Robert E. Howard - Conan - The Tower Of Elephant

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THE TOWER OF THE ELEPHANT

Robert E. Howard

Torches flared murkily on the revels in the Maul, where the thieves of the

East held carnival by night. In the Maul they could carouse and roar as they

liked, for honest people shunned the quarters, and watchmen, well paid with

stained coins, did not interfere with their sport. Along the crooked, unpaved

streets with their heaps of refuse and sloppy puddles, drunken roisters

staggered, roaring. Steel glinted in the shadows where rose the shrill

laughter of women, and the sounds of scufflings and strugglings. Torchlight

licked luridly from broken windows and widethrown doors, and out of those

doors, stale smells of wine and rank sweaty bodies, clamor of drinking jacks

and fists hammered on rough tables, snatches of obscene songs, rushed like a

blow in the face.

In one of those dens merriment thundered to the low smoke-stained roof, where

rascals gathered in every stage of rags and tatters -- furtive cutpurses,

leering kidnappers, quick-fingered thieves, swaggering bravos with their

wenches, strident-voiced women clad in tawdry finery. Native rogues were the

dominant element -- dark-skinned, dark-eyed Zamorians, with daggers at their

girdles and guile in their hearts. But there were wolves of half a dozen

outland nations there as well. There was a giant Hyperborean renegade,

taciturn, dangerous, with a broadsword strapped to his gaunt frame -- for men

wore steel openly in the Maul. There was a Shemitish counterfeiter, with his

hook nose and curled blue-black beard. There was a bold-eyed Brythunian wench,

sitting on the knee of a tawdry-haired Gunderman -- a wandering mercenary

soldier, a deserter from some defeated army. And the fat gross rogue whose

bawdy jests were causing all the shouts of mirth was a professional kidnapper

come up from distant Koth to teach woman-stealing to Zamorians who were born

with more knowledge of the art than he could ever attain. This man halted in

his description of an intended victim's charms and thrust his muzzle into a

huge tankard of frothing ale. Then blowing the foam from his fat lips, he

said, "By Bel, god of all thieves, I'll show them how to steal wenches; I'll

have her over the Zamorian border before dawn, and there'll be a caravan

waiting to receive her. Three hundred pieces of silver, a count of Ophir

promised me for a sleek young Brythunian of the better class. It took me

weeks, wandering among the border cities as a beggar, to find one I knew would

suit. And she is a pretty baggage!

He blew a slobbery kiss in the air.

"I know lords in Shem who would trade the secret of the Elephant Tower for

her," he said, returning to his ale.

A touch on his tunic sleeve made him turn his head, sclowling at the

interruption. He saw a tall, strongly made youth standing beside him. This

person was as much out of place in that den as a grey wolf among mangy rats of

the gutters. His cheap tunic could not conceal the hard, rangy lines of his

powerful frame, the broad heavy shoulders, the massive chest, lean waist, and

heavy arms. His skin was brown from outland suns, his eyes blue and

smoldering; a shock of tousled black hair crowned his broad forehead. From his

girdle hung a sword in a worn leather scabbard.

The Kothian involuntarily drew back; for the man was not one of any civilized

race he knew.

"You spoke of the Elephant Tower," said the stranger, speaking Zamorian with

an alien accent. "I've heard much of this tower; what is its secret?"

The fellow's attitude did not seem threatening, and the Kothian's courage was

bolstered up by the ale and the evident approval of his audience. He swelled

with self-importance.

"The secret of the Elephant Tower?" he exclaimed. "Why any fool knows that

Yara the priest dwells there with the great jewel men call the Elephant's

Heart, that is the secret of his magic."

The barbarian digested this for a space.

"I have seen this tower," he said. "It is set in a great garden above the

level of the city, surrounded by high walls. I have seen no guards. The walls

would be easy to climb. Why has not somebody stolen this secret gem?"

The Kothian stared wide-mouthed at the other's simplicity, then burst into a

roar of derisive mirth, in which the others joined.

"Harken to this heathen!" he bellowed. "He would steal the jewel of Yara! --

Harken, fellow," he said, turning portentously to the other, "I suppose you

are some sort of a northern barbarian--"

"I am a Cimmerian," the outlander answered, in no friendly tone. The reply and

the manner of it meant little to the Kothian; of a kingdom that lay far to the

south, on the borders of Shem, he knew only vaguely of the northern races.

"The give ear and learn wisdom, fellow," said he, pointing his drinking jack

at the discomfited youth. "Know that in Zamora, and more especially in this

city, there are more bold thieves than anywhere else in the world, even Koth.

If mortal man could have stolen the gem, be sure it would have been filched

long ago. You speak of climbing the walls, but once having climbed, you would

quickly wish yourself back again. There are no guards in the garden at night

for a very good reason -- that is no human guards. But in the watch chamber,

in the lower part of the tower, are armed men, and even if you passed those

who roam the gardens by night, you must still pass through the soldiers, for

the gem is kept somewhee in the tower above."

"But if a man _could_ pass throught the gardens," argued the Cimmerian, "why

could he not come at the gem through the upper part of the tower and thus

avoid the soldiers?"

Again the Kothian gaped at him.

"Listen to him!" he shouted jeeringly. "The barbarian is an eagle who would

fly to the jeweled rim of the tower, which is only a hundred and fifty feet

above the earth, with rounded sides slicker than polished glass!"

The Cimmerian glared about, embarrassed at the roar of mocking laughter that

greeted this remark. He saw no particular humor in it and was too new to

civilization to understand its discourtesies. Civilized men are more

discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without

having their skulls split, as a general thing. He was bewildered and chagrined

and doubtless would have slunk away, abashed, but the Kothian chose to goad

him further.

"Come, come!" he shouted. "Tell these poor fellows, who have only been thieves

since before you were spawned, tell them how you would steal the gem!"

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