“ ’Tis bigger than Sultanapur and Aghrapur together,” Hordo said.
Kang Hou and his nieces seemed to take the city’s size as a matter of course, while Hasan and Shamil had eyes only for the Khitan women.
“You judge by the smallness of your own
lands,” Vyndra mocked. She sat her horse unbound, for Conan had seen no reason to keep her tied once they were away from the caravan. She wore robes of green silk from bundles of clothing the Khitan women had gathered for themselves. They were smaller women than she, and the tightness of her current garb delineated her curves to perhaps greater perfection than she might have wished. “Many cities in Vendhya are as large or larger,” she went on. “Why, Ayodhya is three times so great.”
“Are we to sit here all day?” Ghurran demanded grumpily. As the others had grown tired with journeying, the herbalist had seemed to gain energy, but all of it went to irritability.
Prytanis jumped in with still nastier tones. “What of this palace she has been telling us of? After days of living on what we can snare, with naught to drink but water, I look forward to wine and delicacies served by a willing wench. Especially as the Cimmerian wants to keep this one for himself.”
Vyndra’s face colored, but she merely said, “I will take you there.”
Conan let her take the lead, though he kept his horse close behind hers as they wended their way out of the hills. He was far from sure of what to make of the Vendhyan woman or her actions. She had made no attempt to escape and ride to the caravan, even when she knew it was just out of sight ahead of them, with a plain trail showing the way. And he often caught her watching him, a strange, unreadable look in her dark eyes. He had made no advances to her, for it seemed wrong after he had carried her away bodily. She would see a threat behind any words he might say, and she had done nothing to earn that. So he watched her in turn, uneasily, wondering when this strange calm she affected would end.
Their way led toward the city for only a short time, then turned to the west. Before they came out of the hills, Conan could see many palaces in that direction, great blocks of pale, columned marble gleaming in the sun in the midst of open spaces scattered over leagues of forest to the north and south. Still farther to the west, the trees grew taller, and there were no palaces there that he could see.
Suddenly the trees through which they rode were gone, and before them was a huge structure of ivory spires and alabaster domes, with rising terraces of fluted columns and marble stairs at the front a hundred paces wide. On each side was a long pool bordered by broad marble walks and reflecting the palace in its mirror-smooth waters.
As they rode toward the great expanse of deep-run stairs, Vyndra spoke suddenly. “Once Gwandiakan was a favored summer resort of the court, but many came to fear the fevers of the forests to the west. I have not been here since I was a child, but I know there are a few servants still, so perhaps it is habitable.” She bounced from her saddle and bounded up the broad stairs, needing two paces to a single stairstep.
Conan climbed down from his horse more slowly, and Hordo with him. “Does she play some Vendhyan game with us?” the one-eyed man asked.
Conan shook his head silently; he was as uncertain as his friend. Abruptly a score of men in white turbans and pale cotton tunics appeared at the head of the stairs. The Cimmerian’s hand went to his sword, but the men ignored those at the foot of the stair and bent themselves almost double bowing to Vyndra, murmuring words that did not quite reach Conan’s ear.
Vyndra turned back to the others. “They remember me. It is as I feared. There are only a few servants, and the palace is much deteriorated, but we may find some bare comforts.”
“I know the comforts I want,” Prytanis announced loudly. “The three prettiest wenches I can find. Strip them all and I’ll choose.”
“My serving women are to be gently treated,” Vyndra said angrily.
“You forget you are a prisoner, wench!” the slit-nosed man snarled. “Were the Cimmerian not here, I would—”
“But I am here,” Conan said in hard tones. “And if she wants her serving girls treated gently, then you will treat them like your own sisters.”
Prytanis met the Cimmerian’s iron gaze for only a moment, then his dark eyes slid away. “There are tavern wenches in the city, I’ll wager,” he muttered. “Or do you wish them treated like sisters as well?”
“Have a care if you go into the city,” Conan told him. “Remember, foreigners are all considered spies in this land.”
“I can look after myself,” the Nemedian growled. Sawing at the reins, he jerked his horse around and galloped off in the direction of Gwandiakan.
“Another must go as well,” Conan said as he watched Prytanis disappear. “I’d not trust him to discover what we must know, but information is needed. The caravan entered the city, but how long will it remain? And what does Karim Singh do? Hordo, you see that none of Vyndra’s servants run off to tell of strangers here. There has been nothing to indicate Karim Singh knows we follow, so let us see that that does not change. I will go into—”
“Your pardon,” Kang Hou broke in. “It will take long for an obvious outlander such as yourself to learn anything of interest, for talk will die in your presence. On the other hand, my niece, Kuie Hsi, has often passed as a Vendhyan woman in aid of my business. If she can obtain the proper clothing here…”
“I cannot like sending a woman in my place,” Conan said but the Khitan only smiled.
“I assure you I would not send her if I thought the danger were too great for her.”
Conan looked at Kuie Hsi, standing straight and serene beside Shamil. In her embroidered robes she looked plainly Khitan, but with her dusky coloring and the near lack of an epicanthic fold on her eyes, it seemed barely possible. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “But she is only to look and listen. Asking questions could draw the wrong eyes to her and I’ll not let her take that chance.”
“I will tell her of your concern,” the merchant said.
Servants came—silent turbaned men bowing as they took away the horses, even more deeply bowing men and women, smiling as they proffered silver goblets of cool wine and golden trays with damp towels for dusty hands and faces.
A round-faced, swarthy man appeared before Conan, bobbing quick bows as he spoke. “I am Punjar, master, steward of the palace. My mistress has commanded me to see personally to your wishes.”
Conan looked for Vyndra and could not see her. The servants made a milling mass about the Cimmerian’s party on the stairs, asking how they might serve, speaking of baths and beds. Momentary thoughts of devious traps flitted through his mind. But Kang Hou was following a serving girl in one direction while his nieces were led in another and Conan had few remaining doubts of the merchant’s ability to avoid a snare. Ghurran, he saw, had retained his horse.