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

“I said most of the band,” the big Cimmerian went on calmly. “I will take a few men forward to where the hillmen are.”

Aberius’ laugh was scathing, and frightened. “And defeat all seven score? Or perhaps you think your mild face and dulcet tones will turn their blades aside?”

“Be silent!” Karela commanded. She touched her full lips with her tongue before going on in a quieter voice. “If you’re a fool, Conan, you’re a brave one. Speak on.”

“I’ll attack the hillmen, all right,” Conan said, “but as soon as they know I’m there, I’ll be away. I’ll lead them past where the rest have turned off the trail, straight to the soldiers. While they’re fighting, I and who comes with me will slip away to rejoin you and the others.”

“One or the other will have your guts for saddle ties,” Aberius snorted.

“Then they’ll have yours, too,” Karela said. “And mine. For you and I will accompany him.” The man’s pinched face drew tighter, but he said nothing. Conan opened his mouth to protest; she cut him off. “I lead this band, Cimmerian, and I send no man to danger while I ride to safety. Accept that, or I’ll have you tied across your saddle, and you can accompany the others.”

A chuckle rumbled up from Conan’s massive chest. “There’s no sword I’d rather have beside me than yours. I only thought that without you there, those rogues might keep on riding right out of the mountains.”

After a moment she joined his laughter. “Nay, Conan, for they know I’d pursue them to Gehanna, if they did. Besides, Hordo will keep my hounds in line. What’s the matter with you, bearded one?”

Hordo stared at her with grim eyes. “Where the Red Hawk must bare her blade,” he said flatly, “there ride I.”

Conan waited for another blast of the red-haired bandit’s temper, but instead she sat her horse staring at Hordo as if she had never seen him before. Finally she said, “Very well, though you’re like to lose your other eye if you don’t listen to me. Get the rest on their way.”

The one-eyed man bared his teeth in a fierce grin and whirled his horse back down the trail.

“A good man,” Conan said quickly..

Karela glared. “Do not upbraid me, Cimmerian.”

The mass of brigands clattered down the twisting trail and were soon lost to sight. Hordo booted his horse back up to where Conan and the others waited.

“Think you the watchers will take a hand in this, Conan?” the beard

ed brigand asked.

“What watchers?” Karela demanded. Aberius let out a low moan.

Conan shook his head. “Men on the hillside, but not to concern us now, I think. If they numbered enough to interfere, we’d know it already.”

“Hordo, you knew of this and didn’t tell me?” Karela said angrily.

“Do we wait here talking,” Conan asked, “or do we find the hillmen before they find us?”

For a reply Karela kicked her horse into a gallop up the trail.

“If her mind were not on you, Cimmerian,” Hordo growled, “she’d not need to be told.” He spurred after the Red Hawk.

Aberius looked as if he wanted to ride back after the other bandits, but Conan pointed ahead. “That’s the way.”

The weasel-faced brigand showed his teeth in a snarl, and reluctantly turned his horse after the other two. Conan rode in close behind, forcing him to a gallop.

As soon as they reached the others, Conan drew his sword and rested it across his muscular thighs. With thoughtful looks Karela and Hordo did the same. On that narrow trail, often snaking back on itself with screening escarpments of stone, they would be on the hillmen without warning. If the hillmen did not come on them the same way. Aberius lagged back, chewing his lip.

Abruptly they rounded a sharp bend, and were into the camp of the hillmen. There were no tents, but dark, hook-nosed men in turbans and dirty motley bent to strap bedrolls while others kicked dirt over the ashes of their fires. A thick, bowlegged man, his bare chest crossed by a belt that held his tulwar, saw them first, and an ululating cry broke from his throat. For a bare moment every man in the camp froze, then a shriek of “Kill them!” sent all rushing for their horses.

Conan pulled his horse around as soon as the shout rose. There was no need to do more to ensure being followed. “Back,” he said, forcing his horse against those of Karela and Hordo. Aberius seemed to have broken free already. “Back, for your lives.”

Karela sawed her reins, brought her horse around, and then all three were pounding back the way they had come. Conan kept an eye behind. For the twists of the trail he could see little, but what he saw told him the hillmen had been quicker to horse than he had hoped. The lead horseman, a burly man with his beard parted and curled like horns, flashed into and out of sight as the trail wound round boulders and rock walls. When they reached the soldiers, they must be far enough ahead to distinguish themselves from the fierce tribesmen, though not far enough to allow too many questions.

Conan looked ahead. Karela was stretching her black out as much as the trail would allow, and Hordo rode close behind her, using his quirt to urge greater speed from her mount. If Conan could buy them a tenth of a glass at one of these narrow places … . As the Cimmerian rode between two huge, round boulders, he abruptly pulled his horse around. A quick glance showed that neither of the others had noticed. A few moments, and he would catch up to them.

The fork-bearded hillman galloped between the boulders, raised a wavering battlecry, and Conan’s blade clove turban and skull to his shoulders. Even as the man fell from his saddle-pad, more turbanned warriors were forcing their way into the gap. Conan’s sword rose and fell in murderous butchery, its steel length stained quickly red, blood running onto his arm and spattering across his chest.