Hordo raised his right hand above his head, and from the vessel came the grate of the hatch being pushed back. “Let your men come on foot for them,” he cautioned, “and no more than four at a time. And I will see the gold before a chest is taken.”
Six of the smugglers appeared on the edge of the firelight, bows in hand and arrows nocked. The Vendhyan looked at them levelly, then bowed to Hordo with a dry smile. “It shall be as you wish, of course.” Backing around the fire, he faded into the darkness up the beach.
“I mistrust him,” Conan said as soon as he was gone.
“Why?” Hordo asked.
“He accepted the tale of Patil too easily. Would you not have asked at least a few more questions if you were he?”
The one-eyed man shook his shaggy head. “Perhaps. But keep your eyes open, and we will get out of this with whole skins whatever he intends.”
A dark band of wet about the bottom of his robes, Ghurran puffed up the sandy shelf. “This mode of travel is uncomfortable, inconvenient and damp,” he muttered, holding his bony hands out to the fire. “Have you spoken to that man about the antidote, Cimmerian?”
“Not yet.”
“Do not. Hear me out,” he went on when Conan opened his mouth. “They will be nervous of a man like you with a sword on his hip. And what reason would you give for asking? I have one, you see.” To Conan’s surprise, the herbalist produce Patil’s push-dagger from his sleeve. “I purchased the weapon from Patil, but he said he had none of the antidote. If you said such a thing, they would assume you took the blade from his body. If I say it…well, they would sooner believe I had bedded one of their daughters than that these old arms had slain a man.” He hastily made the small dagger disappear as Sabah walked into the circle of light.
Two obvious servants followed the Vendhyan, turbaned men in dull-colored cotton, without rings or gems. One carried a dark woolen blanket that he spread beside the fire at Sabah’s gesture. The other bore a leather sack, which he upended over the blanket. A cascade of golden coins tumbled to the blanket, bouncing and ringing against each other till a hundred gleaming roundels lay in a scattered heap.
Conan stared in amazement. It was far from the first time he had seen so much gold in one place, but never before offered so casually. If those chests had been filled with saffron, they would not be worth so much. “What is in the chests?” he asked.
The Vendhyan’s smile touched only his lips. “Spices.”
The tension was broken by Hordo bending to scoop up five of the coins at random. He examined them closely, finally biting each before tossing it back to the blanket. “I will want the sack as well,” he said, then shouted over his shoulder, “Bring up the chests!”
Half a score of smugglers appeared from the direction of the ship, each bearing one of the small chests. Hordo motioned, and they set their burdens down off to one side of the fire, then trotted back toward the water. Without a word, Sabah hurried to the chests, the servants at his heels, and two more men ran down the beach to join them. Conan saw Ghurran there as well, but he could not tell if the old man was speaking to anyone. Dropping to his knees, Hordo stuffed coins into the leather sack as fast as he could.
Abruptly a cry of rage rose from the men around the chests. Smugglers coming up the beach with the second load of chests froze where they stood. Conan’s hand went to his sword-hilt as Sabah all but hurled himself back into the firelight.
“The seals!” the Vendhyan howled. “They have been broken and resealed!”
Hordo’s hand twitched as though he wanted to drop the last coins he held and reach for a weapon. “Patil did it on the day he left,” he said hastily. “I do not know why. Check the chests and you will see that we have taken nothing.”
The Vendhyan’s fists clenched and unclenched, and his eyes darted in furious uncertainty. “Very well,” he rasped at last. “Very well. But I will examine each chest.” His hands still worked convulsively as he stalked away.
“You were right, Cimmerian,” Hordo said. “He should not have accepted that so easily.”
“I am glad you agree,” Conan said dryly
. “Now have you considered that this fire makes us targets a child could hit?”
“I have.” The one-eyed man jerked the drawstrings of the sack closed and knotted them to his belt. “Let us get everyone back aboard as quickly as possible.”
Sabah was gone, Conan saw, as well as the first ten chests. Turbaned men waited warily for the rest. Ten, not the agreed-upon four, but the Cimmerian was not about to argue the point now. Ghurran was with them, and talking, by his gestures. Conan hoped the herbalist had found what they sought. There was certainly no more time for looking.
With seeming casualness, Conan drifted to the line of smugglers who still waited well down toward the water. Beyond them some of the archers had half-drawn their bows, but all still held their weapons down.
“What was that shouting?” Prytanis demanded.
“Trouble,” Conan replied. “But I do not think they will attack until those chests are safely off the beach. Not unless they decide we are suspicious. So take the chests on up, then get back aboard as fast as you can without running. And bring Ghurran.”
“And you go back to the ship now?” Prytanis sneered. A ripple of uneasiness ran through the others.
It was an effort for Conan to keep the anger out of his voice. “I stand right here until you get back, as if we trust them like brothers. They are getting impatient, Prytanis. Or do you not want a chance to leave this beach without fighting?”
The Nemedian still hesitated, but another man pushed by him, then another. With a last glare at the big Cimmerian, Prytanis fell in with the file.
Crossing his arms across his chest, Conan tried to give the image of a man at ease, all the while scanning the beach for the attack he was sure must come. The file of smugglers met the clustered Vendhyans, the chests changed hands, and the two groups parted, walking swiftly in opposite directions. The smugglers had the shorter distance to go. Even as the thought came to Conan, one of the Vendhyans looked back, then said something to his fellows, and they all broke into a run made awkward by the chests they carried.