Dryantore held his hand; but he told Conan that he would for a certainty kill him next time he came, if he did not find him already dead of his wounds. Then he stalked out of the dungeon, and, shutting close the door, left the Fena in gloom and sadness. Though Lavaran had been only a little while in the palace, he made good use of his time, and now approaching Finn, he whispered in his ear-- "There is that in yonder palace which would free us from those accursed spells if we only could get at it." And when Finn asked what it was, he replied, "A magical golden drinking-horn of wondrous virtue. I saw it in the palace among many other precious jewels." And when Finn again questioned him how he knew of its secret power, he said-- "Glanlua, my wife, told me. For she said that, being herself at the point of death, Ailna fetched this drinking-horn and bade her drink. And when she had drunk, she was immediately freed from spells and sickness. She told me, moreover, that it would remove the spell from the Fena, and bring back their strength and heal their wounds, if they could get to drink from it." Conan, being near, overheard this conversation; and he inwardly resolved that he would try to secure the drinking-horn, if perchance he might be able to heal his wounds by means of it. Not long after, the giant again came to the prison, sword in hand, and addressed Conan in these words-- "Come forward now, O big, bald man, for I am about to fulfil my promise to you! Come forward, that I may strike off your large head; for I see that your wounds have not killed you!" But Conan, instead of coming forward, fell back even to the farthest part of the dungeon, and replied-- "You must know, Dryantore, that I, of all men alive, am the most unwilling to die any death unworthy of a brave hero. You see my evil plight, all wounded and faint from loss of blood; and, being as I am a valiant warrior, it would surely be a shameful thing and a foul blot on my fame, to be slain while in this state. I ask only one favour--that you cure me of my wounds first. After this, you may put me to death in any manner that is most agreeable to you." To this Dryantore consented, seeing that Conan was secure; and he called to Ailna and bade her fetch him the magical golden drinking-horn. "For I wish," said he, "to heal the wounds of yonder big, bald man." But Ailna replied, "Of what concern are his wounds to us? Is it not better that he should die at once, and all the other Fena with him?" Conan spoke out from where he stood, "Lovely Ailna, I seek not to escape death. I ask only to be healed first and slain afterwards!" Ailna went to the palace and soon returned, bringing, not the drinking-horn, but a large sheepskin, covered all over with a long growth of wool. Dryantore took it from her, and doing as she told him, he fitted it on Conan's back, where it cleaved firmly, so that his wounds were all healed up in an instant.