Conan and the Spider God Read Online Free PDF
Author: Lyon Sprague de Camp
to Sultanapur. So, after venting his rage on the indifferent wilderness, he shouldered his burdens and grimly set out northward, tramping through the crowding reeds with saddle bags slung over one massive shoulder and his saddle balanced on the other. If he could no longer navigate by sun and stars, being afoot, he could at least follow the trail of his erstwhile companions by the track they had left through the trampled reeds.
chapter iii
THE BLIND SEER
F our days after Conan’s encounter with the Zamorians, a heavy knock sounded on the door of the house of Kushad the Seer, in the port city of Sultanapur. When Kushad’s daughter swung open the portal, she started back in alarm.
Before the door stood a haggard giant of a man, unshaven and mud-caked, carrying a saddle, a pair of saddle bags, a bow in its case, and a blanket roll. Although he presented a horrific aspect, the man grinned broadly through sweat and dirt.
“Hail, Tahmina!” he croaked. “You’ve grown since I saw you last; in a few years you’ll be a woman, ripe for the plucking. Don’t you know me?”
“Can it be—you must be Captain Conan, the Cimmerian!” she stammered. “Come in! My father will rejoice to see you.”
“He may be less joyful when he hears my story,” grunted Conan, setting down his burdens. “How fares the old fellow?”
“He is well, though his sight is nearly gone. He has no client at the moment, so come with me.”
Conan followed the girl back to a chamber in which a small, white-bearded man sat cross-legged on a cushion. As Conan entered, the man stared from eyes clouded by cataract.
“Are you not Conan?” said the old man. “I discern your form but not your features. No other man has so shaken my house with the weight of his tread.”
“I am indeed Conan, friend Kushad,” said the Cimmerian. “You told me once that if I were ever on the dodge, I could seek asylum here.”
Kushad chuckled. “So I did; so I did. But it was only a fair return for saving me from that gang of young ruffians. I recall how you scoffed at the notion that you, now a full captain in His Majesty’s forces and a pillar of the kingdom, should ever again be forced to flee and hide. But you seem to draw trouble as offal attracts flies. Sit down and tell me what mischief you have been up to now. You do not require me to employ my astral vision for the finding of a lost coin, I trust?”
“Nay; but to find a whole sackful of them and a fine horse as well,” growled Conan. While Tahmina went to fetch a jug of wine, Conan related his misadventure with Narkia, his flight from Aghrapur, and his encounter with the Zamorians.
“The strange thing was,” he continued, “that for two whole days I could not remember with whom I had spent the night on that knoll. The memory was wiped clean from my mind, as by some devilish enchantment. Then yesterday, the scenes began to return, a little at a time, until I could picture the whole encounter. What, think you, befell me?”
“Hypnotism,” said Kushad. “Your Zamorian must be skilled in the art—a priest or sorcerer, mayhap. Zamora crawls with them as does an inn with bedbugs.”
“I know,” grunted Conan.
“You displayed great resistance to the sorcerer’s wiles, or you would not remember the Zamorians even now. You Westerners lack the fatalism that ofttimes palsies the will of us of the East. Yet I can teach you to guard yourself against such manipulation. Tell me more of these so-called Zamorian merchants.”
Conan described the group, adding: “Besides, there was a woman in the tent, who came forth to warm her hands at the fire but was ordered back by the leader, Harpagus. She acted like one demented or under an enchantment.”
Kushad’s eyebrows arched. “A woman! What manner of female was she?”
“The light was poor; but I could see that she was tall and dark. Somewhat above thirty years of age and well-favored; wearing fluffy silken things, unsuited
chapter iii
THE BLIND SEER
F our days after Conan’s encounter with the Zamorians, a heavy knock sounded on the door of the house of Kushad the Seer, in the port city of Sultanapur. When Kushad’s daughter swung open the portal, she started back in alarm.
Before the door stood a haggard giant of a man, unshaven and mud-caked, carrying a saddle, a pair of saddle bags, a bow in its case, and a blanket roll. Although he presented a horrific aspect, the man grinned broadly through sweat and dirt.
“Hail, Tahmina!” he croaked. “You’ve grown since I saw you last; in a few years you’ll be a woman, ripe for the plucking. Don’t you know me?”
“Can it be—you must be Captain Conan, the Cimmerian!” she stammered. “Come in! My father will rejoice to see you.”
“He may be less joyful when he hears my story,” grunted Conan, setting down his burdens. “How fares the old fellow?”
“He is well, though his sight is nearly gone. He has no client at the moment, so come with me.”
Conan followed the girl back to a chamber in which a small, white-bearded man sat cross-legged on a cushion. As Conan entered, the man stared from eyes clouded by cataract.
“Are you not Conan?” said the old man. “I discern your form but not your features. No other man has so shaken my house with the weight of his tread.”
“I am indeed Conan, friend Kushad,” said the Cimmerian. “You told me once that if I were ever on the dodge, I could seek asylum here.”
Kushad chuckled. “So I did; so I did. But it was only a fair return for saving me from that gang of young ruffians. I recall how you scoffed at the notion that you, now a full captain in His Majesty’s forces and a pillar of the kingdom, should ever again be forced to flee and hide. But you seem to draw trouble as offal attracts flies. Sit down and tell me what mischief you have been up to now. You do not require me to employ my astral vision for the finding of a lost coin, I trust?”
“Nay; but to find a whole sackful of them and a fine horse as well,” growled Conan. While Tahmina went to fetch a jug of wine, Conan related his misadventure with Narkia, his flight from Aghrapur, and his encounter with the Zamorians.
“The strange thing was,” he continued, “that for two whole days I could not remember with whom I had spent the night on that knoll. The memory was wiped clean from my mind, as by some devilish enchantment. Then yesterday, the scenes began to return, a little at a time, until I could picture the whole encounter. What, think you, befell me?”
“Hypnotism,” said Kushad. “Your Zamorian must be skilled in the art—a priest or sorcerer, mayhap. Zamora crawls with them as does an inn with bedbugs.”
“I know,” grunted Conan.
“You displayed great resistance to the sorcerer’s wiles, or you would not remember the Zamorians even now. You Westerners lack the fatalism that ofttimes palsies the will of us of the East. Yet I can teach you to guard yourself against such manipulation. Tell me more of these so-called Zamorian merchants.”
Conan described the group, adding: “Besides, there was a woman in the tent, who came forth to warm her hands at the fire but was ordered back by the leader, Harpagus. She acted like one demented or under an enchantment.”
Kushad’s eyebrows arched. “A woman! What manner of female was she?”
“The light was poor; but I could see that she was tall and dark. Somewhat above thirty years of age and well-favored; wearing fluffy silken things, unsuited