The Hour of the Dragon | Page 4

the sandals of the
barbarians."
"In the hills small groups of folk still boast descent from Acheron,"
answered Orastes. "For the rest, the tide of my barbarian ancestors
rolled over them and wiped them out. They-my ancestors-had suffered
much from the kings of Acheron."
A grim and terrible smile curled the Pythonian's lips.
"Aye! Many a barbarian, both man and woman, died screaming on the
altar under this hand. I have seen their heads piled to make a pyramid in
the great square in Python when the kings returned from the west with
their spoils and naked captives."
"Aye. And when the day of reckoning came, the sword was not spared.
So Acheron ceased to be, and purple-towered Python became a
memory of forgotten days. But the younger kingdoms rose on the
imperial ruins and waxed great. And now we have brought you back to
aid us to rule these kingdoms, which, if less strange and wonderful than

Acheron of old, are yet rich and powerful, well worth fighting for.
Look!" Orastes unrolled before the stranger a map drawn cunningly on
vellum.
Xaltotun regarded it, and then shook his head, baffled.
"The very outlines of the land are changed. It is like some familiar
thing seen in a dream, fantastically distorted."
"Howbeit," answered Orastes, tracing with his forefinger, "here is
Belverus, the capital of Nemedia, in which we now are. Here run the
boundaries of the land of Nemedia. To the south and southeast are
Ophir and Corinthia, to the east Brythunia, to the west Aquilonia."
"It is the map of a world I do not know," said Xaltotun softly, but
Orastes did not miss the lurid fire of hate that flickered in his dark eyes.
"It is a map you shall help us change," answered Orastes. "It is our
desire first to set Tarascus on the throne of Nemedia. We wish to
accomplish this without strife, and in such a way that no suspicion will
rest on Tarascus. We do not wish the land to be torn by civil wars, but
to reserve all our power for the conquest of Aquilonia.
"Should King Nimed and his sons die naturally, in a plague for instance,
Tarascus would mount the throne as the next heir, peacefully and
unopposed."
Xaltotun nodded, without replying, and Orastes continued.
"The other task will be more difficult. We cannot set Valerius on the
Aquilonian throne without a war, and that kingdom is a formidable foe.
Its people are a hardy, war-like race, toughened by continual wars with
the Picts, Zingarians and Cimmerians. For five hundred years
Aquilonia and Nemedia have intermittently waged war, and the
ultimate advantage has always lain with the Aquilonians.
"Their present king is the most renowned warrior among the western
nations. He is an outlander, an adventurer who seized the crown by

force during a time of civil strife, strangling King Namedides with his
own hands, upon the very throne. His name is Conan, and no man can
stand before him in battle.
"Valerius is now the rightful heir of the throne. He had been driven into
exile by his royal kinsman, Namedides, and has been away from his
native realm for years, but he is of the blood of the old dynasty, and
many of the barons would secretly hail the overthrow of Conan, who is
a nobody without royal or even noble blood. But the common people
are loyal to him, and the nobility of the outlying provinces. Yet if his
forces were overthrown in the battle that must first take place, and
Conan himself slain, I think it would not be difficult to put Valerius on
the throne. Indeed, with Conan slain, the only center of the government
would be gone. He is not part of a dynasty, but only a lone adventurer."
"I wish that I might see this king," mused Xaltotun, glancing toward a
silvery mirror which formed one of the panels of the wall. This mirror
cast no reflection, but Xaltotun's expression showed that he understood
its purpose, and Orastes nodded with the pride a good craftsman takes
in the recognition of his accomplishments by a master of his craft.
"I will try to show him to you," he said. And seating himself before the
mirror, he gazed hypnotically into its depths, where presently a dim
shadow began to take shape.
It was uncanny, but those watching knew it was no more than the
reflected image of Orastes' thought, embodied in that mirror as a
wizard's thoughts are embodied in a magic crystal. It floated hazily,
then leaped into startling clarity-a tall man, mightily shouldered and
deep of chest, with a massive corded neck and heavily muscled limbs.
He was clad in silk and velvet, with the royal lions of Aquilonia
worked in gold upon his rich jupon,