Conan the Defender (Robert Jordan's Conan Novels 2)

“I’ve given orders, as you said, to watch for a hawk-face man with white at his temples, but ’twill be a gift of the gods an we find him so.”

Conan shook his head disgustedly. “I know. But we can do only what we can. Come. Let us to my chamber. I’ve good wine there.”

Palaces far more opulent stood in Turan and Vendhya, but this one was no mean place. Many were the courtyards and gardens, some small, holding perhaps a marble fountain in the form of some fanciful beast, others large, in which rose alabaster towers with gilded corbeled arches and golden cupolas. Great obelisks rose to the sky, their sides covered with hieroglyphs and telling the legends of Nemedian kings for a thousand years and more.

While walking down a cool arcade beside a garden where peacocks cried and golden-feathered pheasants strutted, Conan suddenly stopped. Ahead, a woman swathed in gray veils had come out of a door and, seemingly not noticing them, was walking the other way. The Cimmerian was certain it was the woman he had twice seen in her litter. Now, he decided, was a good time to discover why she had looked at him with such hatred. But as he started forward, Hordo grabbed his arm, pulling him aside behind a column.

“I want to speak to that woman,” Conan said. He spoke softly, for voices carried in those arcades. “She does not like me, of that I’m sure. And I have seen her before, without those veils. But where?”

“I, too, have seen her,” Hordo replied in a hoarse whisper, “though not without the veils. She is called Lady Tiana, and ’tis said her face is scarred by some disease. She will not allow it to be seen.”

“I’ll not ask to see her face,” Conan said impatiently.

“Listen to me,” the one-eyed man pleaded. “Once I followed Eranius when he left us to get his orders. Always, I knew, he went to the Street of Regrets, each time to a different tavern. This time he left the city entire, and in a grove beyond the wall met this Lady Tiana.”

“Then she is part of the smuggling,” Conan said. “That may provide a lever, if she proves difficult about answering my questions.”

“You do not understand, Cimmerian. I was not close enough to hear what was said, yet did I see Eranius all but grovel before her. He would not do so unless she were high, very high, in the ring. Bother her, and you may find ten score smugglers in this city, hard men all, seeking your head.”

“Mayhap they do already.” Assuredly someone did; why not a woman who seemed to hate him, for whatever reason? He shrugged off Hordo’s hand. “She will be gone if I do not go now.

But Conan paused, for as the Lady Tiana reached the end of the arcade, the blonde who had accompanied Garian appeared before her. Sularia, he had learned her name was, and she was indeed Garian’s mistress. The veiled woman moved to go past, but Sularia, in golden breastplates and a golden silk skirt no wider than a man’s hand front or rear, sidestepped in front of her.

“All honor to you, Lady Tiana,” Sularia said, a malicious smile playing over her sensual lips. “But why are you covered so on such a bright day? I know you would be lovely, could we but persuade you into bangles and silks.”

The veiled woman’s hand flashed out, cracking across Sularia’s face in a backhand blow that sent the blonde crumpling to the ground. Conan was stunned at the blow; it had taken no common woman’s strength.

Sularia stumbled to her feet, rage twisting her face into a mask. “How dare you strike me?” she spat. “I—”

“To your kennel, bitch!” a third woman snapped, appearing beside the other two. Tall and willowy, she was as beautiful as Sularia, but with silken black hair and imperious dark eyes in a haughty face. Her blue velvet robe, sewn with tiny pearls, made the blonde look a tavern girl.

“Speak not so to me, Lady Jelanna,” Sularia answered angrily. “I am no servant, and soon … .” She stopped suddenly.

Jelanna’s mouth curled in a sneer. “You are a slut, and soon enough Garian will decide so for himself. Now, get you gone before I summon a slave to whip you hence.”

Sularia trembled from head to foot, her face venomous. With an inarticulate cry of rage, she sped away from the two women, past where Conan and Hordo stood behind the column.

Conan watched her go; when he turned back, Jelanna and Tiana were gone. Scowling, he leaned against the stone.

“In this place I could search a tenday and not find her,” he growled. “I should have spoken straight off, instead of letting you draw me away like a frightened boy.”

“Mitra, Conan, let us ride from this city.” Hordo’s single eye fixed the Cimmerian with entreaty. “Forget Lady Tiana. Forget Garian, and his gold. There’s gold in Ophir, and when we take blade-fee there, at least we’ll know who wants to kill us.”

Conan shook his head. “Never have I run away from my enemies, Hordo. ’Tis a bad habit to form. Go you on to the taverns. I go to my chamber to think on how to find this Tiana. I’ll find you later, and match you two drinks to one.”

As the Cimmerian started away, Hordo called after him. “Always before you knew who your enemies were!”

But Conan walked on. A wise man did not leave an unknown enemy behind him, but rather sought that enemy out. Better to die than flee, for once flight began how could it end? The enemy would come at last, and victory or death would be decided then at a time and place of the foe’s choosing. While there was yet life and will, the enemy must be sought.

Reaching his chamber, Conan put his hand to the door; it shifted at his touch. The latch had been drawn. Warily he drew his blade and stepped aside. With swordpoint he thrust the door open. It swung back to crash against the wall, but there was no other sound, no hint of movement within.

Snarling, the big Cimmerian threw himself through the open door in a long dive, tucking his shoulder under as he hit the floor to roll to his feet, sword at the ready.

Sularia sat up on his bed, crossing her long legs sensuously beneath her and clapping her hands with delight. “Horseman, bowman, swordsman, and now tumbler. What other tricks have you, barbarian?”

Keeping a tight rein on his anger, Conan closed the door. He was no man to enjoy making a fool of himself before a woman, most especially not a beautiful woman. When he turned back to her his eyes were blue glacier ice.

“Why are you here, woman?”