dreams.