I am very excited about my latest book, 4 Blades of Ruin, a series of
short stories of Robert E. Howard's heroes, Conan the Barbarian, Bran Mak Morn, Solomon Kane, and King Kull. The book is available on Amazon in a graphic edition, a non-graphic edition and on Kindle.Here is an excerpt from one of the Conan stories.
Stone of Doom
1.
“From the outside the stone is a riddle:
No one knows how to answer it.”
— Charles Simic
CONAN spurred his horse across the desert, its
hooves pounding rhythmically on the hard, barren ground. A quick look over his
shoulder told him his pursuers, six now, were closing in. It would be foolish
to turn and fight, since they had bows, and he had only a sword. They were
closing and would soon be in range. Some of these men were Hyrkanian, excellent
bowmen who could shoot quite accurately while riding a speeding mount, their
legs wrapped tightly around their beast’s belly.
When
he had fled the city, there were at least ten who pursued him; now that number
was almost half, but the Cimmerian did not think he could evade them for long.
A north wind was beginning to blow, bringing stinging sand. Conan brought up
his scarf to his eyes.
An
arrow soon whizzed past his ear. The wind continued to blow, and with it came a
sandstorm that restricted his vision. Conan put his heels into the horse’s
flank. An arrow struck him in the back. The barbarian winced in pain but still
pressed on. He looked behind him and could barely see the lead archer through
the blowing sand. Another arrow struck him, this one in the left shoulder.
Despite the pain and a weakening feeling, Conan spurred his horse on, though
the beast and rider could no longer see where they were going. Every stride of
the horse sent pain coursing through his body. As blood oozed out of his
wounds, Conan fought to maintain consciousness. He rode for miles, and for each
one he bent over the horse’s neck a little more. How he stayed in the saddle
was a testament to his incredible strength and stamina. He was clinging to the
horse’s mane and did not remember passing out.
When
he opened his eyes, he was lying on the ground, facedown. It was night, and
there was a campfire. His back and shoulder hurt. He started to rise.
“I
wouldn’t get up just yet,” said a man’s voice. “You have to give your wounds a
chance to heal.”
Despite
the advice, Conan sat up to see who was speaking to him.
It
was an older man, sitting by the fire, dressed quite modestly in breeches,
sandals, and a homespun tunic. His features reflected intelligence but were
nondescript, and Conan guessed he was a Westerner of mixed race. The man’s hair
was greying, as was his light beard. Even his thoughtful eyes were grey. The
man appeared to possess a certain calmness, as if he were not about to let
anything vex him. He handed Conan a canteen of water. Conan drank great gulps
of water, then suddenly stopped and considered that this might be all the water
the man had.
Conan
looked around and saw that he was no longer in the desert, but in the steppes,
with grass and a few trees in the distance. He regarded the older man.
“Who
are you?” Conan asked. He had a suspicious nature, especially towards strangers
who did him a good turn for no apparent reason.
“My
name is Augur. I found you in the desert, lying on your horse’s neck with two
arrows in your back. Do you remember how you got them?”
Conan nodded. “A certain prince in Akif took
exception when I was caught with his favorite concubine. I was chased out of
town by several of his men.”
“It
can be dangerous to take what does not belong to you.”
“The
prince had more than his share of women. He could afford to give me one.”
Augur
nodded. “People who have less often feel that way about people who have more.”
Conan
regarded the man. “What are you, some sort of philosopher?”
Augur
grinned. “Just a man who has taken the time to observe people. What’s your
name?”
“Conan
of Cimmeria.”
“You
are a little far from home, Conan of Cimmeria. What are you doing this far from
home?”
“Whatever
I can get away with.”
Augur
smiled again. Smiles came easily. He reached over, picked up two arrows and
tossed them to Conan.
“I
pulled these out of you.”
Conan
looked at the arrows. The heads were of metal, and well-barbed.
“They
didn’t want to come out,” Augur said. “I had to push and pull, twist and turn
them. I had to do a little cutting.”
“Why?”
the Cimmerian asked.
“Because
they were difficult to get out.”
“No,
I mean, why did you do it?”
“I
didn’t think you wanted to keep them inside you.”
“No,
I mean, why did you help me? You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything. Why
do it?”
“It
was an act of kindness. I did not consider it much trouble.”
The
barbarian thought on this. “With less trouble, you might have let me die and
steal my horse.”
“I
thought your life was more important than me gaining a horse.”
“How
do you know I won’t murder you to take what you have?”
“I
don’t.”
Augur
spoke with a calmness that led Conan to suspect the man was not overly
concerned if he lived or died. To the Cimmerian, it was a bit perplexing and a
trifle unnerving. He found this behavior uncommon.
“I
have nothing to repay you for your kindness.”
“You
don’t have to,” said Augur, then pointing over to the side. “Your horse is tied
over there, but I don’t think you're in any condition to ride yet.”
“Do
you want me to leave?”
“You
can stay or go; it is up to you, but as I said, you should let those wounds
heal.”
For
some reason he could not fathom, Conan decided to stay. In the morning, he
cared for his horse. Augur shared what food he had with the barbarian. Conan
saw that Augur had a heavy cart pulled by two mules.
“Where
are you headed?” Conan asked.
Augur
pointed west. “Into the hills.”
“Why?”
Augur
regarded the younger man as if he were judging his character.
“I
am searching for something.”
“What?”
“A
stone.”
“A
stone? There are stones everywhere. You can have your pick of them.”
Again,
Augur paused, considering whether he should say more.
“The
stone I am looking for is very special. I could use a little help finding it.”
Conan
stopped and considered this veiled proposal.
“What
is so special about this stone?”
“I
know that a very wealthy man is willing to pay a lot of money to have this
stone.”
Conan
looked doubtful. Who would pay money for a stone?
“Is
this stone a jewel?” he asked.
“No,
but I have heard it is very old, and quite rare.”
“And
you need a partner?”
“I
suspect it is quite heavy. I need a strong back and a man I can trust. I trust
you.”
Conan
stopped to consider the offer.
“How
do you know you can trust me?” Conan asked.
Augur
shrugged. “You are under no obligation to help me, you know. We can part
company here and now. You go your way, and I’ll go mine.”
Conan
had good instincts. He liked this man and saw humility and honor in him.
“Crom!”
Conan exclaimed. “There’s nowhere in particular I wanted to go, anyway. I’m with
you.”
The
pair travel west, out of the steppes and into the foothills.
After
days of travel, Conan asked, “How do you know where this stone is?”
“Before
I found you in the desert, I had sought out a man whom I heard had actually
seen this stone in his youth. Only recently had I spoken to him and heard his
story. Years ago, he had taken refuge in a cave and noticed a stone protruding
from the ground. What was peculiar about this stone was that it was a shiny
black color, its surface smooth and polished. In the darkness of the cave, the
stone sometimes radiated. The man began to dig around the stone by hand,
chipping at the packed, hard dirt with a knife. As he removed the dirt, he saw
that the stone was larger than he had imagined. He also saw something else;
there were markings on the stone, like ancient runes he could not read or even
identify. Then he recalled a legend about this stone. It is a common legend,
and he had once heard of it. This stone, so the story goes, was cursed, and so,
fearing it, he covered it up again, with the intention that no one would ever
find it.”
Conan
thought about this for a moment. “Why did he tell you about it?”
“What
was that you said?”
“If
this man did not want anyone to find it, why did he tell you about it?”
“Oh…
I suppose because… he is old now, and old men like to tell their stories. He
must have thought it was time to tell his. It was the first time he had told
this tale.”
Again,
Conan thought on this in his own plodding way.
“Wait
a minute, you said you sought out this man after hearing of his story. How
could you have heard of it since the first time he spoke of it was to you?”
All of Stephen Gaspar's books are available on Amazon!
