CHAPTER ONE
Thisbe, the thief, sat with his back to a tree in a moonlit clearing in the northern reaches of Brythunia, near the border of Hyperborea. At one end of the clearing, a rock face held a small waterfall which collected at a small pool at the base of the face. The singular most notable spectacle in the clearing was a podium to one side of the pond and near the face of rock. Upon the pedestal was an inscription in a script older than the hills themselves. No mere chance had brought the thief to this particular clearing. It was rumored that the pedestal was a key into a cavern the riches of which could buy a kingdom. The thief Thisbe, then, was trying to ascertain the method of entry and the role that the strange pedestal played.
Thisbe, the thief, sat with his back to a tree in a moonlit clearing in the northern reaches of Brythunia, near the border of Hyperborea. At one end of the clearing, a rock face held a small waterfall which collected at a small pool at the base of the face. The singular most notable spectacle in the clearing was a podium to one side of the pond and near the face of rock. Upon the pedestal was an inscription in a script older than the hills themselves. No mere chance had brought the thief to this particular clearing. It was rumored that the pedestal was a key into a cavern the riches of which could buy a kingdom. The thief Thisbe, then, was trying to ascertain the method of entry and the role that the strange pedestal played.
Surely, the strange earthen jugs played a role in unraveling the tale. Some sort of sorcery must have been laid on the two jugs, since they bore the same ancient script on their faces as the podium they must be aged uncountable years. Of course, they would have to be ensorceled to have stayed intact this long! Indeed, on an earlier attempt at unraveling the mystery of the podium and the jugs, the thief Thisbe had accidentally dropped one of the jugs to have it shatter into pieces at his feet. Yet the next time the thief returned to the clearing, there two jugs stood. It appeared whatever sorcery had been laid on the jug allowed it to repair itself, or at least, for another jug to be called into existence!
It was these events that the thief now pondered. He stared at the podium and the jugs set nearby. He had no hope to discover the meanings of the texts written upon them, for the script was too ancient. Perhaps the waterfall?
In a flash of insight, the thief jumps up and snaps his fingers together. The waterfall! Of course, it was so simple, he must fill one of the jugs and place it on the pedestal. But which one? The jugs differed in size, the larger of the two being about five palms (an ancient water measurement) and the smaller being about half that size. But which should he pick? Indeed, a man seeking riches would choose the larger of the two, since it is greed and lust for more which drives him to the cave of wonders. But there were also stories of ancient writings and the secrets of old held inside the cave, and would not a man of wisdom choose the smaller of the two knowing that in excess one finds to defeat oneself?
Thisbe, the thief, halts in front of the podium for a moment, then chooses the larger of the two jugs. If it doesn't work, he thinks to himself, then he can always try the next jug. Walking over to the pool of cool water, the thief fills the larger jug and places it onto the pedestal. For a moment nothing happens, until the thief sees a shimmering by the water fall. In amazement, the thief watches as a hidden door opens and a pathway is raised leading across the pool. Wonder and excitement fill the thief, and he walks as in a dream towards the opening in the fall. As he enters the door, the walkway descends back into the pool and the door rumbles closed. Once again, all is still in the clearing and the moon shines down on an empty scene devoid of movement save the rustling of the leaves in the night summer breeze.
CHAPTER TWO
In the blaze of noon day summer heat, and on the rolling hills of Hyperborea can be seen a large youth walking across the landscape. His long, dark hair is held by a woven braided band across his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes seem like gems in the strong summer light. Favoring comfort over protection, the youth wears a buckskin loincloth and naught another stich save his thronged walking sandals. His dark skin burnt from sun and scoured by wind would essay him from the southern races save his blue eyes, which are not of that race. Too, none of the southern races were built as he, with such broad back and thick thighs and arms. He wears a broadsword across his broad back and a dagger on his belt and too he carries himself with the air of one who is not unaccustomed to use each one.
This is Conan of Cimmeria, the freebooter and adventurer of that fierce mountain peoples. He walks over hill and over stream in a due course, yet he has not a destination. He walks to adventure and whatever fortune may present itself.
It is an hour before sunset when the youth comes upon a campsite. The site is nothing more than a fire pit and a small hut on stilts. As the Cimmerian approaches, he loosens the broadsword on his back and walks at an angle, ready to dive to the side or fight as the need arises.
In the blaze of noon day summer heat, and on the rolling hills of Hyperborea can be seen a large youth walking across the landscape. His long, dark hair is held by a woven braided band across his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes seem like gems in the strong summer light. Favoring comfort over protection, the youth wears a buckskin loincloth and naught another stich save his thronged walking sandals. His dark skin burnt from sun and scoured by wind would essay him from the southern races save his blue eyes, which are not of that race. Too, none of the southern races were built as he, with such broad back and thick thighs and arms. He wears a broadsword across his broad back and a dagger on his belt and too he carries himself with the air of one who is not unaccustomed to use each one.
This is Conan of Cimmeria, the freebooter and adventurer of that fierce mountain peoples. He walks over hill and over stream in a due course, yet he has not a destination. He walks to adventure and whatever fortune may present itself.
It is an hour before sunset when the youth comes upon a campsite. The site is nothing more than a fire pit and a small hut on stilts. As the Cimmerian approaches, he loosens the broadsword on his back and walks at an angle, ready to dive to the side or fight as the need arises.
"Who approaches?" A voice calls from inside the hut on stilts.
"Who wants to know?" The youth responds.
"Who wants to know?" The youth responds.
Out of the hut pops a shaven head. The one who it belongs to soon follows the heads notion and descends the stilted abode to the ground below. One sees a small man, not overly old but past the prime of life with a small greying beard and a short mustache. His shaven head and almond shaped eyes disclose that he is from the far Eastern lands of Khital, lands of wizards and strange customs.
"I am Mako, a wizard. And who might you be? Your size and demeanor announce you to be a warrior, surely, but come now, what is your name barbarian?"
"I am Conan, wizard," says the youth, not yet sheathing his sword. Being a man of Cimmeria grants one certain preferences, like strength and agility. But, as with most warriors, the barbarian was wary of the supernatural or magical. It was one thing to grapple with a foe of blood and sinew, but how to grapple with a magical enemy? The youth had been through trial enough of the former, and seen enough of the latter to know to avoid it whenever possible.
"Ah, Conan. To what gods do you owe allegiance, barbarian," The wizard asks, "and what can I do for you?"
"I swear by Crom," the youth replied, "but Crom requires no allegiance from any Cimmerian. He bestows upon us our strength and the fire within which gives us the desire to fight and be tested, but then he is done with us and requires no more."
"Ah, I have heard of Crom and Cimmeria. You are a long way from home," the wizard Mako noted.
"Aye, and I've been walking for several days without a proper rest," the Cimmerian said, "and I'd be happy to share your camp and whatever hospitality you can offer." Saying thus, the youth finally returns his blade to his sheath and takes a more congenial stance.
"Ah, glad to have you, my lad. Come, let us dine and you can tell me about what brings you to this part of the world."
"I am Conan, wizard," says the youth, not yet sheathing his sword. Being a man of Cimmeria grants one certain preferences, like strength and agility. But, as with most warriors, the barbarian was wary of the supernatural or magical. It was one thing to grapple with a foe of blood and sinew, but how to grapple with a magical enemy? The youth had been through trial enough of the former, and seen enough of the latter to know to avoid it whenever possible.
"Ah, Conan. To what gods do you owe allegiance, barbarian," The wizard asks, "and what can I do for you?"
"I swear by Crom," the youth replied, "but Crom requires no allegiance from any Cimmerian. He bestows upon us our strength and the fire within which gives us the desire to fight and be tested, but then he is done with us and requires no more."
"Ah, I have heard of Crom and Cimmeria. You are a long way from home," the wizard Mako noted.
"Aye, and I've been walking for several days without a proper rest," the Cimmerian said, "and I'd be happy to share your camp and whatever hospitality you can offer." Saying thus, the youth finally returns his blade to his sheath and takes a more congenial stance.
"Ah, glad to have you, my lad. Come, let us dine and you can tell me about what brings you to this part of the world."
After several days of walking, the meager repast of bread, wine, and dried meat barely sated the furious hunger of the barbarian. The two, wizard and warrior, sat long into the night talking of the sights they had seen and the adventures they have had. Mako, being the elder of the two, told stories of far away lands and the kings that ruled them to the youth and the youth was awed. He knew, of course, the world was large and had even heard of many of the lands the wizard spoke of, but many of the lands he had never heard of before and he found some of what he heard disturbing. In turn, the youth spoke of the score adventures that he had encountered in his travels. While it was clear that the man Conan was young, perhaps in his early twenties at the most, it was the wizards turn to be awed at the number of adventures that the youth had already conquered.
"Ah, but you say that you have yet to venture to the distant lands of the south, Conan?"
"Aye," said the Cimmerian, "but all in due time, wizard. For I plan to see much more in the years to come."
"Surely," agreed the wizard, Mako, "but perhaps I can entice you into a adventure of the more local type first."
Intrigued, as was usual for the youth when it comes to adventure, he says, "my ear is yours, wizard."
"Aye," said the Cimmerian, "but all in due time, wizard. For I plan to see much more in the years to come."
"Surely," agreed the wizard, Mako, "but perhaps I can entice you into a adventure of the more local type first."
Intrigued, as was usual for the youth when it comes to adventure, he says, "my ear is yours, wizard."
And so the wizard and barbarian spoke long into the night about a secret cave which holds riches of gold and the writings and magics of an ancient people. It was not until a few hours before dawn that the two finally succumbed to the pull of sleep, and for those few hours the youth dreamt of gold riches and of the wine and women he could purchase with them.
CHAPTER THREE
Upon the hills of Hyperborea, under the brilliant summer sun, two figures are seen walking. One dark giant, naked save a loincloth and a smaller man dressed in the flowing garb of the far eastern nations walk the rolling hills. The larger of the two is broad of shoulder and back and carries on it a broadsword, while the smaller seems to carry only a small pack on his back. They walk with a purpose and in a direction which will bring them across the border of Hyperborea and into the land of Brythunia. Their ultimate destination is a certain cave of wonders, the location of which even the small man, Mako the wizard, has only a vague notion. The larger youth, however, walks with the goal of adventure and the riches attained by it.
Upon the hills of Hyperborea, under the brilliant summer sun, two figures are seen walking. One dark giant, naked save a loincloth and a smaller man dressed in the flowing garb of the far eastern nations walk the rolling hills. The larger of the two is broad of shoulder and back and carries on it a broadsword, while the smaller seems to carry only a small pack on his back. They walk with a purpose and in a direction which will bring them across the border of Hyperborea and into the land of Brythunia. Their ultimate destination is a certain cave of wonders, the location of which even the small man, Mako the wizard, has only a vague notion. The larger youth, however, walks with the goal of adventure and the riches attained by it.
All day they walk and into the night, only to stop for repast and a short rest before they walk on. It is not until the middle of the third day that they walk over one of the hills to see a small village of several cottages below.
(to be continued...)
