Chapter 3

‘The southwestern shore is held by the Hyrkanians for hundreds of miles.
We still have a long way to go before we pass beyond their northern
boundaries. I intend to go northward until I think we have passed them.
Then we’ll turn westward, and try to land on the shore bordered by the
uninhabited steppes.’

‘Suppose we meet pirates, or a storm?’ she asked. ‘And we shall starve
on the steppes.’

‘Well,’ he reminded her, ‘I didn’t ask you to come with me.’

‘I am sorry.’ She bowed her shapely dark head. ‘Pirates, storms,
starvation–they are all kinder than the people of Turan.’

‘Aye.’ His dark face grew somber. ‘I haven’t done with them yet. Be at
ease, girl. Storms are rare on Vilayet at this time of year. If we make
the steppes, we shall not starve. I was reared in a naked land. It was
those cursed marshes, with their stench and stinging flies, that nigh
unmanned me. I am at home in the high lands. As for pirates–‘ He
grinned enigmatically, and bent to the oars.

The sun sank like a dull-glowing copper ball into a lake of fire. The
blue of the sea merged with the blue of the sky, and both turned to soft
dark velvet, clustered with stars and the mirrors of stars. Olivia
reclined in the bows of the gently rocking boat, in a state dreamy and
unreal. She experienced an illusion that she was floating in midair,
stars beneath her as well as above. Her silent companion was etched
vaguely against the softer darkness. There was no break or falter in the
rhythm of his oars; he might have been a fantasmal oarsman, rowing her
across the dark lake of Death. But the edge of her fear was dulled, and,
lulled by the monotony of motion, she passed into a quiet slumber.

Dawn was in her eyes when she awakened, aware of a ravenous hunger. It
was a change in the motion of the boat that had roused her; Conan was
resting on his oars, gazing beyond her. She realized that he had rowed
all night without pause, and marvelled at his iron endurance. She
twisted about to follow his stare, and saw a green wall of trees and
shrubbery rising from the water’s edge and sweeping away in a wide
curve, enclosing a small bay whose waters lay still as blue glass.

‘This is one of the many islands that dot this inland sea,’ said Conan.
‘They are supposed to be uninhabited. I’ve heard the Hyrkanians seldom
visit them. Besides, they generally hug the shores in their galleys, and
we have come a long way. Before sunset we were out of sight of the
mainland.’

With a few strokes he brought the boat in to shore and made the painter
fast to the arching root of a tree which rose from the water’s edge.
Stepping ashore, he reached out a hand to help Olivia. She took it,
wincing slightly at the bloodstains upon it, feeling a hint of the
dynamic strength that lurked in the barbarian’s thews.

A dreamy quiet lay over the woods that bordered the blue bay. Then
somewhere, far back among the trees, a bird lifted its morning song. A
breeze whispered through the leaves, and set them to murmuring. Olivia
found herself listening intently for something, she knew not what. What
might be lurking amid those nameless woodlands?

As she peered timidly into the shadows between the trees, something
swept into the sunlight with a swift whirl of wings: a great parrot
which dropped on to a leafy branch and swayed there, a gleaming image
of jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded
the invaders with glittering eyes of jet.

‘Crom!’ muttered the Cimmerian. ‘Here is the grandfather of all parrots.
He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes.
What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?’

Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch,
cried out harshly: ‘_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_’ and with a wild
screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to
vanish in the opalescent shadows.

Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding
touch her supple spine.

‘What did it say?’ she whispered.

‘Human words, I’ll swear,’ answered Conan; ‘but in what tongue I can’t
say.’

‘Nor I,’ returned the girl. ‘Yet it must have learned them from human
lips. Human, or–‘ she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered
slightly, without knowing why.

‘Crom, I’m hungry!’ grunted the Cimmerian. ‘I could eat a whole buffalo.
We’ll look for fruit; but first I’m going to cleanse myself of this
dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.’

So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into
the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut
bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His
blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer
murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the
dangerous aspect of feature were not altered.

Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him,
and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great
branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread.
Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like
vistas.

Presently Conan grunted in pleasure at the sight of golden and russet
globes hanging in clusters among the leaves. Indicating that the girl
should seat herself on a fallen tree, he filled her lap with the exotic
delicacies, and then himself fell to with unconcealed gusto.

‘Ishtar!’ said he, between mouthfuls. ‘Since Ilbars I have lived on
rats, and roots I dug out of the stinking mud. This is sweet to the
palate, though not very filling. Still, it will serve if we eat enough.’

Olivia was too busy to reply. The sharp edge of the Cimmerian’s hunger
blunted, he began to gaze at his fair companion with more interest than
previously, noting the lustrous clusters of her dark hair, the
peach-bloom tints of her dainty skin, and the rounded contours of her
lithe figure which the scanty silk tunic displayed to full advantage.