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

“Playing hide and seek through the corridors. Gamboling in the courtyards, splashing in the fountains. Your every wish met as soon as it was made.”

“Did you ask me here to speak of childhood?” Jelanna asked.

“I did not,” Sularia said sharply. “I summoned. Know you Enaro Ostorian?”

If the imperiously beautiful woman was surprised by the question, she did not show it. “That repulsive little toad?” she sniffed. “I know of merchants, but I do not know them.”

Sularia’s feline smile returned. “He seeks a wife.”

“Does he?”

“A young wife, of the nobility.” Sularia saw the dart go home, and pressed to drive it deeper. “He thinks to marry the title he has not been able to buy. And of course he wants sons. Many sons. Garian,” she added to the lie, “has asked me to suggest a suitable bride.”

Jelanna licked her full lips uncertainly. “I wish, Lady Sularia,” she said, a tremor in her voice, “to apologize if I have in any way offended you.”

“Do you know the man Dario?” Sularia demanded. “The keeper of Garian’s kennels?”

“No, my lady,” Jelanna faltered.

“A foul man, I’m told, both in stenches and habits. The slave girls of the Palace hide from him, for his way with a woman is rough to the point of pain.” Sularia paused, watching the horror grow on the imperious woman’s face. “Think you, Jelanna, that one night with Dario is preferable to a lifetime with Ostorian?”

“You are mad,” the slender woman managed. “I’ll listen to no more. I go to my estates in the country, and if you were queeri you could still choose which of Zandru’s—”

“Four soldiers await without for you,” Sularia said, riding over the other woman’s words. “They will escort you to Dario, or to your wedding bed, and no place else.”

The last shreds of haughtiness were washed from Jelanna’s face by despair. “Please,” she whispered. “I will grovel, an you wish it. Before the entire court on my knees will I beg your forgive—”

“Make your choice,” Sularia purred, “else I will make it for you. Those soldiers can deliver you to Ostorian this day. With a note to let him know you think him a repulsive toad.” her voice and face hardened. “Choose!”

Jelanna swayed as if she would fall. “I … I will go to Dario,” she wept.

For a moment Sularia savored the words she had waited for, counting hours. Then she spoke them. “Go. bitch, to your kennel!” As Jelanna ran from the room, peals of Sularia’s laughter rang against the walls. How wonderful was power.

XXII

When next the door of his cell opened, Conan at first thought that Albanus had decided to have him slain where he lay chained. Two men with drawn crossbows slipped through the open door and took positions covering him, one to either side of the cell.

As the Cimmerian gathered himself to make what fight of it he could, the round-faced jailor appeared in the door and spoke.

“The sun stands high, barbarian. ’Tis time to take you to the wolf pit. An you try to fight when Struto and I remove your chains, these two will put quarrels in your legs, and you’ll be dragged to the pit. Well?”

Conan made an effort to appear sullen and reluctant. “Take the chains,” he growled, glowering at the crossbowmen.

In spite of his words the two jailors kept clear of the crossbowmen’s line of fire as they broke open his manacles with repeated blows of hammer on chisel. Did they think him a fool, he wondered. He might well be able to take both jailors and bowmen despite the way they were placed, yet he could hear measured steps approaching the cell, the sound of a middling body of men. Dying was not hard, but only a fool chose to die for naught.

Rubbing his wrists, Conan rose smoothly to his feet and let himself be herded from the cell. In the hall waited a full score of the Golden Leopards.

“Don’t need so many,” Struto said abruptly.

Conan blinked. He had thought the man without a tongue.

Struto’s fellow jailor seemed only slightly less surprised at hearing him speak. The round-faced man stared before saying, “He near escaped from as many the night he was taken. You know I don’t like prisoners escaping. I asked for twice as many. Move on, now. The King waits.”

Half the soldiers went before him, and half behind, the jailors walking on either side. The crossbowmen brought up the rear, where they could get a shot at him did he run, in whatever direction. So they made their way up into the Palace and through corridors once more bare of nobles.

Conan strode in their midst as if they were an honor guard and he on his way to his coronation. There was no glimmer of escape in his mind. At the wolf pit would most certainly be the imposter Garian and Albanus. Under the circumstances, a man could do worse than die killing those two.

Their way led through the parts of the Palace familiar to the Cimmerian, and beyond. Polished marble and alabaster gave way to plain dressed granite, then to stone as rough as that of the dungeons. Lamps of gold and silver were replaced by torches in iron sconces.