Jarvaneus choked. “I will take you to the Princess Taramis.”
The Cimmerian waved him to lead on.
Surprise upon surprise, Conan thought when the old man left him. It was no audience chamber he had been taken to. Golden lamps gave light against the deepening night. A huge, round bed veiled with sheer, white silk took up one end of the great room. The marble-tiled floor was strewn with rugs from Vendhya and Iranistan, and in its center stood a low table of polished brass on which rested a crystal flagon of wine and two goblets of beaten gold. Taramis, swathed in black silk robes from neck to toe, reclined on cushions piled beside the table.
They were not alone in the room. In each corner stood a black-armored warrior, unhelmeted and with his sword slung across his back so that the hilt stuck above his right shoulder. Straight ahead these men stared, not moving a muscle, not seeming to breathe or to blink.
“My bodyguards,” Taramis said, gesturing to the four. “The best of Bombatta’s warriors, almost as good as he himself. But do not let them worry you. They attack only at my command. Wine?”
She rose smoothly and bent to fill the goblets. Conan’s breath caught in his throat. The black silk had tightened across her rounded buttocks as she bent. In its multitude of folds, the garment was opaque, but in a single layer it was as mist. And Taramis wore naught beneath it but sleek skin. As she came toward him with the wine, he found he could not take his eyes from the slight sway of her heavy breasts.
“I said, if you wish food, I will have something brought for you.” The noblewoman’s voice was thick with amusement.
Conan started, colored, then colored deeper when he realized what he had done. “No. No, I want nothing to eat.” Furious with himself, he took a goblet. What was he about, he wondered, staring like a boy who had never seen a woman before. If he could not keep his wits better than that, he had as well give it over. He cleared his throat. “There is a commission you want me to carry out. I cannot do it until I know what it is.”
“You want this Valeria returned to you?” She moved closer, till her breasts brushed against his chest. Even through his tunic they seemed to burn like two hot coals.
“I want her alive again.” He stepped to the cushions—casually, he hoped—and lay back. Taramis came to stand over him; he looked up, and had to pull his eyes away from the tantalizing line of thigh and belly and breast. He did not see the small smile that flashed across her lips.
“Hold hard in your mind to what you want, thief, and do as I command.”
“You still have not told me what I must do.” He had to suppress a sigh of relief when she moved away from him and began to pace.
“I have a niece, the Lady Jehnna,” Taramis said slowly. “She has lived her life in seclusion. Her parents, my brother and his wife, died when she was little more than an infant. The shock was too much for her. The child is … delicate, her mind fragile. But now she must go on a journey, and you must accompany her.”
Conan choked on a mouthful of wine. “I must accompany her?” he said when he had his breath back. “I am not accustomed to being a companion to noblewomen. I mean, it is not the sort of thing I do.”
“You mean you are a thief,” Taramis said, and smiled when he shifted uncomfortably. “I have not turned you over to the City Guard yet, Conan. Why should I now? It is a thief I need, for Jehnna must steal a key, a key only she can touch, and also the treasure that key will open the way to for her. Who better to aid her in that than the best thief in Zamora?”
The big youth felt as though his head was spinning. Carefully he set the goblet on the table. The last thing he needed then was wine. “I am to take this child, this Lady Jehnna, on a journey, and help her steal an ensorceled key and a treasure,” he said wonderingly. “If you say this is the service you require in return for Valeria, I will do it, though I cannot see why she does not travel with a retinue of s
ervants and a hundred of your guards instead of with one thief.”
“Because the Scrolls of Skelos say she must journey without such.” Taramis stopped, biting at her lower lip.
“These scrolls,” he began, but the silk-draped woman waved a quick hand in dismissal.
“Prophecies,” she said hastily. “They tell what must be done, and how. Put them from your mind. They are in an ancient tongue known only to … scholars.” She eyed him consideringly, then went on. “There is some vagueness about numbers, but only two companions are mentioned specifically. I have decided to risk sending no more than that. The two will be yourself and Bombatta.”
Conan grunted, abandoning the scrolls for more immediate concerns. Bombatta to ride with him? Well, he would deal with the man when and if he had to. “Where is this key to be found?”
“The Lady Jehnna will show you.”
“It will be best if I have a map,” he told her, “and a plan of the place where the key is kept. The treasure, too. And what manner of treasure is it? Will we need pack animals to carry it?”
“The Lady Jehnna will know it when she sees it, my fine thief. And she can hold it in her hands, which no one else can do. That is all you need to know. As for a map, there is none, can be none, outside of Jehnna’s head. At her birth spells were cast to attune her to this key. She will sense the key as you journey, and know how to reach it. When the key is her hand, she will become attuned to the treasure in the same way.”
Conan sighed. That she wished to keep some things secret from him was no surprise. Many patrons found it hard to completely trust a thief, even when he was in their hire. Still, it did not make matters easier. “Is there aught else I should know, or prepare for? Remember that too many surprises may mean not only my death, but that of your niece.”
“Jehnna must not be harmed!” Taramis snapped.
“I will keep her safe, but I cannot do it in complete ignorance. If you know something more … .”
“Very well. I … am reliably informed that the key is now in the possession of a man called Amon-Rama, a Stygian.”
“A sorcerer.” He could not believe otherwise, after all else he had heard.
“Aye, a sorcerer. You see, I tell you everything that I know. I wish success for this journey as much or more than you. Are you frightened, or can you face what comes? Remember your Valeria.”