Dripping, Conan pulled himself out of the tidal pool and raked the hair out of his eyes. He had not quite landed in the center of the pool; hence a tear in his garments exposed a blood-oozing weal along ribs and thigh, where he had grazed one of the sharp rocks that lined the pool. He ignored the hurt to examine the remains of the toad-thing.
Stone might be magically imbued with life, but it was still stone.
The monster had shattered into a hundred pieces, which lay hither and yon among the rocks at the base of the cliff. It took close scrutiny to discern that one of the stones composing that part of the reef had been one of the creature's feet, and that another had composed a part of its head. The other fragments blended into the rocky confusion as if they had lain there for eons.
Scrambling and hopping from rock to rock, Conan picked his way along the foot of the cliff until the bluff became low enough for him to scramble up. Then he turned back and rejoined his two companions on the spit. The red-haired man was leaning over the edge and contemplating the remains of the toad-thing below.
"Now by the claws of Nergal and the guts of Marduk, mate, that be a goodly sight to look on! But, now that we've outfaced that peril together, 'tis time we were beknownst to one another. I be Sigurd of Vanaheim, an honest seaman marooned on this cursed shore with his crew by shipwreck. And you?"
Conan was staring at Chabela. "By Crom!" he said at last. "Aren't you Chabela? Ferdrugo's daughter?"
"Aye," said the girl, "and you are Captain Conan."
She had spoken his name before, when he had come upon her while fleeing from the toad-thing; and this recognition had provided the clue to her identity.
Buccaneer captains and royal princesses did not mingle familiarly at the royal court of Zingara. Nonetheless, Conan had seen her often enough at feasts, parades, and other ceremonials.
Since the greater part of their loot went to the crown, it behooved King Ferdrugo to play host to his buccaneer captains on occasion. The long legs, massive shoulders, and grimly impassive features of the giant Cimmerian had made their mark in Chabela's mind, while he had recognized her readily enough despite her tattered garment, her disheveled hair, and the lack of cosmetics on her boldly handsome features.
"What in the name of all the gods are you doing here, Princess?" he demanded.
"Princess!" cried Sigurd, appalled. His ruddy face redder than ever, he stared at the half-naked girl whom he had handled so roughly and addressed with such familiarity. "Ymir's beard and Baal's blazing fires, Highness, ye must forgive my tongue. A highborn lady, and I called her lass'…" He sank to one knee, casting a stricken glance at Conan, who stood grinning.
Chabela said: "Rise, Master Sigurd, and think no more of the matter. Royal etiquette were as out of place here as a horse on a housetop. Know you Captain Conan, my other rescuer?"
"Conan… Conan," mused Sigurd. "The Cimmerian?"
"Aye," grunted Conan. "You've heard of me?"
"Aye, I've heard tales in Tor …" Sigurd checked himself.
"In Tortage, you were about to say?" said Conan. "I thought you had a look of the Barachas about you. I was one of the Brotherhood, too, until they made things too hot for me there. Now I'm captain of the Wastrel, a privateer for the Zingaran court. Is it friends?"
"Aye, by Lir's fish-tail and Thor's hammer!" said the Vanir, gripping Conan's hand in his. "But we must take care not to let our lads get to fighting. Mine be mostly Argosseans, and yours, I'm thinking, will be mostly Zingarans; and the twain will be at each other's throats in the wink of an eye. Since neither of us belongs to them two breeds, there's no reason for us to let that old feud disturb us."
"Right," said Conan. "How came you and your men here?"
"We ran aground on a rock off the southern point and broke up. We made it to shore and saved most of our gear and victuals, but our captain took sick and died. I was mate, so I've been leader for the past moon, whilst we've worked at trying to make a sailing raft seaworthy enough to carry us to the mainland."
"Know you aught of the black temple?"
"Oh, aye; my lads and I took a peek in that black shrine, but it fair reeked of evil and we shunned it thereafter." Sigurd's blue eyes peered out to westward, where the red ball of the sun was just touching the blue horizon. "Fry me for a lubber, lad, but all this jungle-chasing and monster-wrestling has given me a powerful thirst. Let's on to my camp and see if maybe we can rustle a drop of wine for the good of our souls! There's little enough left, but what there is we've earned today, I'm thinking.''
Chapter Eight: THE COBRA CROWN
Zarono raved and fumed when he returned to the Petrel and learned that Chabela was missing. The sailors who had been standing watch on the poop deck and outside Chabela's cabin were keelhauled at his command.
Before dawn the next day, he brought all but a few of his men ashore again.
The day was spent in combing the island for the missing princess, who was an essential element in his plans. A few wisps of fabric torn from her gown were discovered; but these, while they testified to her having been there, shed no light on her present whereabouts.
The men also discovered the remains of Sigurd's camp. Of the Barachan pirates themselves, however, there was no trace.
At sunset a baffled Zarono, more furious than ever, returned to the Petrel.
"Menkara!" he shouted.
"Aye, Captain Zarono?"
"If your witcheries be good for aught, now's the time for them. Show me whither this damnable chit has fled!"
Soon afterwards, Zarono sat in his cabin and watched the Stygian set up his apparatus for the spell he had worked in Duke Villagro's dungeon. The brazier hissed; the sorcerer chanted:
"Lao,Setesh…"
The jade-green cloud of smoke condensed, and in the cloud a seascape took form.
It showed a calm sea, in the midst of which lay a lean, graceful carack with all sails set. But the sails hung limply from the yards, while the ship rocked gently on smooth, oily swells.
"Conan's Wastrel, becalmed," said Zarono when the vision had dissolved. "But where?"
Menkara spread his hands. "I'm sorry, but my art does not tel me. If the sun were still visible, I could at least tell you in what direction they are headed. As it is I …''
"You mean," snarled Zarono, "that they could be anywhere over the horizon, but you have no way of telling whither?"
"I am not the great Thoth-Amon. What I can, I do."
"Could you see if the girl was aboard?"
"Nay, but I am sure she was, or the vision would not have shown the ship. Doubtless she sleeps in one of the cabins."
"I should have taken my pleasure of the drab whilst I had the chance," growled Zarono. "But what's to do now?"
"Well, the Wastrel might be bound for the coast of Kush; but more likely she is headed back for Kordava. Your Captain Conan would hasten to return the princess to Kordava in hope of a rich reward from the long."
"If we crack on sail to northward, could we overtake them?"
"I think not. The ocean is too wide, and a calm that halts Conan's ship would also halt yours. They might sail northeast, to make landfall on the coast of Shem and seek aid of the king's brother Tovarro. We have no way of knowing. But you forget our main purpose."
"The wench and the treasure were the main purpose!"
"Nay, I speak of the great Thoth-Amon. Once we enlist his aid, it matters not whether the princess be returned to her father, or whether she fetches home her uncle. The prince of sorcerers can control the lot as easily as a puppet-master jerks the strings of his marionettes. Let us sail northeastward to the Stygian coast. If on the way we overhaul Conan's ship, well and good; if not, it will not matter."