But this Lion Dance gives me an idea. I have heard of it from travelers. Do not the dancers carry great dresses made for two men, with a lion’s head? At the end of the feast, I can slip into the castle. Then I shall be on my own. The only snag is the dancing dress. You have none here, and it would take too long to make one.”
“Fate is indeed looking our way,” replied the old man gravely. “In Shaulun, a day’s journey hence, there is a team that goes to the dance every year with their lion dress. We will make it worth their while to let us borrow it.
As for the rest, you speak true. You will have many chances to slip away during the latter part of the feast, for Yah Chieng often plies the rabble with wine, and there arises such confusion and shouting that his swordsmen have to chase everybody out with naked swords. Perhaps this time we can turn the riot to our advantage. The swordsmen of the usurper would be surprised to meet sober men with forbidden swords in their hands. Aye, I think we could promise Yah Chieng an unusually lively feast!”
“Not yet,” said Leng Chi. “How many can we muster? Yah Chieng has his Two Hundred at instant call, besides his regular troops. Some of the latter might come over to us, did they know what was afoot. But…”
“And we have but a few bits of armor,” said another headman. “The troops of the usurper will be scaled and plated like the crayfish of Lake Ho.”
As the meager forces that the refugees could put in the field were summed up, faces and voices fell again. Then Conan spoke:
“The other day, Lord Kang, you said something about a troop of Western mercenaries captured by Yah Chieng last year. What is this?”
The old man said: “In the Month of the Hog, a company of fifty came marching out of the west. They said they had served the king of…what was the name of the kingdom? Turan, that is it. But, resenting the scornful way this king’s generals treated them, they had deserted and struck out eastward to seek their fortunes in Khitai.”
Leng Chi took up the tale. “They passed a few leagues north of here, through the village of Shaulun. They found favor with the villagers because they destroyed a band of robbers, and they did not loot or rape. Therefore the villagers warned them against Yah Chieng. But they would not listen, and marched on to Paikang. There, we heard, they offered their swords to Yah Chieng. He feigned acceptance but had other plans in mind. He gave them a feast, at the height of which he had their captain’s head cut off and the rest cast into his dungeon.”
“Why did he do this?” said Conan.
“It seems he wanted them for sacrifices in some great rite of devilish magic!”
“What became of them?”
“At last accounts, they still awaited their doom, though that is three months since.”
“How did you hear of it?”
“A woman of Paikang, who had been having a love affair with one of the Two Hundred, fled to Shaulun, and thence the tale came to us.”
“Lord Kang,” said Conan, “tell me about your palace. I shall need to find my way about it.”
Kang Hsiu began drawing lines on the earthen floor of the hut. “You know that the usurper may have changed things since I dwelt therein. But this is how they were in my day. Here stands the main gate; here rises the great hall …”
Hours later, plans were made down to the last detail. Kang Hsiu rose and swung his goblet high, the amber liquid swirling in the smoky lamplight. He cried in a ringing voice: “To the future and honor of great Paikang, and may the head of the Snake soon be crushed under the boot of the Avenger!”
An answering shout went up, and Conan made a gesture and drank. His brain whirled with the realization that he was at last within reach of his goal.
Dust rose in choking clouds on the road that ran west from Paikang.
Hundreds of Khitans in blue and brown shuffled along it towards the city.
The sun gleamed whitely on the massive marble wall of Paikang. The waters of the moat reflected the white walls, the brown hills, and the blue sky, save where the wakes of a flock of swimming ducks disturbed its surface.
Over the walls rose the pagodas of Paikang, their multiple roofs gleaming with glazed tiles of green, blue, and purple and glittering with gilded ornaments at the corners. Golden dragons and lions snarled down from the angles of the battlements surmounting the great gate.
The dusty lines of countryfolk streamed into the gate, afoot and on donkeyback. For once Yah Chieng’s soldiers stood back, leaning on their bills and tridents and watching the throng without stopping each one for questioning, search, and extortion. Now and then the drab column was lightened by the brilliant costumes of the dancers. The lion dancers of Shaulun made an especially brave show. The gilded lion mask flashed in the sun, turning its bulging eyes and curling tongue this way and that. The man in the forequarters must have been of unusual stature, for the headpiece of the lion costume towered far above the heads of the Khitans.
Inside the city, the countryfolk poured along a winding avenue toward the palace. Conan, peering through the holes below the lion mask, sniffed the pungent smells of a Khitan city and pricked his ears at its sounds. At first it sounded like a meaningless din, though each horn, bell, whistle, and rattle was used by tradesmen of a particular kind to make themselves known.
Following the crowd, he came to another wall with a great gate standing open in it. The folk poured in. The column divided to flow around a jade screen of carven dragons, ten feet high and thrice as long, and joined again on the other side. They were in the courtyard of Yah Chieng’s palace, formerly the seat of the Kang clan.
Pushing, shouting masses pressed against the tables where Yah Chieng’s servants ladled out rice stew and rice wine. Many of the guests were already in a stimulated condition; the singsong talk of the crowd rose to a roar.
Here a juggler tossed balls and hatchets; there a musician plucked a one-stringed lute and sang plaintive songs, though only those within a few feet of him could hear him.
Conan heard Leng Chi’s voice in his ear: “Over this way. The dancing will soon begin. Be not so proficient as to win the prize. It would not forward our plans to have the judge demand that you doff your headpiece to receive it …”
The long stone corridor was dark. Deathly silence reigned in its murky depths. Conan slunk stealthily forward like a jungle cat, avoiding the slightest sound, carrying his sword unsheathed. He was clad in a Khitan jacket and silken trousers, bought from a merchant in a border village.
As he had planned, so had things befallen. During the rising turmoil in the courtyard, nobody had noticed by the flickering torchlight that one of the lion dresses was now borne by only one carrier. Shadows and nooks had aided Conan’s swift entry. Now he was on his way into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold.
His senses were sharpened to the utmost. It was not the first time he had entered the abode of a hostile wizard.
Memories of the ghastly things he had met on similar occasions thrust themselves upon his consciousness like attacking demons. All his life, the supernatural had been the one thing that could send tendrils of fear probing into his brain. But with iron self-possession, he shrugged off his atavistic fears and continued his catlike stalk.
The corridor branched. One stairway led up, the other down, hardly discernible in the all-pervading darkness.
Conan chose the one leading downward. The plan of the castle was well-learned and locked in his brain.
Yo La-gu, one of Yah Chieng’s Two Hundred, lolled on his bench in the dungeon beneath the citadel of Paikang. His temper was ruffled. Why should he of all men sit here, guarding these milksop western prisoners, while outside the feast was in progress and wine and love were to be had for the asking? A stupid idea of the wizard to keep people prisoner for years, preparing to use them up in some magical stunt, when a single raid on the countryside would’ fetch as many Khitans in a week!