“Well ?” demanded Conan grimly. The house behind him was dark and still.
“The map was stolen said Sassan. “By whom, you know.”
“I didn't know at the time,” growled Conan. “Later I learned the thieves were Zyras, a Corinthian, and Arshak, a disinherited Turanian prince. Some skulking servant spied on Ostorio as he lay dying and told them. Though I knew neither by sight, I traced them to this city. Tonight I learned they were hiding in this alley. I was blundering about looking for a clue when I stumbled into that brawl.”
“You fought them in ignorance!” said Sassan. “The Kezankian was Rustum, a spy of the Kezankian chieftain Keraspa. They lured him into their house and were singeing him to make him tell them of the secret trails through the mountains. You know the rest.”
“All except what happened when I climbed the wall.”
“Somebody threw a stool at you and hit your head. When you fell outside the wall they paid you no more heed, either thinking you were dead or not knowing you in your mask. They chased the Kezankian, but whether they caught him I know not. Soon they returned, saddled up, and rode like madmen westward, leaving the dead where they fell. I came to see who you were and recognized you.”
“Then the man in the red turban was Arshak,” muttered Conan. “But where was Zyras?”
“Disguised as a Turanian - the man they called Jillad.”
“Oh. Well then ?” growled Conan.
“Like you, I want the red god, even though of all the men who have sought it down the centuries only Ostorio escaped with his life. There is supposed to be some mysterious curse on would-be plunderers—”
“What know you of that?” said Conan, sharply.
Sassan shrugged. “Nothing much. The folk of Kezankia speak of a doom that the god inflicts on those who raise covetous hands against him, but I'm no superstitious fool. You're not afraid, are you ?”
“Of course not!” As a matter of fact Conan was. Though he feared no man or beast, the supernatural filled his barbarian's mind with atavistic terrors. Still, he did not care to admit the fact. “What have you in mind ?”
“Why, only that neither of us can fight Zyras' whole band alone, but together we can follow them and take the idol from them. What do you say?”
“Aye, I'd do it. But I'll kill you like a dog if you try any tricks!”
Sassan laughed. “I know you would, so you can trust me. Come; I have horses waiting.”
The Iranistani led the way through twisting streets overhung with latticed balconies and along stinking alleys until he stopped at the lamplit door of a courtyard. At his knock, a bearded face appeared at the wicket. After sortif muttered words, the gate opened. Sassan strode in, Come following suspiciously. But the horses were there, and i word from the keeper of the sera set sleepy servants to saddling them and filling the saddle pouches with food. Soon Conan and Sassan were riding together out of; the west gate, perfunctorily challenged by the sleepy guard Sassan was portly but muscular, with a broad, shrewd face and dark, alert eyes. He bore a horseman's lance over his shoulder and handled his weapons with the expertness of practice. Conan did not doubt that in a pinch he would fight with cunning and courage. Conan also did not doubt that he could trust Sassan to play fair just so long as the alliance was to his advantage, and to murder his partner at the first opportunity when it became expedient to do so in order to keep all the treasure himself.
Dawn found them riding through the rugged defiles of the bare, brown, rocky Kezankian Mountains, separating the easternmost marches of Koth and Zamora from the Turanian steppes. Though both Koth and Zamora claimed the region, neither had been able to subdue it, and the town of Arenjun, perched on a steep-sided hill, had successfully withstood two sieges by the Turanian hordes from the east. The road branched and became fainter until Sassan confessed himself at a loss to know where they were.
“I'm still following their tracks.,” grunted Conan. “If you cannot see them, I can.”
Hours passed, and signs of the recent passage of horses became clear. Conan said. “We're closing on them, and they still outnumber us. Let us stay out of sight until they get the idol, then ambush them and take it from them.”
Sassan's eyes gleamed. “Good! But let's be wary! this is the country of Keraspa, who robs all he catches.”
Midaftemoon found them still following the trace of an ancient, forgotten road. As they rode toward a narrow gorge, Sassan said:
“If that Kezankian got back to Keraspa, the Kezankians will be alert for strangers...”
They reined up as a lean, hawk-faced Kezankian rode out of the gorge with hand upraised. “Halt!” he cried. “By what leave do you ride in the land of Keraspa?”
“Careful,” muttered Conan. “They may be all around us.”
“Keraspa claims toll on travelers,” answered Sassan under his breath. “Maybe that is all this fellow wants.” Fumbling in his girdle, he said to the tribesman: “We are but poor travelers, glad to pay your brave chief's toll. We ride alone.”
“Then who is that behind you?” demanded the Kezankian, nodding his head in the direction from which they had come.
Sassan half turned his head. Instantly the Kezankian whipped a dagger from his girdle and struck at the Iranistani.
Quick as he was, Conan was quicker. As the dagger darted at Sassan's throat, Conan's scimitar flashed and steel rang. The dagger whirled away, and with a snarl the Kezankian caught at his sword. Before he could pull the blade free, Conan struck again, cleaving turban and skull. The Kezankian's horse neighed and reared, throwing the corpse headlong. Conan wrenched his own steed around.
“Ride for the gorge!” he yelled. «It's an ambush!”
As the Kezankian tumbled to earth, there came the flat snap of bows and the whistle of arrows. Sassan's horse leaped as an arrow struck it in the neck and bolted for the mouth of the defile. Conan felt an arrow tug at his sleeve as he struck in the spurs and fled after Sassan, whc was unable to control his beast.
As they swept towards the mouth of the gorge, three horsemen rode out swinging broad-bladed tulwars. Sassan, abandoning his effort to check his maddened mount, drove his lance at the nearest. The spear transfixed the man and hurled him out of the saddle.
The next instant Conan was even with a second swordsman, who swung the heavy tulwar. The Cimmerian threw up his scimitar and the blades met with a crash as the horses came together breast to breast. Conan, rising in his stirrups, smote downwards with all his immense strength, beating down the tulwar and splitting the skull of the wielder. Then he was galloping up the gorge with arrows screeching past him. Sassan's wounded horse stumbled and went down; the Iranistani leaped clear as it fell.
Conan pulled up, snarling: “Get up behind me!” Sassan, lance in hand, leaped up behind the saddle. A toad of the spurs, and the heavily-burdened horse set off down the gorge. Yells behind showed that the tribesmen were scampering to their hidden horses. A turn in the gorge muffled the noises.
“That Kezankian spy must have gotten back to Keraspa,” panted Sassan. “They want blood, not gold. Do you suppose they have wiped out Zyras ?”