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

strolled down to the stall of the fractious stallion and recognized Egil. The horse whinnied with delight and nuzzled him.
    Not daring to address the horse directly, Conan turned to the groom. “He seems to like me, the gods know why.”
    The groom leaned on his shovel while his sluggish thoughts took form. At last he mumbled: “Perhaps, sir, you could ride him. Are you fain to undertake his exercising? If the priests agreed, that is.”
    It was on the tip of Conan’s tongue to say yes; but then it struck him that, if word got back to Harpagus, the Vicar might suspect that his new blacksmith and the former owner of Egil were one and the same. Instead he replied:
    “We shall see. Just now I can barely spare time to keep my own nag in condition.”

chapter vi
     
    THE TEMPLE OF THE SPIDER
     
    S ince Yezud was provided with no inn or eating-house and Conan did not wish to plod down to Khesron for each repast, he made arrangements for Lar’s mother to cook his meals. At sundown, Conan washed the soot from his face and arms and followed Lar to the small house where the boy and his widowed mother dwelt. The house, freshly whitewashed, was neat within and furnished in the rear with a small, well-tended vegetable garden.
    Amytis, a middle-aged woman with a weary face and graying hair, cooked an adequate meal, albeit Conan grumbled at the lack of ale with which to wash it down. He listened in dour silence as Amytis prattled on about her ancestry, her kin, and her well-remembered husband.
    “’Twas bitter hard after he died, poor man,” she sighed. “But with the money you pay my Lar, and the stipend my daughter earns at the temple, and the coppers I make by taking in washing, we manage.”
    “You have a daughter?” asked Conan, eyeing the woman with the first faint stir of interest.
    “Aye, Rudabeh is chief of the temple’s dancing girls and has other responsibilities besides. A very capable maid; the man will be lucky who gets her to wife.”
    “The dancers are allowed to wed?”
    “After their discharge, aye. In fact the priests approve of it; they give each girl a dowry when her service ends—if she has behaved herself, that is.”
    “How do they choose temple dancers?” Conan inquired idly, spooning out a portion of pudding.
    “The priests hold a contest every year,” explained Amytis, “to pick the two likeliest dancers. Families come from as far away as Shadizar, bringing their prettiest maidens, for the competition; but most come from the towns nearby. It is accounted an honor to have a daughter in the service of Zath.”
    “How long is their term of service?”
    “The winners serve the temple for five years.”
    Conan glanced at young Lar. “Why didn’t you tell me that you had a sister?”
    The boy grimaced. “I did not think a great man like you would be interested in a girl.”
    Conan turned back to Amytis to hide his grin from his youthful hero-worshiper and asked: “Does your daughter ever visit you?”
    “Oh, aye; four times in a month she is granted leave and comes here to sup. She spent an evening with us but three nights agone.”
    With an ostentatious show of unconcern, Conan yawned, stretched, and rose. “Lar,” he said carelessly, “you must take me to the temple one day and explain the rituals. The Vicar commanded me to attend not less than thrice a month, and I must needs obey him.”
    Excusing himself, Conan returned to his smithy. He thought briefly of repairing to Bartakes’s Inn to enliven the evening, but an afternoon of wielding the heavy tools of his new trade had left him more than willing to retire early.
    T he next day was spent at forge and anvil. While Lar manned the bellows, Conan shod several horses, welded a broken scythe blade, hammered a dent out of a helmet belonging to one of the Brythunians, and in odd moments made several score of nails. He was pleased to find the skills he had learned in boyhood so readily returning to him.
    The following morning, Conan