Conan the Invincible (Robert Jordan's Conan Novels 1)

He noted how her teeth had clamped lest she should say “master.” There would be much pleasure in this one. “And who is this Conan who will rescue you?”

Velita merely trembled, but Surassa spoke. “Pardon, master, but there was one of that name spoken of in Shadizar. A thief who has grown troublesome.”

“A thief!” Amanar laughed. “Well, little Velita. What shall I do about this rescue? Sitha, command the patrols, if they find this man Conan they are to bring me his skin. Not the man. Just the skin.” Velita shrieked and crumpled forward to rest her sobbing head on her knees. Amanar laughed again. The other women watched him, terror-struck. But not enough, he thought. “Each night you will dance for me, all five of you. She who pleases me most will gain my bed for the night. The middle three will be whipped and sleep in chains. She who pleases me least …” he paused, feeling the anxiety grow “ … will be given to Sitha. He is rough, but he knows still how to use a woman.”

The kneeling women cast one horrified glance at the reptilian creature, now watching them avidly, and threw themselves prostrate, groveling, screaming, pleading. Amanar basked in the miasma of their terror. Surely this was what the god-demon felt when it consumed a soul. Stroking the crystal coffer and stroked by their shrieks, he strode from the chamber.

XIII

Conan eyed the ridge to the left of the narrow valley the bandits were traversing. There had been movement up there. Only a flicker, but his keen gaze had caught it. And there had been others.

He booted his horse forward along the winding trail to where Hordo rode. Karela was well to the front, fist on one red-booted thigh, surveying the mountainous countryside as if she headed an army rather than a motley band of two score brigands, snaking out behind her.

“We’re being watched,” Conan said as he came alongside the one-eyed bandit.

Hordo spat. “Think you I don’t know that already?”

“Hillmen?”

“Of course.” The lone eye frowned. “What else?”

“I don’t know,” Conan said. “But the one good chance I had, I saw a helmet, not a turban.”

“The soldiers are still behind us,” Hordo said thoughtfully. “Talbor and Thanades will let us know if they begin to close.”

The two bandits had been ordered to trail behind, keeping the Zamoran cavalry in sight. Conan refrained from suggesting they might have become affrighted apart from the band and fled, or that Karela was holding the soldiers in too much contempt. “Whoever they are, we’d best hope they don’t attack us here.”

Hordo looked at the steep, scrub-covered slopes rising on either side of the trail and grimaced. “Mitra! Pray they’re not strong enough, though a dozen good men … .” He trailed off as Aberius appeared on the trail ahead, whipping his horse steadily.

“That looks ill,” Conan said. Hordo merely grunted, and the two rode forward to reach Karela as the weasel-faced bandit galloped up.

“Hillmen,” Aberius panted. Greasy sweat dotted his face. “Six score, maybe seven. Camped athwart the trail ahead. And they’re breaking camp.”

There was no need to discuss the danger. Kezankian hillmen admitted allegiance to no one but themselves, though both Turan and Zamora had tried futilely to subdue them. The fierce tribesmen’s way with strangers was simple, short and deadly. One not of his clan, even another hillman, was an enemy, and enemies were for killing.

“Coming this way?” Karela said quietly. At Aberius’ anxious nod she cursed under her breath.

“And the soldiers behind,” Hordo growled.

Karela’s green eyes flashed at the bearded man. “Do you grow frightened with age, Hordo?”

“I’ve no desires to be between the sledge and the stone,” Hordo replied, “and my age has naught to do with it.”

“Watch you don’t become an old woman,” she sneered. “We’ll leave the trail, and let the hillmen and the soldiers exhaust themselves on each other. Mayhap we’ll have a good view from the ridge.”

Conan laughed, and tensed as the red-haired woman rounded on him with her hand on her sword. If he was forced to disarm her—he did not think he could kill her, even to save his own life—he would certainly have to fight Hordo as well. And likely the rest of the brigands, who had gathered a short distance down the rocky trail.

“Your idea of letting them fight among themselves is a good one,” he said, “but if we try to take horses up these slopes we’ll be at it still a week hence.”

“You’ve a better plan, Cimmerian?” Her voice was sharp, but she had loosed her grip on her jeweled tulwar.

“I have. Most of the band will ride back along the trail and up one of the side canyons we’ve passed.”

“Back toward the soldiers?” Hordo protested.

“The hillmen have trackers, too!” Aberius shrilled. “Once they pick up our trail, and they will, it’s us that’ll have to fight them, not the accursed Zamorans!”

“I trust there’s more to your plan,” Karela said softly. “If you turn out to be a fool after all … .” Her words trailed off, but there was a dangerous glint in her tilted eyes. Conan knew she would not forgive the shame of having taken a fool to her bed.