Chapter 4
Amala picked through the equipment, fitting whatever she could in her bag.
"What are you doing?" Conan asked.
"Taking these relics to my people."
He stopped her from grabbing a pistol from a shelf. He placed it back and pulled the taken objects from the satchel.
"Hey!" Amala exclaimed.
"We aren't here to loot," Conan replied. "We're only to find a way out the lair's other side and get you home."
Amala stared at him, her eyes beginning to tear. "But there's eons of technological development here. It could advance civilization beyond our wildest imagination. We can't just leave it all to rot."
"We can and will."
Conan took her shoulders and guided her out of the armory. Amala defiantly spun around and slapped her hands against his chest.
"Don't tell me what to do," Amala replied. "You can't impede progress! Think about this!"
Conan firmly grasped Amala's arms and walked her into the middle of the chamber.
"You don't have the right!" Amala protested, struggling against his clutches. "My nation, the world, needs this technology."
"For what Amala? You're young. You haven't seen what I have. You don't know the dark side of human nature. These weapons will bring nought but untold suffering, pain and death. The world's not ready."
"But I have seen my countrymen come home in coffins from skirmishing with Aquilonia. I've seen innocent men and women slain in the streets for half a coin." Amala folded her arms, glaring at Conan.
"All the more reason to keep the weapons here, or anything else for that matter. Eventually, your people's enemies will acquire them. Toe to toe battles become massacres between unseen foes using light throwers. Soldiers kill each other effortlessly until whole nations are emptied of their menfolk. Or unscrupulous peddlars sell the healing devices to the rich while the poor suffer a slow death. Imagine what a common thug could do in one of those armor suits."
Amala shook her head . "What do you care? I heard stories from father about you. You're just a sell sword, a cutthroat, a ...a...savage!"
Conan sneered at the insult, face reddening in anger. His knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists. Amala's eyes turned fearful, realizing she went too far.
"I fought for rich politicians whose only purpose in life was to grasp power for themselves," he grumbled. "I confronted sorcerers who did unspeakable things in their bid to conquer the world. I rescued captives of madmen who attempted cruel experiments on them to acquire dark knowledge. I do care Amala. That none of those monsters will ever wield such destructive tools."
Amala put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "Hmph."
"We are wasting time. Let us see what that cental tube is about."
Conan observed the structure. Its hatch curved to fit the tube's shape. A control box was beside it, perhaps to operate whatever was beyond the door. The two stepped inside and saw a large map on their left. It displayed a cutaway of the building. A small red dot indicated where Conan and Amala were. It appeared they were in the center. There were many floors below them, almost stretching the length of the mountain itself. On the right side of the door was a control panel with one round button in the middle. An up arrow was over it, and a down arrow below. A small dark screen was set over the three buttons, with an adjacent card slot.
"This must be some kind of directory for the lair," Conan thought aloud.
A cold silence filled the room. Conan looked at Amala, whose eyes were downcast.
"Will you help us get out of this place or just sulk there?" he asked.
Without looking at him, Amala walked over to the directory. "The dot must indicate where we are. The area around it resembles this chamber," she replied flatly.
Conan drew a finger up the diagram toward the building's dome. "That must be the top. So if we can make this thing send us downward, it will take us to the base of the mountain."
Amala studied the control panel. She pressed the down arrow button. The cutaway highlighted each deck under them as she continued pushing it. Eventually it froze at the last one.
"Guess that's our stop," Amala said.
Conan pressed the circular button between the arrows and shrill buzzing rang out. The control panel's screen had showed a yellow card for a few seconds before it went blank again.
"I think it's saying we need a yellow card to access the bottom floor," Amala said.
"What lunatic designed this forsaken place!?"
Conan punched the side of the tube in frustration, making a hollow clang sound as he did so.
Amala pressed the up arrow, followed by the middle one repeatedly. Each time the same buzz rang out and another colored card displayed on the screen.
"At this rate, we'll run out of colors," Conan joked.
"Last one," Amala said.
She pressed the button, and a soft electronic tone sounded. The highly pressurized elevator shot them upward, flying past each deck. Conan and Amala felt their stomachs sink to their feet.
"Whoa," Amala whispered.
"The one floor not requiring a blasted card, and its farthest from where we want to be," Conan grumbled.
The elevator came to a halt and the door slid open. Crisp air flowed through the crack in the glass dome. Natural sunlight poured in, illuminating the area. It resembled a terrarium or garden, teeming with exotic plants. The thick overgrowth reminded Conan of his adventures in the jungles of Darfar. Faint chittering or squeaking came through the vegetation. Conan raised a hand in caution.
"Shh. Stay low and quiet, we don't know what lurks here."
Something heavy crunched the grass underfoot. Broad leafed plants fluttered as it moved through them. Conan went prone and Amala followed suit. They lay as flat and quiet as possible, waiting to see what stomped through the foliage to a patch of grass ahead. To Conan's dismay, it was another of the reptilian creature that he and Amala overcame by the narrow passage.
It sniffed the grass with its pig-like nose, and waddled around on its spindly, slimy legs. Its backside arm dangled in the air as it went. Conan's fingers closed around the handle of his sword. If he used the element of surprise, he might score a quick, clean kill. If not, a prolonged fight could attract whatever else dwelled nearby. The barbarian weighed his options. He started to move ever so slightly, summoning the courage to charge headlong at the beast.
Thwack!
Without warning, a spear flew through the trees and punctured the creature's back. Following it were four short creatures, resembling pygmies, but covered in mossy green skin. They wore ragged loincloths and wielded crude stone spears and hand axes. One of them, whom Conan guessed was their chief, wore a necklace on which hung a yellow card. In addition, Conan supposed this wasn't the first time the humanoid creatures took down such a beast. They climbed over the monster with practiced ease and finished it off with startling precision.
Once ensured their quarry was dead, the pygmies ripped into it with their claws and chewed through its flesh. Conan, who had seen all manner of horrific things, was unfazed by the scene. It proved to be too much for Amala, who started slinking away. The pygmies perked up at her rustling and looked for its source. Their keen yellow eyes locked onto Conan and Amala, blood dripping from their mouths. Wasting no time, Conan sprang to his feet and launched himself at the group.
The war chief, flanked by two fellow pygmies, ran at Conan and shouted in an incomprehensible language. The fourth one headed for Amala. The pygmy on the left sliced Conan's calf with its axe. The right leapt up and bit into Conan's bicep with its sharpened teeth. Before the chief could attack, Conan flexed his leg and threw a solid kick into its gut. It rolled head over heels through a pair of thick shrubs.
The barbarian swung his sword at the axe wielding pigmy, carving into its innards. It swayed on its feet before collapsing dead. With one hand, Conan grabbed the skull of the biting pygmy and slammed it to the ground. He knelt down and bashed the creature's head, making a stomach churning crunch each time. He finally stopped when the pygmy went limp and lifeless.
Conan checked on Amala, who somehow managed to keep her enemy at bay. He ran to her resue, but was still a good distance away. The pygmy, whose small sized belied its strength, managed to pin the girl down. It aimed a stone dagger at her throat, kept just inches away by her staff.
The barbarian poised to attack the pygmy from the rear, when a blood curdling scream came out. At first Conan didn't think it was his own, but he felt an intense burning unlike ever felt before. It radiated from his back and gave off a faint smell of burning flesh. He turned around to see the chief had recovered and carried a light thrower from some hidden stash. Conan fought through his agony and rose his sword to meet the chief's next attack. The chief brought the weapon up to finish Conan off, but a sadistic expression came over its face. Perhaps realizing Conan was protecting the girl, it aim the weapon at her instead.
Time froze as Conan sized up the situation. He had mere seconds to react. Amala jabbed her staff hard into her attacker's cheek, staggering it backward but opening a line of sight for the chief to shoot her. Years of battle hardened experience told Conan the chief would inevitably shoot the girl. Using his best judgment, timing and sense of distance, he leaned back and threw the sword. It didn't always work. The heavy broadsword wasn't necessarily designed for throwing; but Conan's practice, skill and familiarity with the weapon made it a viable tactic – sometimes. This was one such occasion.
The sword sailed through the air, catching Amala's reflection in its sheen and blocked the shot. The weapon thudded beside her, its blade unscathed by the light beam. She lied stunned by Conan's improbable feat.
The chief fiddled with its weapon, attempting to shoot again. Ingorning his burn, Conan ran full speed at the chief and tackled it to the ground. Flexing his muscular arms, he wrapped his hands across the chief's throat and cleched until its hands hurt. The chief gasped for air, but it never came. Its face froze, its eyes rose in the back of its head and its body went cold.
Realizing itself to be outnumbered, the last pygmy ran from Amala. Showing a talent of her own, Amala expertly pulled back her staff and chucked it at the pygmy's back. It thudded between its shoulder blades, crashing it to the ground. Conan wasted no time in retreiving his sword and delivering the killing blow. He turned to Amala in mild disbelief.
"How did you manage to do that?"
Amala smiled proudly. "Any self respecting Nemedian knows how to throw the javelin. My staff was close enough."
In a rare display of weakness for the stoic barbarian, Conan knelt to one knee, buckling from the wound in his back. Amala hurried over to inspect it, and gasped. If not for the mail armor, the shot would likely have been fatal. Summoning his strength, he forced himself back up to his feet and trudged in the direction where the chief had retrived its weapon. "The leader could be more where that light thrower came from," Conan said weakly. "Might be something there that can help me."
Amala ripped the yellow card necklace from the chief's corpse and sided up to Conan. Despite her petite figure, she attempted to support his weight as they plodded to the possible stash. They found a chair that had been taken from another area of the ship, serving as a makeshift throne. Bone necklaces and other trinkets hung around it. Various gadgets were strewn around its legs. One item resembled a pair of binoculars. The largest object was a white metal suitcase. Amala unclasped it and found several medical instruments inside: syringes, a salve, a roll of bandages and a pill bottle.
"Looks like more medicinal supplies," Amala said. "But I'm not sure what most of it is for."
"Do what you can," Conan said.
She started sanitizing the wound, applying a salve and dressing it. She found a powder that acted as a coagulent, sealing the bleeding cuts on Conan's bicep and calf. The hurting subsided somewhat, but an aching throb pounded his back. Conan tiredly removed the damaged mail and discarded it.
He sat on the chair, pulled a food bar from Amala's bag and chewed it, trying to take his mind off the lingering pain. In a moment of downtime, Amala took the binocular-like device and started to play with it. She strode to the edge of the glass dome and looked outside. marveling at the scope's ability to magnifiy her sight many times over.
"Oh no..." she whispered.
Conan got up and walked over to her. "What?"
His keen eyes didn't need the scope to realize what Amala saw. Twelve armored and armed men descended the wall of the basin with climbing equipment. The raiders had found them.