Chapter 6
Amala's mouth made a silent O at Conan's words.
"I don't know what will happen," Conan said. "But I'm putting you in that tube. If I can't win, my last act is smashing the outer control box. You'll go to the bottom floor and pray for Ibis to guide you the rest of the way."
Amala shook her head and started to speak, but stopped. Conan flashed a smile.
"Ah, you realize this isn't up for debate. Who would have thought we'd get along after all?"
Amala gripped her staff and gave Conan a determined glance. "Let me fight with you."
Conan respected her bravery. "Honorable of you, girl. But you're still too innocent to see what I'm about to do."
Conan snatched her up in one arm and hoisted her over his shoulder. His free hand clutched his sword. He used the pommel slide the armory door open and ran out with all his speed. In that instant, he became more beast than man. He bellowed out a war cry that reverberated through the chamber's walls. His long hair and bandages streamed behind him, giving him a savage, otherworldly quality. Most intimidating of all were his smoldering blue eyes leering into the faces of his enemies.
He climbed over the junk metal wall and slammed his weight into the youngest raider in front of him. Perhaps thanks to Amala, the raiders hadn't attacked for fear of hurting their potential hostage.
The younger man hardly knew what hit him. The air was sucked out of his stomach under the combined mass of Conan and Amala. Conan recovered, rolling on to to his feet and sliding open the tube door to shove Amala in. He closed it shut and turned to face his enemies, using the tube wall to cover his back.
It was five against one. The man with the injured arm grasped a mace. The leader brandished a finely crafted saber. The pollaxe wielder still stood. The fourth held a throwing axe in each hand. The fifth clutched a short sword resembling a gladius. The leader called out a couple of names in Aquilonian, and two of the raiders moved to attack. The maceman closed in first, swinging his mace. The axeman poised to throw his weapons from afar.
Conan ignored the axeman, knowing well that the weapons would be hurled at him. He feigned to concentrate on the maceman's assault, sword readied to meet the mace's blow. To the maceman's surprise, Conan allowed the blunt weapon to slam into his midsection, absorbing the blow. At the same time, the hand axes whirled through the air. Conan reversed his broadsword so that the blade faced down and aligned with his forearm in a makeshift bracer. He lifted the sword up in perfect timing to block the axes.
With the barbarian's sword already raised, he followed with stabbing the weapon through the maceman's cheek. The broad blade sheared his brain stem, killing him in an instant. Blood spurted through his teeth, staining them red.
The leader called out another two names. The gladius wielder and the pollaxe user went in next. In a similar tactic, the pollaxe raider rushed headlong at the Cimmerian, as the gladius raider attacked Conan's flank. The short sword had little reach, making the polearm a larger threat. Conan took a split second to study the polearm; noticing its handle was made of bare wood.
It was a risky, death defying tactic, but Conan allowed the axe head within feet of his naked chest. He whirled his blade in a flash and split the pole in two. With his free hand, he grabbed the business end of the pollaxe in mid air before it pierced him. The glaidus was in striking distance, aiming for Conan's vitals. With his newly acquired weapon, Conan deflected the thrust and counterattacked. The axe head ripped open raider's carotid artery, condemning him to bleed out on the floor.
In all this, Conan never broke a sweat. He stared at the last three raiders quietly. One was unarmed; having run out of axes. The other had a splintered half staff. Conan locked eyes with the leader. Without looking away, he drove his broadsword into the chest of the winded man he knocked down earlier. The victim's limbs flapped like a fish out of water until his body went limp.
The leader's last two men attacked in a last ditch effort to turn the tide. From out of his boot, the axe thrower retrieved a poignard and ran toward Conan's left. The raider with the broken staff charged straight ahead. Conan dropped his half of the pollaxe and grabbed the left raider's wrist as it thrust the poignard. He jerked the arm toward himself, lurching the raider off balance.
From there, he skewered the man's throat with ease, ending him quickly. By then, the splintered staff raked down Conan's sword arm, hurting like a cat's scratch and leaving red welts on his flesh. Enraged, Conan swung the sword back around, carving a horizontal path halfway through the man's skull. The man's head slid off the blade and his collapsed to the ground.
It was just down to himself and the leader. Conan took stock of the adversary. His skin was sun tanned and leathery. He looked a good deal older than the barbarian, with wrinkles at the corner of his cold eyes. A scar ran down one cheek. The man twirled his saber gracefully and paced around the barbarian, sizing him up.
An unspoken realization came between them that they were both hardened slayers, and only one of them would live to see tomorrow. Conan estimated his opponent was quicker and more dexterous than himself. Additionally, Conan still hurt from injuries, while his enemy was fresh. The leader tested him, delivering a few quick strikes with his saber. Conan fended them off effortlessly, his blade ringing each time it connected the opposing blade.
Conan responded with a few feints, hoping to catch the swordsman off guard, but he was too experienced to fall for them. With a tricky maneuver, the swordsman got around Conan's sword and pricked one of his wounds. He gritted his teeth and wiped the tears from his eyes as his body jolted in pain. He lashed out with his broadsword, but the leader kept his distance. The Aquilonian gave a whirl of his saber in anticipation of another attack, backpedaling to keep a comfortable distance.
Conan slashed at the man's side. He noticed his opponent counter with a technical move. The leader sidestepped Conan's slash and lunged to cut the barbarian's ungaurded fingers. Conan's uncanny reflexes and perception realized this as it happened. He could either drop the sword and disarm himself or let his fingers get cut. It was an easy choice. In rapid motion, Conan dropped the sword, retracted his arms and leapt backward to clear the sneaky attack.
Embolded, the leader moved in, kicking Conan's sword away and jabbing his saber at the barbarian. Conan faked the intensity of his wounds, slowly lowering himself to the ground in mock pain. He almost made to throw his hands up in surrender, but didn't overdo the ruse. The leader sprang for the kill. Conan grabbed the corpse of the pollaxe man he slew and stood up. The saber lodged itself in the dead man's hauberk The leader frantically attempted to pull it out, but it stuck. Conan grinned, dropped the body and walked up to him. In a panic, the raider stepped away from the rapier.
The fighters squared off again. Conan took no particular fighting stance, content to stalk toward his enemy. The leader assumed a stance reminding Conan of the martial artists from the eastern realm of Khitai. The leader put his fists up and made to punch the barbarian while actually delivering a low kick. It was a solid hit to the barbarian's knee joint. Conan went down on one leg. He allowed himself to glance downward, spotting the fallen poignard just within his reach.
The leader threw a devastating chop. Before it landed, Conan grabbed the poignard, shot upward and stabbed it into his enemy's neck. The long thin blade went through the roof of his open mouth and his brain matter. His eyes rolled back and died while he was still on his feet. Conan gave his foe a final push, sending him down for good.
Conan couldn't leave the job unfinished. If one raider survived, he and Amala would never be safe. He hadn't forgotten about the man the sack trap rendered unconscious. He walked over to him with his broadsword and ended him in one swift stroke. He didn't enjoy slaying the helpless man, but the death was quick and painless. He made his way to the tube and slid open the door. Amala huddled against the wall, glancing up at Conan. She gasped at his sword, covered from hilt to tip in blood.
"It's done," he said.
Amala used the yellow card to send the elevator to the bottom floor. It opened up to a high corridor, lit with cylinders that ran across the cieling. A conveyor rolled along the floor slowly, next to a hand rail that stretched as far as they could see. They stepped on the belt, letting it take them down the shaft. Sections of the ship, visible behind thick glass windows, showed them more of the expansive building.
On one side, they looked into a room with various exercise equipment.
"A gymnasium," Amala said. It had a robot that looked similar to the fencer, but its arms held a lifting weight. Another long inactive robot was perpetually frozen in a martial arts pose.
A macabre scene on the other side showed a lounge. Skeletons, some of them partial, sat around tables and chairs. Empty cups and plates were strewn around a few of the tabletops. A bar stood near the back wall. A drink rack occupied a space behind it, but its inventory was long gone.
There were some more rooms after that, but not much to note. Eventually, they came to the end of the belt and what looked like a maintenance hangar. Small two man vehicles were parked against the sides. A skeleton held one of the vehicle's steering wheels. Conan walked up to it and noticed it wore a belt with a holster attached. It contained a small pistol. Conan retrieved the sidearm, correctly guessing it was a hand held "light thrower."
"I thought we weren't taking any technology with us," Amala said.
"I might have a temporary use for this."
They walked to what they hoped was the exit. They faced another door, this time with a checkered black and yellow stripe going down the side of it. Instead of a card system, it seemed to open by spinning a wheel. Conan grunted as he forefully turn the rusty wheel, causing the door to creak open. Sunlight flooded the area and a fresh breeze blew into the supply room. The feeling exhilarated Conan. Amala clasped her hands together in relief.
They walked out of the lair and turned around. They had made it to the base of the mountain. A naturally formed rocky arch enveloped the exit door. Conan took the pistol and fired at it. It broke into large chunks and covered the door completely. He placed the pistol down and smashed it into the smallest pieces he could, then scattered them across the dirt. Conan put a hand on Amala's back. "Come."
The two traveled for some time. The last of their water and bars were consumed along the way, and any evidence of them was buried. The sun hung low in the mid-afternoon. They would reach the city limits on time. The outline of Belverus was just visible on the horizon. Conan broke the long standing silence.
"No one will believe us if we told them what we saw. We'd be sent to an asylum for trying."
"Hmm. Once I get back, I could get my father to send an expedition to the secret path and find it that way though..."
Conan regarded her quietly.
"But..." she continued. "I don't think I will."
Conan looked surprised. "You won't?"
"No, I thought about what you said and what we witnessed. I think it's for the best if the world waits a little longer to harness that kind of power. Maybe a lot longer."
Conan looked pleased with the woman. "So do I."
Amala studied Conan's wounds, looking sad. "I'm sorry about everything you went through for me."
Conan managed a smile. "I've had worse, if you can believe it. A pitcher of cool ale from the tavern cellar, a platter of Nemedian barbeque and some time in a sauna will mend me before you know it."
"I may not have taken back any technology, but I did receive years of inspiration. I'll use that to invent as much as I can to make the world a better place. I learned so much in that steel lair."
Conan smiled mischievously. "I learned something too."
Amala's eyebrows went up with interest. "Really? What?"
"That's the last time I ever take a shortcut."
Conan and Amala shared a hearty laugh as they headed into Belverus.
