Clutching his cloak about her, she rose. “Mayhap … mayhap we’ll speak of it later. They wait for me to finish posing.”
“Ariane,” he began, but she cut him off.
“Stephano thinks he has a claim on me,” she said quickly. “He has not.” And she left almost as quickly as Stephano had.
Conan emptied his cup with a muttered curse, then turned to watch her drop his cloak and climb back to her pose on the table. After a moment her eyes shifted to him, then away, quickly. Again she met his gaze and tore hers away. Her rounded breasts rose and fell as her breathing became agitated. Spots of red appeared on her cheeks, growing, her face flushing hotter and hotter. Abruptly she uttered a small cry and leaped down, snatching up the cloak from the floor without looking again at Conan. She pulled the fur-trimmed garment about her as she ran, darting between the tables, feet flashing up the stairs.
The Cimmerian smiled complacently as he poured more wine from the clay jug. Perhaps things were not as bad as they seemed.
Hordo dropped onto the stool across the table, a frown creasing his eye. “Have you listened to what’s said in this place?” he asked quietly. “Was there a Guardsman about, there’d be heads on pikes for sedition before many more dawns.”
Conan looked casually to see if anyone was listening. “Or for rebellion?”
“This lot?” the one-eyed man snorted derisively. “They might as well march to the block and ask to have their heads chopped. Not that the city’s not ripe for it, mind. But these have as much chance as a babe sucking a sugar-tit.”
“But what if they had money? Gold to hire fighting men?”
Hordo had raised his cup as Conan spoke; now he choked on the wine. “Where would this lot get gold? If one of them had a patron, you can wager your stones he’d not be living on the rim of Hellgate.”
“Ariane’s father is a lord,” Conan said quietly. ‘And she told me some of the rest come of rich men, too.”
The one-eyed man chose his words carefully. “Do you tell me they actually plan rebellion? Or think they do?”
“Stephano and Ariane, between them, as much as told me so.”
“Then let us be gone from here. They may have some talents, but rebellion is not among them. If they met you last night and tell so much today, what have they told others? Remember, our heads can decorate pikes as easily as theirs.”
Conan shook his head slowly, although Hordo was right, on the face of it. “I like it here,” was all he said.
“You like a round-bottomed poet,” Hordo said heatedly. “You’ll die for a woman yet. Remember the blind soothsayer.”
“I thought you said he was a fool,” the Cimmerian laughed. “Drink, Hordo. Rest easy. We’ll talk of our Free-Company.”
“We’ve no gold yet that I can see,” the other said sourly.
“I’ll find the gold,” Conan said with more confidence than he felt. He had no idea whence it might come. Still, it would be well to have his plans in order. A delay of days could mean the difference between being sought after and all who could afford such companies already having hired. “I’ll find it. You say we can, ah, borrow weapons from the storehouses of the smuggling ring you serve. Are they serviceable? I’ve seen smuggled mail so eaten with rust it fell apart in a good rain, and blades that snapped at the first blow.”
“Nay, Cimmerian. These are of good quality, and of any sort you want. Why, there are as many kinds of sword bundled in those storehouses as I’ve ever heard named. Tulwars from Vendhya, shamshirs from Iranistan, macheras in a dozen patterns from the Corinthian citystates. Fifty of this sort and a hundred of that. Enough to arm five thousand men.”
“So many?” Conan murmured. “Why would they keep so much in their storehouses, and in such variety? There’s no profit in storing swords.”
“I bring what I’m told from the border to Belverus, and I’m paid for it in gold. I care not if they grow barley in the storehouses, so long as I get a fat purse each trip.” Hordo tipped the jug over his cup; a few drops fell. “Wine!” he roared, a blast that brought dead silence to the room.
Everyone turned to stare in amazement at the two burly men. A slende
r girl in the same sort of plain neck-to-ankles cotton robe that Ariane wore approached hesitantly and placed another clay jug on the table. Hordo fumbled in the purse at his belt and tossed her a silver piece.
“The rest is for you, little one,” Hordo said.
The girl stared at the coin, then laughed delightedly and dropped a mockingly deep curtsey before leaving. Conversation slowly resumed among those at the tables. The musicians struck up their various tunes, and the poet orated to the wall.
“Pretty serving girls,” Hordo muttered as he refilled his battered metal cup, “but they dress like temple virgins.”
Conan hid a smile. The one-eyed man had drunk deeply the night before. Well, he would discover soon enough that he did not have to pay for his wine. In the meantime, let him contribute for the both of them.
“Consider, Hordo. Such a motley collection of weapons is just the sort of thing these artists would put together.”
“That again?” the other man grumbled. “In the first place, whoever runs the ring, I can’t see him wanting Garian overthrown. Those fool tariffs might be starving the poor, but they make good profits for smuggling. In the second place … .” His face darkened, the scar below his patch standing out whitely. “In the second place, I’ve been through one rebellion with you. Or have you forgotten riding for the Venhyan border half a step in front of the headsman’s sword?”