“All the same, if I had ridden on, or if they’d killed me, you’d be wondering what you’d fetch at market.”
“And you want a reward,” she half wept. “Derketo curse you, you smelly barbar oaf!”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me that,” he said grimly. “What I want from you is an oath, by Derketo since you call on the goddess of love and death. An oath that you’ll never again let an uncivil word pass your lips toward me, and that you’ll never again raise a hand against me.”
“Hairy lout! Dung-footed barbar! Do you think you can force me to—”
He cut her off. “My hand is getting sweaty. I wouldn’t wait too long. You might slip.” Silence answered him. “Or then again, I might grow tired of waiting.”
“I will swear.” Her voice was suddenly soft and sensuously yielding. “Pull me up, and I’ll swear on my knees to anything you command.”
“Swear first,” he replied. “I’d hate to have to toss you back in. Besides, I like the view.” He thought he heard the sound of a small fist smacking the stone wall of the well in frustration, and smiled.
“You untrusting ape,” she snarled with all her old ferocity. “Very well. I swear, by Derketo, that I’ll speak no uncivil word to you, nor raise a hand against you. I swear it. Are you satisfied?”
He hoisted her straight up out of the well, and let her drop on the hard ground with a thud and a grunt.
“You … .” She bit her lip and glared up at him from the ground. “You didn’t have to be so rough,” she said in a flat tone. Instead of answering he unfastened his swordbelt, propping the scabbard against the well. “What … what are you doing?”
“You spoke of a reward.” He stepped out of his breechclout. “Since I doubt a word of thanks will ever crack your teeth, I’m collecting my own reward.”
“So you’re nothing but a ravisher of women after all,” she said bitterly.
“That was close to an uncivil word, wench. And no ravishment. All you need to do is say, ‘stop,’ and you’ll leave this place as chaste as a virgin for all of me.”
He lowered himself onto her, and though she beat at his shoulders with her fists and filled the air with vile curses the word ‘stop’ never once passed her lips, and soon her cries changed their nature, for she was a woman fully fledged, and he knew something of women.
After, he regained his clothes and his weapons while she rummaged among the dead men’s things to cover herself. Her own garments, she said, had been ripped to shreds. He noted that this time she inspected the weapons carefully before selecting one, but he had no worries at turning his back on her even after she had belted it on. When she had been turning the air blue, not one of her curses had been directed at him. If she could keep her oath then, he was sure she would keep it now.
Once he had filled his goatskin waterbags, he swung into his saddle.
“Hold a moment,” she called. “What’s your name?” She had clothed herself in flowing pantaloons of bright yellow and an emerald tunic that was far too tight across the chest, though loose elsewhere. A braided gold cord held her auburn mane back from her face. He had seen her dig it out from the purse of one of the dead men.
“Conan,” he said. “Conan of Cimmeria. And you?”
“My name is Karela,” she said proudly, “of whatever land I happen to be standing on. Tell me, these pilgrims you seek, they have something of great value? I don’t see you as a holy man, Conan of Cimmeria.”
If he told her about the pendants, she would no doubt want to go with him. From the way she had handled her sword he was sure she could pull her we
ight, but even so he did not want her along. Let her get a sniff of ten thousand pieces of gold, and he would have to sleep with both eyes open, oath or no. He was sure of that, too.
“Valuable only to a man in Shadizar,” he said casually. “A dancing girl who ran away with these pilgrims. Or maybe they stole her. Whatever, the man’s besotted with her, and he’ll pay five gold pieces to have her back.”
“Not much for a ride in this country. There are harder bandits about than these dog stealers.” She nodded to the bodies, where Conan had dragged them, well away from the water.
“I seek pilgrims, not bandits,” he laughed. “They won’t put up much fight. Farewell, Karela.” He turned to ride away, but her next words made him draw rein.
“Don’t you want to know where these pilgrims of yours are?”
He stared at her, and she looked back with green eyes innocently wide. “If you know where they are, why didn’t you speak of it before? For that matter, why speak of it now? I can’t see you volunteering help to me.”
“Those jackals … made a fool of me.” She grimaced, but the open look returned to her face quickly. “I was mad, Conan. I wanted to take it out on anyone. You saved my life, after all.”
Conan nodded slowly. It was barely possible. And just as possible she would send him off chasing hares. But he had nothing else to go on besides picking a direction out of the air. “Where did you see them?”
“To the north. They were camped beyond some low hills. I’ll show you.” She vaulted easily into the saddle of her big black. “Well, do you want me to show you, or do you want to sit here all day?”
Short of dangling her down the well again, he could think no way of making her talk. He moved his black cloak to clear the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword, and motioned her to ride past. “You lead,” he said.