'But, to accomplish this, you needs must render up your throne and kingly crown to your son and venture forth alone to the dim horizons of the uttermost reaches of the Western Ocean, where never mortal man of your race has ventured since doomed Atlantis sank beneath the glittering waves. This very night must you set forth alone from your kingdom, in stealth and secrecy, never more to gaze upon it in the flesh, leaving behind your crown and realm and a writ of abdication.
'The way into the unknown seas is long and hard, and many perils stand between you and your ultimate goal -perils whence not even the gods can shield you. But only you, of all men, can tread that path with a chance of victory. Yours alone are the perils and the glory; for it is given to few mortals to save their world!'
The sage smiled down at the king from the cloudy light. 'One gift alone I may give you. Bear it through every trial, for in your hour of greatest need it will be your salvation. Nay, I can tell you naught more. In time of need, your heart will instruct you how to use this talisman.'
A mist of glittering light, like the dust of stars, drifted from the prophet's outstretched palm. Something tinkled glassily at Conan's feet. Without looking, he bent to pick it up.
'One last word,' said Epemitreus. 'The sorcerer-kings of old Atlantis used the emblem of the Black Kraken. This emblem is still displayed. Beware of it!
'Go now, child of Crom,' continued the sage. 'It were not wise for mortals to stray too long into these shadowy realms whereinto I have called your spirit. Return, O Conan, to your fleshly abode, and the blessing of the eternal gods of light go with you, to lighten your dark and dreadful path! Never again shall you behold the face of Epemitreus - not in this world, nor yet in the many worlds to come, through which your soul, reborn, shall venture and struggle in lives beyond this one. Farewelll’
Gasping with shock, Conan came instantly awake. He found himself sprawled on the silken bed, clad in light mail and bathed in sweat. So it had been a dream! The drugged wine and his own troubled thoughts had combined to form a fearful vision ...
And then he looked at the thing clenched in his sweaty palm, the phoenix-shaped talisman hewn from the heart of a giant, glittering diamond, and knew that it had been more than a mere dream.
Three hours later, while a drenching summer storm flashed and rumbled about the towers of the palace, a giant, mail-clad form swathed in a vast black cloak and with its face half hidden by a wide-brimmed black slouch hat stole forth from the little used secret sally port in Tarantia's outer wall. After it came another tall, hulking figure, leading a mettlesome stallion. They halted while the second man tested the girth and checked the length of the stirrups,
'Curse it!' growled Prince Conn's young voice. ' Tis unfair! If any man has the right to go with you, it is I!’
Conan somberly shook his head, scattering drops of water from his hat brim. 'Crom knows, son, that if I might take any man with me, it would be you. But we are no mere pair of penniless adventurers, to do as the whim moves us. We cannot have the power and the glory without the responsibility. It took me years to learn this lesson, and a hard one at times I found it. I go, perchance to my death; you shall remain to rule this land as justly as you can. Thus the gods have willed.
'Trust no man fully, but give the most trust to those whom I have found worthy of trust. Discount all praise by nine-tenths, since a king draws flatterers as offal does flies. Pay closer heed to men's deeds than to their words. Never punish the bearer of bad tidings, or frown upon him who submits an unwelcome opinion, lest men think they dare not tell the king the truth. Farewell!'
Conan grasped his son's hand in a crushing grip, and the two exchanged a short, fierce hug. Then, while Conn held the stallion's rein and the high stirrup, Conan swung into the saddle. For a few heartbeats, the cloaked-figure looked back at the looming towers of golden Tarantia, starry gem of the West. Then, with a final wave, Conan spurred the horse southward and rode off through the pouring rain and the lightning-litten dark down the long road to Argos and the sea. And thus the world's mightiest warrior set forth upon the last and strangest of his adventures.
CHAPTER THREE
THE CUP AND TRIDENT
Tall thrones topple and kingdoms fall,
And the shuddering dark envelops all;
But one rides forth on a hopeless quest
To a nameless fate in the dim, red West.
- The Voyage of Amra
The storm broke about midnight. Lightning flickered and flared in the thick-piled clouds above the western horizon and ere long a wind rose like a pack of howling wolves, driving sheets of rain before it.
But within the Cup and Trident, a seaside inn near the harbor of Messantia in Argos, all was warmth and light and merriment. A mighty fire roared on the stone hearth, filling the long, low-ceilinged room with flickering orange light and steamy heat. Sailors, fishermen, and an occasional traveler caught by the cloudburst sprawled on log benches before long tables, swilling sour Argossean ale or, for those who could afford a finer liquor, rich Zingaran wine. A bull calf turned on the creaking spit above the roaring blaze, and the spicy smell of roasting meat filled the air.
Caught by the gusty wind, the oaken door crashed open. Men turned, startled, to see a gigantic figure looming in the door. From throat to heel he was wrapped in a black cloak. Streams of water trickled from him, forming puddles on the floor. Under the black, wide-brimmed, wayfarer's hat, the men in the tavern glimpsed dangerous blue eyes in a bronzed, weatherbeaten face and the silver of a hoary beard as the stranger stamped in, slamming the door shut behind him and doffing his voluminous cloak to wring the water from it in streams.
A fat, perspiring innkeeper with a round, red face framed in greasy black curls clumped over to ask the stranger's fancy. He made jerky little bows while rubbing his fat hands on the leathern apron about his paunch.
'Hot mulled ale,' the fierce-eyed oldster growled, as he sat down at the bench nearest to the fire. 'And a haunch of that calf I smell sizzling, if 'tis done. Quick, man! I'm wet to the bone, frozen to the marrow, and hungry as a famished wolf!'
As the innkeeper puffed away to serve the stranger, a burly, tawny-haired Argossean, much the worse for wine, nudged his comrades and rose to his feet to stand before the fire, rocking a little on his heels. He was big and beefy, with the thickly corded throat and broad, bulging shoulders of a wrestler. The piglike little blue eyes in his round, red face bore an expression of brute cunning and oafish stupidity. He stood looking down with an open, wet-mouthed grin at the old man, taking in the gray mane and the scarred cheeks. Conan, spreading his cloak to catch the heat of the fire, paid him no heed.
'What have we here, lads, eh?' said the red-faced one in a thick voice.
'Looks like a Zingaran buccaneer to me, Strabo,' said one of his cronies.
Strabo looked the stranger up and down. 'Long in the tooth for a buccaneer, lads’ he sneered. 'And look at the old dog, sitting there, hogging the best seat in the Cup and Trident! Hey, graybeard! Drag your old bones to the back and let honest Argosseans soak up some heat!'
Conan raised blazing eyes. If Strabo had not been so deep in his cups and spoiling for a fight, the banked fires behind that gaze might have penetrated even his dull wits.
As it was, Conan's ominous warning glare only roused him to pettish fury. Childish rage flared in his bloodshot eyes, and his porcine face flushed.
'I'm talking to you, gaffer!' he snarled, and swung one leg to kick Conan's shin with a heavy thud - startlingly loud in the inn, which had become suddenly quiet. This was the local bully, the strong man, the braggart. The other locals chuckled and nudged one another, waiting for the fun when Strabo goaded the old fellow into a rage. At the other end of the room sat a silent, catlike figure in a shadowy corner, enveloped in a thick, black cloak with the hood drawn close about his face. He leaned forward with strange interest, eyes narrowing to observe the quarrel.