Barf the Barbarian in The Tower of the Anas Platyrhynchos (The Chronicles of Barf the Barbarian Book 1), Page 2

  He had eventually entered the part of the upper city reserved for the temples. They glittered in the starlight all around him, the white marble and stone seeming to glow almost, standing out in the darkness that surrounded him. He sighed wearily. The temples were no doubt designed to impress - or repress - the dwellers of the city but he had little time for them himself. Ever curious however he had spent many an hour listening to philosophers and holy men; the theologians and teachers of the multitudes of religions that seemed to be everywhere in every city or country that he had travelled through. Without fail he considered them all to be touched in the head.

  His gods were simple, yet understandable; Crump was their chief, and he lived on a huge mountain from where he despatched doom, death, and boons as and when he saw fit to do so. It was, he considered, a waste of effort to call upon the great god Crump as he was a savage and vicious god who hated weaklings. Yet Crump despatched courage and the will and might to kill enemies to a man at his birth, which to Barf’s mind was all that any god should be expected to do.

  Yet Barf was no fool and he paid no heed to the temples that lined the quarter through which he walked. He knew that there would be no guards on any of these white stoned buildings, but there were always stories overheard in a tavern or in conversations on the road about the strange fates encountered by those who would violate the temples of the gods. Barf was not a superstitious man, yet when it came to a touch of thievery in a temple he was a pragmatist. Any such intrusion on his behalf would play on his mind. This he knew well, and so he avoided them.

  Ahead of him in the bright moonlight he could see the tall thin tower of the Anas Platyrhynchos gleaming in the distance. Slowly he trudged on and as he did so he saw the tower grow in size, its shining sheer walls almost twinkling in the same way of the stars looking down on him from the heavens above. He reached to his sword scabbard and unbuttoned a small flap just below the sword handle.

  “That’s better.” said Humdinger. “No idea why you close the bloody thing in the first place. Complete mystery in fact.”

  “Means I get some peace.” grunted Barf and for a moment the sword was silent. Reticence, however, was not a large foundation stone of its character.

  “Nice to hear it.” it said. “So, we going after the heart of the Anas Platyrhynchos then?”

  “Yes.” said Barf, considering closing the flap on his scabbard again. He would not normally have such qualms about doing so and would close the pouch as and when he saw fit. Yet Humdinger had very recently mastered the art of the sulk and Barf was taking no chances.

  “Thought so.” sighed the sword. “Well. The first thing you have to ask yourself is why nobody has had it away on their toes with it so far.”

  “Anything else I have to ask myself?”

  “Well, I suppose you might just query why anyone who has gone after it has never been seen again?”

  “Is that right?” said Barf. “I don’t remember anyone saying anything of the like in the tavern.”

  “Well, now.” said the sword in a hiss, a sulk definitely incoming. “Tick these off for me will you?”

  “Go on then.” said Barf.

  “Strange unclimbable tower.”

  “Got it.”

  “Weird name of tower, jewel and the priest.”

  “That’s four.”

  “Add to it the unguarded garden and perhaps also the fact that there doesn’t seem to be any secret to the fact that the jewel is in there somewhere.”

  “That’s six. So, what’s your point?”

  “My point.” said the sword, “Is that they are all very good reasons to move on and never look back all on their own. But six of them...”

  “I like poor odds.”

  “Well, yes, and that is why we are walking and not riding like we had been up until yesterday.”

  “I swear that Assanian’s cards were marked.”

  “Whatever.” said Humdinger. “There’s also the small fact that anyone saying they were going to pursue the jewel was never seen again.” The sword paused as if thinking.

  “I mean… nobody even seems to know what an “Anas Platyrhynchos” actually is either.”

  Barf reached down and pulled the flap closed, silencing the sword instantly. His reason for doing so was twofold. Firstly, he knew Humdinger perfectly well. He had owned the sword for many years now, and he knew that it would never cease talking about a subject until whatever was about to happen had happened and even perhaps a week or so beyond that. The sword was like a dog with a bone. It seemed to have issues with letting go of things. He was now prepared to take his chances with its sulks.

  The second reason was much more pressing, for now he approached the tower of the Anas Platyrhynchos, the large white stone walls running around the outside of the tower in a circular fashion. Directly ahead was the entrance, the large gates of which were now firmly closed and formidable looking. Alongside the road beside the gate, however, was a large pile of what looked like sacks of some sort, the white cloth catching the moonlight reflecting off the bags. Barf stared at them as he approached, noting that they were very large, and apparently, very full. Nobody else was around now, yet nearby he heard the distinct sound of an approaching wagon. He ran from the road and hid inside the shrubbery he found there, concealing himself across the road from the entrance to the firmly closed tower and the pile of strangely shaped sacks, crouching down in the darkness to hide.

  As he did so a flat-topped cart drew up outside the gate, two white-robed men sitting at the front of it, two small and exhausted looking donkeys pulling the cart. There was a pull of the reins and the donkeys drew to a halt. The two men jumped down and turning to the pile outside the tower gate began to grab each end of the sacks, throwing them onto the back of the wagon. Barf had a bad feeling about this, for as he examined the sacks he saw that several seemed to have dark red, almost brown in fact, stains on them, and they also appeared to be man-sized and quite heavy for the two men to move. Barf counted the ones loaded already and those remaining. It appeared to be twenty in total, perhaps twenty-one.

  He glanced at the side of the cart and stared at the writing on the side on it. The letters were small and difficult to read in the dark, but the logo at the front of the cart seemed to be quite distinctive, being a depiction of a hand grasping out for what could only have been a large gem, the hand being severed at the wrist. Barf gulped as the letters on the side of the wagon swum into focus.

  “Problems with thief disposal?” It read, “Bodies removed and disposed of at minimal cost. Same day collection.”

  Barf watched as the men climbed back down onto the cart and it began to pull away. It travelled no more than ten feet before it drew to a sudden stop, loud chattering rising from both the men in a language Barf could not understand. It was, however, apparent that there was an argument underway. Then one of the men jumped down gathering a small pile of what Barf realised were empty sacks. He threw them down beside the gate and called out in a heavy accent, “Same time tomorrow!” He ran back to the cart and it pulled away, slowly vanishing into the night. Barf stood and walked across the road, pushing the pile of empty sacks with his foot. There appeared to be approximately twenty of them. He looked up at the huge tower rising above him and whistled, and then he began to move around the circular wall, looking for a way into the gardens beyond.

  As he walked he thought of other tales he had heard of the priest of the tower, Yobo, and the foul acts he had perpetrated upon various peoples on the rare occasions that he left the tower. He remembered with dread a tale told to him earlier this night by a drunken scribe who claimed that he was of the king’s court. The tale concerned a boastful prince who had crossed Yobo in some unknown way, whether by deed or word it was not known. So, down descended the priest from his tower, and laughing in the face of the man the priest shone a darkly glowing evil gem in the prince's face. The man screamed as beams of light shot from the gem and enveloped him, sending him crashing to the floor screaming.
Here his shape changed to a blackened lump, shrinking as it did so until all that remained before those watching there was a small black spider on the ground which Yobo stepped forward and crushed beneath the heel of his shoe.

  Yet Yobo came not often from his tower of Majics, unless it were to curse some man or nation. The king of Zingo feared him more than most, for the priest was old; unusually so - centuries old some said, though Barf smiled at this. A man’s reputation can often be exaggerated by the colour of his deeds, he knew. And yet, his curiosity was roused.

  Halfway around the circular tower wall he heard the distinct sound of steel being drawn within the enclosure. Barf stopped instantly, his hearing centred on the sounds from the other side of the high stone barrier. He heard a few footsteps and then silence. He stood, ears strained for a few minutes more but no further sound came from within the grounds of the tower. Slowly he moved on. Finally, he could take no more, and taking a number of steps back he launched himself at the wall, grasping a small concave dent in the brickwork and propelling himself up to the top of the wall where he quickly lay flat, silently catching his breath.

  He looked below into the grounds inside the wall. The garden was filled with shrubbery and carefully maintained brushes, though he could see few trees. The starlight fell upon the paths that meandered through the head high foliage and from somewhere nearby a fountain tinkled. Below him, however, was a body stretched out in the dark, unmoving. Beyond the gardens he saw another inner wall that was as high as the one he had just scaled. This surrounded the base of the tower yet was in itself not of inconsiderable height, perhaps the same as the one he had just scaled.

  Barf lowered himself almost silently from the wall into the inside of the garden and crouching through the darkness made his way quickly, almost panther-like to the corpse laid out on the path. Even in the moonlight Barf could see that he was a strongly built man of impressive size. His armour was silver but the crest on his shield and his helmet bore the sigils of the royal Zingonian guard. By the contortions that the barbarian could see on the man's face it was obvious to him that he had been strangled.

  Barf looked uneasily about the path. The death of the guard was no doubt what he had heard from outside the wall. Only a short time had passed since he had heard the brief struggle, yet there was nobody in sight at all.

  Barf crouched again and began to slowly move through the bushes. He neared the base of the tower, and as he did so he squinted and saw a tall black shape in the shadows, unmoving. It did not seem to have noticed him however, and so Barf drew his sword, the blade knowing to stay silent almost by instinct, and as he reached the shape he lowered his blade to the base of its head and prodded it with the tip of the sword.

  Barf was stunned by just how fast the other man moved. He slipped to one side of Barf’s blade and there was a clash of steel as he raised his own weapon, and the two men stood facing each other in the darkness, face to face, Barf feeling the man’s hot breath upon him.

  “You are not a guard.” said the man, slightly releasing his pressure on the sword until both carefully lowered the weight they had placed upon their weapons. They slackened their respective grips, but they did not lower them. The figure in the darkness seemed almost jovial. “You are a thief like me.” he said.

  “And who are you?” asked the barbarian in a harsh whisper.

  “I am Bobo of Numerical.” said the man with a bow, his large red shoes flapping against the ground as he did so. He appeared to be carrying a thick looped coil of rope that looked as if it was knotted at regular intervals as well as a small empty bucket. The two men stood staring at each other in the moonlight, their blades raised, their every instinct being not to trust each other. The moonlight fell upon each of their broad shoulders, each not moving or daring to move in case it incited the other to try and gain the upper hand. Slowly Barf looked the other man up and down.

  “Is there any particular reason why you are dressed as a clown?” asked Barf and the man smiled through his thick white greasepaint, his bulbous red nose gleaming in the moonlight.

  “It is a significantly good disguise.” said Bobo, a look of pride crossing his face, “I also find that it tends to distract any potential assailants.”

  “You will need more than a false nose and a hand buzzer to get into the tower of the Anas Platyrhynchos.” said Humdinger and Bobo stared at Barf for a moment, completely unmoving.

  “You didn’t move your lips then.” he said eventually, and Barf sighed.

  “Because it wasn’t him, Mister Chuckles.” said the sword and slowly Bobo lowered his eyes.

  “Wow.” he said eventually, “A talking sword. That’s neat.” There was an awkward pause before Bobo continued. “I don’t suppose it is for sale is it?”

  “No.” said Barf.

  “Besides. I am allergic to greasepaint.” said Humdinger and Bobo sighed.

  “Ah well.” he said, disappointment strong in his voice.

  “I have heard of you.” said Barf. “They call you, “The Prince of Thieves”.” A low laugh answered him. Barf looked beyond the disguise and saw the man was as tall as him, big-bellied yet lithe and strong looking. His movements in the darkness, however, displayed a strong dynamic magnetism which was reflected in his keen eyes that shone with vitality, even in the moonlight.

  “Indeed.” said Bobo. ““Thief and Burglar” magazine noted me as “A clown to watch out for” the year before last, and “Daring Deeds Gazette” noted that despite the ginger wig and empty bucket of water I was a, and I quote, “A Burglar of renown”.”

  “Well done.” said Barf. “You can lower your arm though. I am not shaking your hand.”

  “I see.” said Bobo with disappointment. “Enough of me, however. Who are you?”

  “Barf. A Crimerian. I have come to steal the jewel known as the Anas Platyrhynchos’s Heart and to steal it from the hands of the priest Yobo himself if I have to.”

  Barf heard suppressed laughter in the darkness. He stared up at the tower rising high above them both, the sheer vertical wall of stone rising to a dizzying height above. He noted that from this side of the tower the balcony at the top of the spire was not visible. It must have been on the other side. Still, however, the inner wall had to be scaled and the garden beyond that crossed. Finally, the man stopped his quiet laughter.

  “By the god of thieves I thought only I had the courage to attempt to steal the jewel from under Yobo’s nose! These Zingonians call themselves thieves, yet they have yet to succeed. I like your grit, Crimerian, and though it is not my usual way of operating I am willing to share the attempt on this prize if you are willing?”

  “You are after this gem too?”

  “What else? I have laid my plans carefully, and for months too. This much greasepaint doesn’t come cheap, you know. Yet you my friend I feel have acted on impulse.”

  “You killed the soldier?”

  “Of course. I was over the wall and hid as he was on the far side. I hid in the bushes and fell upon him when he passed. “

  “Are there more guards?” asked Barf, weighing up the possibility that they were being watched.

  “My attention to detail and observance from afar over the last month tells me that there is only one guard outside at a time, though there is a garrison half way up the tower of ten of the best swordsman in all of Hyperbolea. The guard, however, does not change until midnight, which by the height of the moon I estimate to be a good three hours away yet.”

  “Only one guard?” asked Barf and Bobo nodded, his ginger wig swaying precariously in the moonlight.

  “Of course. There are also no guards within the inner garden - that is to say, no human guards, though there are sentinels much more deadly to be found therein. I must say that their presence confounded me for a time, but I finally discovered a way to circumvent them.”

  “Yet how shall we bypass the soldiers halfway up the tower? You say yourself that the garrison there is of the best swordsmen in the land. What of them?”r />
  “Ah.” said Bobo, his eyes glittering in the darkness.

  “Old Yobo dwells in the chambers above. That is the way to be about this, I say. I have a device to assist us to reach the top of the tower. Ask me no more now for it shall soon be revealed. Once there we shall descend upon Yobo from above where he least expects it and strangle him stone cold dead before he even thinks about using his gem upon us.”

  “Sounds risky.” said Barf, finally sheathing Humdinger.

  “It is certainly the case we may be turned to toads or a mouse, it is true. Yet it is the chance of that grisly fate balanced by all the riches in the world. A good thief knows when to take risks, say I.”

  “I am with you on that.” said Barf. Bobo made ready to set his plans in action and stood up, glaring at the inner garden wall with intent.

  “Wait.” said Barf and the clown paused, framed in the moonlight. “We are both of the same intent; of that, there is no doubt. Yet there is one question that despite your fine attention to detail remains unexplained.

  “And what is that?” said Bobo, his long red shoes tapping on the ground impatiently.

  “Exactly what does Anas Platyrhynchos mean?” asked Barf and Bobo sniffed loudly.

  “No idea.” he said.

  “Right.” said Barf.

  Bobo smiled and began to move away. Barf followed, amazed at how supple the man was, his every move coiled and graceful as if of a cat almost.

  “Follow me then.” he said and clambered up the inner wall and crouched on the parapet, making his way around the base of the tower until the balcony far above them came into view.

  Barf saw that the inner garden was very similar to that of the outer, but the vegetation seemed much wilder somehow, the paths such as they were, not sculptured to some design to please the eye. The garden was a pool of shadows, feathery bushes and low spreading trees covering the ground. Barf felt unsettled as if the undergrowth contained a brooding menace. He remembered Bobo’s warning that the inner garden contained no human guards, yet it was guarded, and he shivered in the darkness.