Free Conan and the Spider God by Lyon Sprague de Camp

base for paint, a fuel for lamps, and a cure for mange.
    Conan caught up with a plodding procession of cattle, shambling upward on the path to Yezud. When the curvature of the slope revealed the serpentine path ahead, Conan marveled at the size of the herd. There must, he thought, be eighty to a hundred animals, pulled or prodded along by a dozen neatherds. The sloth of the cumbersome beasts irritated the Cimmerian, since nowhere could he pass them while the narrow track continued its winding way.
    Although the departure of the sun had cast black gloom within the gorge, the sky above was still a bright cerulean blue when the ravine at last opened out into a narrow plain. Here a hamlet huddled at the roadside. Beyond it, where the canyon split in twain, a walled city or acropolis perched upon the shoulder of a crag formed by the divergent gorges; and like a monarch’s crown, the marble temple of Zath reared up to tower above the roseate roofs of the fortified city. This lofty citadel bore the name of Yezud, whereas the lower village or suburb was known as Khesron.
    As soon as the widened path permitted, Conan cantered past the herd of cattle and trotted briskly through the huddled village, where dirty children scampered from the road and barking dogs ran out to worry Ymir’s hooves. The lone public building in Khesron, rising a story above the score of other dingy structures of the community, proclaimed itself an inn by means of a branch nailed to a board above the lintel of the front door.
    The Cimmerian continued onward toward the rocky shoulder on which stood the walled city of Yezud, along a steeply sloping roadway cut into the stone of the hillside. Conan perceived that the only means of entry into the citadel was this same roadway and that Yezud, if resolutely defended, would be virtually impregnable. The steep sides of the eminence, which bore the citadel aloft and which merged into Mount Ghaf behind, were so nearly vertical that only a party of Cimmerian hillmen, unencumbered by armor, could hope to scale this formidable bastion.
    Ymir balked on the hillside path. Although Conan spurred him forward, the animal refused to move. At last the Cimmerian dismounted and plodded up the incline, pulling Ymir along by his bridle. All the climbing way, the horse rolled his eyes, pricked up his ears, and behaved as if he sensed some evil beyond the comprehension of his human companion.
    Man and unwilling horse at last reached the small stone platform before the city portal, a dizzy height above the plain. A pair of armed men, of greater stature than most Zamorians, stood guard before the open valves of the imposing bronze-studded gates.
    “Your name and business?” snapped one of the guards, eyeing Conan hardily.
    “Nial, a mercenary soldier,” replied Conan. “I heard that such as I are being hired.”
    “They were,” replied the soldier, his lip curling slightly with the shadow of a sneer. “But no more. You have tardy come.”
    “You mean the places are all filled?”
    “And you have had your journey all for naught.” The man spoke Zamorian with an unfamiliar accent.
    “Are you two amongst those lately hired, then?” asked Conan.
    “Aye; we are men of Captain Catigern’s Free Company.”
    Although nettled by the soldier’s surly manner, Conan kept his outward calm. “Well then, friend, whence hail you?”
    “We are Brythunians.”
    “Indeed? I’ve traveled many lands, but never yet Brythunia. I crave a word with the man who hired you, whoever he may be.”
    “Too late for that today. Try again in the morning.”
    Conan grunted. “Well, is there an inn in Yezud where I can take lodging and stable my horse?”
    The soldier laughed scornfully. “Any fool knows that only the priests and those who work for them may rest their heads overnight within the walls of Yezud!”
    The quick flame of Conan’s anger flared up. He had been in no pleasant mood as a result of the delay occasioned by the herd of cattle and