Conan and the Spider God by Lyon Sprague de Camp Read Free Book Online

seer’s portal. The beast was a shaggy, stocky, Hyrkanian pony, shorter in the leg than the stolen Egil. Conan knew that, while the animal could easily be outdistanced by the slender-legged western breeds, it offset this shortcoming by endurance and an ability to thrive on coarse and scanty fare.
    He bade Kushad and his daughter a brisk but affectionate farewell. Tahmina smiled bravely and wiped away a trembling tear. In a way, Conan was glad to leave. The young girl, whose form had just begun to fill out, had been casting sheep’s eyes at him; and from a remark by Kushad, the Cimmerian gathered that the old man would welcome him as a son-in-law, if Conan ever gave up his wild, headstrong ways, got on the right side of the law, and settled down in Sultanapur to wait for the child to reach a marriageable age.
    But Conan had no intention of settling down, or of tying himself to any woman. Neither did his sense of honor permit him to take advantage of Tahmina’s girlish infatuation. So it was with a small sigh of relief that he strapped his gear to Ymir, his new horse, embraced his mentor and his youthful hostess, tightened the girth, and trotted smartly off.

chapter iv
     
    THE GOLDEN DRAGON
     
    W estward Conan wended his way at the steady pace of the seasoned rider: walk, trot, canter, trot, walk, over and over. Every third day he paused long enough to give his steed several solid hours of grazing. Failure to do this, he knew, would wear the animal out and perhaps even kill it before he arrived at his destination.
    He had reached the short-grass country of western Turan, where the plain glowed with clumps of wildflowers of scarlet and gold and blue, while the air above the greensward quivered with the flutter of countless iridescent butterflies. Here the land stretched for leagues with only slight rolls and undulations. The traveler in these parts came upon few signs of human life, save an occasional neatherd with his cattle or a shepherd with his flock. Once or twice a day, Conan encountered a caravan of camels sounding the silvery tinkle of bells, and the creaking leather and jingling mail of hired horse guards. More rarely, a lone trader jogged along on his ass, leading another piled with his gear and stock of goods.
    Soon, Conan knew, he would reach the border. There King Yildiz’s blockhouses and patrols warded the kingdom against the nomads and outlaws who roamed the unclaimed prairie to the west. The protection they afforded the kingdom was far from perfect. One of Conan’s first assignments after promotion to a regular army unit had been to chase marauders back into this sparsely-settled west country. Sometimes the troop caught the raiders and rode proudly back to their fort with severed heads on their lances. More often the pillagers gave them the slip; and they returned on lathered steeds, with glum looks on their faces and grim jokes on their lips.
    The border guards, Conan was well aware, had other duties, too. They questioned all travelers who sought to enter or leave the kingdom and apprehended felons and persons wanted by the authorities. The road that Conan followed had dwindled to a sandy track; and for a mounted man there was scant choice between this track and the boundless virgin prairie. After some deliberation Conan decided not to try to bluff his way past the border guard, but to detour around the blockhouse. So he angled northwest and soon lost sight of the beaten way.
    The following afternoon, a black speck atop a nearby rise attracted his attention. Approaching, he discovered a pile of rocks, which betimes the kings of Turan ordered erected to define the bounds of the kingdom. But so vague was the site of the border that the cairn might be a dozen leagues beyond, or half a dozen short, of the line that appeared on the maps in Aghrapur.
    Conan continued westward, and that evening staked out his horse to graze and stretched himself upon his blanket, assured that he was now beyond the bourn of