"Well done," Chabano said. "Not perfect, but only the G.o.ds are perfect."

"Thus say the G.o.d-Men," a warrior shouted. One had to be of the Kwanyi oneself to catch the note of mockery in the man's voice. The G.o.d-Men were not Kwanyi, and to them, these words would seem full of honor.

Empty honor, as empty as their heads.

Only if a Kwanyi warrior had grown so foul of spirit as to spy for the G.o.d-Men would they learn they had been mocked. Chabano refused to believe that any of the men he had sworn, taught, and led in ordeal, battle, or rite could be so corrupt.

Even if one had turned, Chabano still had the advantage. He had found eyes and ears among the G.o.d-Men before the G.o.d-Men could have found any among his warriors.

The height of the sun above the trees reminded him that this day's war rites were almost done but his work was not. He slung his shield across his back with the ritual three twists of the thong and held his spear across his chest with both hands in the customary manner.

"Warriors of the Kwanyi, I must go speak with the G.o.ds. This day you have pleased me. This night you may please yourselves."

That meant an ordeal for the slave women, perhaps for a few unlucky free women as well. It would also be an ordeal for the brew-sisters, who would have to work very hard to keep the warriors from growing thirsty. Thirsty warriors had been known to ignore the fact that a woman wore a headdress of the free Kwanyi.

"Let us go with you as far as the G.o.ds allow," said an underchief.

It was a moment to give fear, but not to shed blood.

Chabano slowly lowered his spear until its b.u.t.t sank into the earth.

Without seeming to exert himself, he drove the b.u.t.t half an arm's length into the jungle floor.

Then he whipped his shield off his back, hooked his spear loose, and caught it as it flew high. He ended with the spear aimed at the chest of the underchief who had spoken.

The man knew that any outward sign of the fear thundering within him would send the spear leaping into his chest. He did not even make the gesture of supplication, although his eyes did not leave Chabano.

"The G.o.ds command that we stay here?" the man said. It showed high courage to make it a question.

"They do," Chabano said. "Do you doubt their word?"

"The G.o.ds speak, but do they always speak plainly?" the man persisted.

Chabano decided that such courage deserved the reward of an end to these fear-jests.

"You have wisdom, more than some I could name, who think that the G.o.ds'

messages bear only one meaning."

That was mockery of the G.o.d-Men which might be dangerous even for Chabano should it reach their ears. The chief did not overly much care.

"But when the G.o.ds wish me dead, they will have me if all the warriors of the Kwanyi march with me. If the G.o.ds wish me safe, I may go to this day's speaking alone. Go, and find better company than I shall enjoy for a while!"

The warriors grinned at one another, hearing the boldness of a chief who dared mock even the G.o.ds themselves, not merely the G.o.d-Men. Then they tossed their spears, gave a war cry, and strode off into the jungle.

Chabano waited until the last was gone before he turned onto the path he intended to follow. Even after that, he waited for a s.p.a.ce, hiding, and listening to be sure that he alone was taking this path. He did not speak to the G.o.ds, but his eye and ear among the G.o.d-Men could tell him more than the G.o.ds ever had.

Conan thought he heard a sound to their rear. He dropped back, looked for a place from which to watch unseen, and found none that would hide a mouse, let alone a Cimmerian. He contrived to flatten himself against the wall and keep the silence of a cat stalking that mouse.

Then he heard Valeria signaling with the beat of dagger-hilt against stone wall. Conan listened. He heard the code that said, "Come as soon as you can, but there is no danger here." To any ear but his and Valeria's, it would seem a natural sound of these haunted depths, or at least nothing that spoke of human presence.

Conan waited, for about as long as a skilled tavern dancer might take to shed her garments when the watchers bid eagerly in silver coin for each piece of silk. Then he decided that once again this city of the dead could play tricks with even the ears of a seasoned warrior.

He still walked cat-footed as he came up behind Valeria. She did not start or make a sound, though; her ears seemed keener now than when she had first gone underground. Instead, she pointed down the tunnel. Her gesture was more eloquent than words, which were not needed. Conan saw that a hundred paces farther on, the light turned green.

Now both were as silent as hunting creatures, or prey seeking to escape, as they crept forward, one against either wall. Both bore steel in their hands, both set feet down as if they trod on shards of gla.s.s, or on sleeping serpents.

They reached the turning where the light changed, and looked beyond it.

For a moment, Conan thought they had stumbled upon a sleeping serpent-a monster such as he had fought too often to care to meet again.

Then he saw that it was but a trick of the light that made the serpent seem whole. Only a skeleton remained, although that skeleton stretched twenty paces from the tooth-studded skull to the delicate bones of the tail.

It was the light that had deceived Conan, a light that flooded the cave. A light that seemed to rise like smoke from green jewels piled deep inside the circle formed by the skeleton. The light of a greater ma.s.s of fire-stones than Conan had ever dreamed existed.

In the Black Kingdoms, Conan had heard the legend of the Dying Place of the Elephants. There, it was said, the great gray beasts went to end their days. There, ivory to buy a kingdom lay, waiting for some bold adventurer to stumble upon it.

He had never heard of such a tale about the Golden Serpents. Indeed, he had never heard of anyone who had seen more of a Golden Serpent than its fire-stone eyes-and it was only a tale that Golden Serpents' eyes and fire-stones were one and the same.

Rather, it had been a tale. Now Conan knew it for the truth. In the skull, as large as a horse's, two vast, green orbs flashed. Their glow was identical to that of the jewels on the floor.

Conan softly let out his breath and stalked forward. Nothing living could have been more silent. In that silence, he reached the skeleton and knelt beside it, studying the eyes.

Now he understood why even such vast creatures as the Golden Serpents yielded so many fire-stones. Each eye was the size of a platter, and each one was made of twoscore or more stones. Some were as small as acorns, others as large as the finest Bossonian cider apples. All glowed with that unnatural light.

Conan also understood why the light had nothing of nature in it. No natural creature had such eyes; the Golden Serpents were magicians'

work. The same magicians who had wrought this maze in the rock, where he and Valeria might yet end their days? Perhaps. If so, they were long dead, and their creations likewise.

Then even that small comfort left Conan. A wind colder than any that ever blew in Cimmeria seemed to play upon his spine. Shreds of flesh still clung to the serpent's bones. Golden scales still covered a few of those shreds, and a faint miasma of decay rose from the greater part of them.

Had it been here since the time of its creators, this Golden Serpent's bones would have been fleshless, or the shreds of flesh mummified by the subterranean air. This creature had been living while Conan walked the earth above, perhaps even while he had fought and caroused with the Barachan pirates.

Conan motioned Valeria forward, then moved to where he could look both ways. He waited, steel at the ready, for her to study the bones and see what he had seen.

Chabano's eyes and ears were those of a warrior half his age. He did not need these to warn him of his spy's coming, for Ryku seemed as careless as a child of being seen or heard. He was first among the lesser G.o.d-Men, the Silent Brothers, but his lack of jungle craft made him anything but silent.

Chabano used the time he gained to place himself high on a branch above the trail. When the young G.o.d-Man came stamping into view like a warthog in rut, Chabano slung both spear and shield, then gripped a stout vine and leaped from his perch.

The other threw up his hands in dismay as Chabano seemed to fly down on him out of the sky. Then he flung himself back against the mossy bark of a forest tree and began silently mouthing curses.

"Cease," Chabano said. He put the tip of his spear under the man's chin and gently raised the weapon until the man closed his mouth. "Or do you think the G.o.ds will hear you without your masters also hearing?" the chief added. "Surely you came as if you feared no human foe."

"I do not," Ryku said. "I am in the land of friends."

Chabano laughed longer than was good for Ryku's pride, but he did not take the spear away. By the time the chief was done laughing, a drop of blood showed on Ryku's chin.

"Is friendship then a jest?" Ryku asked. He stood without trying to wipe away the blood, and met Chabano's eyes.

Again the chief decided there was enough courage here to deserve some reward. "It is not. Nor is it found among all the Kwanyi. At least not toward you, if it were known why you are here."

"Who would tell?"