Read Conan and the Shaman's Curse for Free Online

with more scars on his body than gold in his coin purse.
    A faint but noticeable brightening of the cargo hold’s interior alerted Conan to the approach of dawn. Then he heard a rustle that seemed to come from somewhere directly beside his head. He craned his neck to see what it was and felt a sharp, fresh burst of pain from his left ear.
    Conan heard the sound of tearing cloth and again felt a sharp twinge. Turning, he saw a long, thick, pink tail lying on the crate next to his head. A plump grey-brown rat was attached to the tail. From its sharpened teeth dangled a fleshy strip from Conan’s earlobe. Flecks of blood—-his own—stained its crooked snout, and lumpy grey lesions spotted its sickly fur. Its tiny red eyes regarded the barbarian with indifference as it boldly munched on its early morning meal.
    Conan growled.
    The huge, repulsive rodent ignored him.
    Enraged by its effrontery, Conan bared his teeth and lunged for its finger-thick outstretched tail. Seizing it between his teeth, the Cimmerian whipped his head around, smashing the surprised rat against the crate’s hard wood slats. It struggled, clawing at his face, scratching and biting at an open wound.
    Conan’s teeth dug in, almost severing the rat’s tail.
    After a few more blows, the rat ceased its struggles and lay still. Conan released his grip on its tail, at the same time releasing his worries about his imprisonment and the shaman’s insidious curse. Injured and bound he might be, but while he lived he was not beaten. Small as it was, his victory over the scrounging rat had lifted his spirits. Whatever fate awaited him, he would meet it face-to-face and fight back with the gifts that his god Crom gave all Cimmerians—the will and the strength to strive and to slay.
    Grinning, Conan spat a scrap of tail out at the rat and looked up at the grate in the ceiling. He racked his brain for a plan of escape as the morning sun’s rays filled the cramped cargo hold with warm, golden light.
    Although he could not be certain, Conan believed that midday had arrived. The sun was not yet in view, but the ship’s sail might be blocking it. A gentle breeze sifted through the overhead grate, growing into a full-fledged wind—enough to fill the sail.
    Conan heard Khertet’s voice booming orders to hoist the sail. Judging from the sounds of the wind and the wave, the ship was making reasonable headway.
    A pleasant breeze reached into the hold, flushing out the stench of bilge water and rat filth that permeated the stale air. The door to the hold remained shut until well after the raising of the sails, when three armed men brought food and water to the Cimmerian.
    He gulped it down, a few pitiful swallows, but he had expected no more. Jhatil replaced the stained, crusty bandage with a fresh strip of cloth, wiping matted blood from the rat’s bite. The old Vendhyan took away the vermin corpse, glancing at the Cimmerian curiously and shaking his head. He left without uttering even one word.
    Later, Khertet peered down through the grate and hurled a few insults at the surly Cimmerian, who responded in kind. Conan heard little else from above until late that afternoon.
    Recognizing the helmsman’s voice and Khertet’s, the Cimmerian strained to hear their conversation. They obligingly raised their voices, apparently arguing.
    “I command this ship, Chadim. You would dare question my change of course?” The insulting tone was unmistakably Khertet’s.
    “No, honourable one! I—I realize your need for haste, and the heading you order would indeed save many weeks. But most merchants now avoid the course you suggest.” Chadim spoke defensively, and a tremor in his voice suggested nervousness.
    “I am not like most merchants. I do not fear such superstitious tales. I have heard the rumours, but they are only the lies of drunken fools, spoken to gullible slack-wits like you to procure free ale. You spend too much time in lowly wharf taverns. Hah! I have heard a