The Curse Of The Monolith

2.

“Do I disturb the profound meditations of the nobly born commander?”, purred a soft voice.

Conan started and snatched at the hilt of his tulwar before he recognized the person of Duke Feng, wrapped to the lip in a voluminous cloak of pea-green velvet. Conan started to growl a contemptuous curse. Then, remembering his ambassadorial duties, he turned the oath into a formal welcome that sounded unconvincing even in his own ears.

“Perhaps the princely captain is unable to sleep?” murmured Feng, appearing not to notice Conan’s ungraciousness. Feng spoke fluent Hyrkanian. This was one reason for his having been dispatched to guide Conan’s troop, for Conan’s command of the singsong Khitan tongue was little more than a smattering. Feng continued:

“This person is so fortunate as to possess a sovereign remedy for sleeplessness. A gifted apothecary concocted it for me from an ancient recipe: a decoction of lily buds ground into cinnamon and spiced with poppy seeds…”

“No, nothing,” growled Conan. “I thank you, Duke, but it’s something about this accursed place. Some uncanny premonition keeps me wakeful when, after a long day’s ride, I should be as weary as a stripling after his first night’s bout of love.”

The duke’s features moved a trifle, as if he winced at Conan’s crudity or was it merely a flicker of the firelight? In any case, he suavely replied, “I think I understand the misgivings of the excellent commander. Nor are such disquieting emotions unusual in this ah this legend-fraught valley. Many men have perished here.”

“A battlefield, eh?” grunted Conan.

The duke’s narrow shoulders twitched beneath the green cloak. “Nay, nothing like that, my heroic Western friend. This spot lies near the tomb of an ancient king of my people: King Hsia of Kusan. He caused his entire royal guard to be beheaded and their heads buried with him, that their spirits should continue to serve him in the next world. The common superstition, however, avers that the ghosts of these guardsmen march in review, up and down this valley.” The soft voice dropped even lower. “Legend also states that a magnificent treasure of gold and precious jewels was buried with him; and this tale I believe to be true.”

Conan pricked up his ears. “Gold and gems, eh? Has it ever been found, this treasure?”

The Khitan surveyed Conan for a moment with an oblique, contemplative gaze. Then, as if having reached some private decision, he replied, “No, Lord Conan; for the precise location of the trove is not known save to one man.”

Conan’s interest was quite visible now. “To whom?” he demanded bluntly.

The Khitan smiled. “To my unworthy self, of course.”

“Crom and Erlik! If you’ve known where this loot was hidden, why haven’t you dug it up ere now?”

“My people are haunted by superstitious fears of a curse laid upon the site of the old king’s tomb, which is marked by a monolith of dark stone. Hence I have never been able to persuade anyone to assist me in seizing the treasure, whose hiding place I alone know.”

“Why couldn’t you do it all by yourself?”

Feng spread his small, long-nailed hands. “I needed a trustworthy assistant to guard my back against stealthy foe, human or animal, that might approach whilst I was rapt in contemplation of the booty. Moreover, a certain amount of digging and lifting and prying will be required. A gentleman like me lacks the thews for such crude, physical efforts.

“Now harken, gallant sir! This person led the honorable commander through this valley, not by happenstance but by design. When I heard that the Son of Heaven wished me to accompany the brave captain westward, I seized upon the proposal with alacrity. This commission came as a veritable gift from the divine officials in Heaven, for Your Lordship possesses the musculature of three ordinary men. And, being a Western-born foreigner, you naturally do not share the superstitious terrors of us of Kusan. Am I correct in my assumption?”

Conan grunted. “I fear neither god, man, nor devil, and least of all the ghost of a long-dead king. Speak on, Lord Feng.”

The duke sidled closer, his voice dropping to a scarcely audible whisper. “Then, here is my plan. As I have stated, this person guided you hither because I thought you might be he whom I have sought. The task will be light for one of your strength, and my baggage includes tools for excavation. Let us go upon the instant, and within an hour we shall be richer than either of us has dreamed!”

Feng’s seductive, purring whisper awoke the lust for loot in Conan’s barbaric heart, but a residue of caution restrained the Cimmerian from immediate assent.

“Why not rouse a squad of troopers to aid us?” he grumbled. “Or your servants? Surely we shall need help in bringing the plunder back to camp!”

Feng shook his sleek head. “Not so, honorable ally! The treasure consists of two small golden caskets of virgin gold, each packed with exceedingly rare and precious gems. We can each carry the fortune of a princedom, and why share this treasure with others? Since the secret is mine alone, I am naturally entitled to half. Then, if you are so lavish as to divide your half amongst your forty warriors…well, that is for you to decide.”

It took no more urging to persuade Conan to Duke Feng’s scheme. The pay of King Yildiz’s soldiers was meager and usually in arrears. Conan’s recompense for his arduous Turanian service to date had been many empty words of honor and precious little hard coin.

“I go to fetch the digging implements,” murmured Feng. “We should leave the camp separately, so as not to arouse suspicion. Whilst I unpack the utensils, you shall don your coat of mail and your arms.”

Conan frowned. “Why should I need armor, just to dig up a chest?”

“Oh, excellent sir! There are many dangers in these hills. Here roam the terrible tiger, the fierce leopard, the churlish bear, and the irascible wild bull, not to mention wandering bands of primitive hunters. Since a Khitan gentleman is not trained in the use of arms, your mighty self must be prepared to fight for two. Believe me, noble captain, I know whereof I speak!”

“Oh, all right,” grumbled Conan.

“Excellent! I knew that so superior a mind as yours would see the force of my arguments. And now we part, to meet again at the foot of the valley at moonrise. That should occur about one double hour hence, which will give us ample time for our rendezvous.”