Conan and the Spider God by Lyon Sprague de Camp Page A

entered the smithy, a Zamorian boy of perhaps twelve years, who had been perched on the anvil, whittling a stick, jumped to his feet. Conan explained his presence.
    “I am Lar, son of Yazdates,” said the boy. “Pray, Nial sir, I hope you will teach me some smithery whilst I do work for you. The old smith would never let me handle his tools. Belike he feared I should grow up to take his post from him.”
    “We shall see,” replied Conan. “It depends on how able a man of your hands you prove to be.”
    “Oh, I am very able, sir, for my age. I have practiced on the sly when old Pariskas was not looking. Sometimes he caught me at it and beat me.” The boy looked apprehensively at the giant who was to be his new master.
    “If I ever beat you, it won’t be for trying to improve yourself,” growled Conan. “Let’s see to the tools.”
    Conan had not worked as a smith since, years before, a feud had driven him forth from his Cimmerian tribe. But, as he swung the heavy hammers and handled the stout iron tongs, he felt a thrill of familiarity. It would not be long, he felt sure, before he regained his half-remembered skill.
    “Lar,” he said, “I am going down to Khesron to fetch my horse and my belongings. While I’m gone, you shall start up the furnace, and we’ll tackle this work today. By the way, where went all those cattle, which I saw driven into Yezud yestereve?”
    “They went through a doorway on the western side of the temple,” said Lar.
    “A small town like this scarce needs so many beasts for food,” mused Conan.
    “Oh, sir, they are not meat for the townsfolk; not even the priests! They are for Zath.”
    “Forsooth?” said Conan. “That I can hardly believe. I have seen much of temples and more of priests. In those where the worshipers bring animals to sacrifice, the holy men slay the creatures, offer the skin and bones and offal to the god, and feast on the good flesh themselves. Why do you think your priests do not the same?”
    “But, sir, everybody in Yezud knows the cattle are devoured by Zath! Have you been in the naos of the temple?”
    “Not yet. What’s there?”
    “You will see all when you attend your first service. There stands the statue of Zath, in the likeness of a huge spider carven of black stone. Its body is enormous, and its legs—its legs …” The boy broke off with a shudder.
    “A statue cannot eat cattle,” remarked Conan, surprised at the boy’s display of fear.
    “Each night the statue comes to life,” the lad continued. “It descends through a trapdoor in the holy place and enters the tunnels below, where it seizes upon the animals that have been driven in to assuage its appettite. So say the priests.”
    Conan ruminated. “I’ve seen many strange things in my travels, but never a statue that came to life. Even if this tale be true, what would such a spider want with a hundred head of cattle at a time? I have never kept a spider as a pet; but I do know something of the habits of other beasts of prey. I should think one ox would suffice a creature like Zath for a fortnight at the least.”
    “Oh, sir, these are holy mysteries! You must not pry into that which the gods do not intend us mortals to know.” As he spoke, the boy reverently bowed his head and touched his fingertips to his forehead.
    Conan grunted. “That’s as may be. Now start up the forge, lad, while I go to get my gear from the inn.”
    Some time later, leading Ymir, Conan approached the common stable where he had been allotted a stall. As Conan was instructing the stable boy in the care of Ymir, a commotion arose in one of the more distant stalls. A horse was rearing, pawing the air, and squealing frantically.
    “What’s that?” asked Conan.
    The groom looked around. “It’s that accursed black stallion the Vicar bought in Turan,” he said. “We have not been able to exercise him properly, because no man durst try to ride him.”
    “Hm,” said Conan. “I’ll take a look.” He