Conan the Defender (Robert Jordan's Conan Novels 2)

Diffuse light reached the fork, brightening slowly, resolving into two torch-bearing figures, swords in their free hands. The Cimmerian almost laughed. Hordo and Karela, but the Karela he had known long ago. Gone were the veils and gray robes of a Nemedian noblewomen, replaced by golden breastplates and a narrow girdle of gold and emeralds, worn low on her rounded hips, from which hung strips of pale green silk. A Turanian cape of emerald green encircled her shoulders.

“Hordo,” Conan called, “had I known you were coming I wouldn’t have drunk all the wine.” Nonchalantly he strolled to meet them.

The two whirled, swords coming up, torches raised. From the other fork men in jazeraint hauberks crowded. Machaon, Narus, more familiar faces from his Free-Company, pushed into the light.

Hordo took in Conan’s gashes, but did not speak of them. “’Tis not like you,” he said gruffly, “to drink all the wine. Mayhap we could find some more, if we look.”

Karela threw the one-eyed man a murderous look and shoved her torch into Machaon’s hand. With gentle fingers she touched Conan’s wounds, wincing at purpled flesh and dried blood.

“I knew you would change your mind,” Conan said, reaching for her.

Her hand cracked across his face, and she stepped back smoothly with blade half raised. “I should throw you back to the wolves,” she hissed.

From somewhere in the darkness beyond the armored men, a voice called unintelligibly. Another answered, both fading as the speakers moved further away.

“They hunt me,” Conan said quietly. “An you know a way out of here, I suggest we take it. Else we must fight a few hundred Golden Leopards.”

Muttering, Karela snatched back her torch and forced her way through the men of the Free-Company to disappear back up the other fork.

“She’s the only one knows the way,” Hordo said quickly. He hurried after her, and Conan followed. Machaon and the rest fell in behind, their booted feet grating in the dust of centuries.

“How did you get into the Palace?” Conan demanded of the one-eyed man as they halftrotted after the auburn-haired beauty. “And what made Karela decide to let you know who she was?”

“Mayhap I’d best begin at the beginning,” Hordo puffed. “First thing that happened was, after you were arrested, a hundred Golden Leopards came for us, and—”

“I know about that,” Conan said. “You got away. What then?”

“You heard about that, did you? I’m too old for this running, Cimmerian.” Despite his heavy breathing, though, the bearded man kept pace easily. “I took the company to the Thestis. Hellgate is near the safest past of Belverus these days. Everybody who lives there is up in the High Streets waving a sword and shouting revolution. And maybe breaking into some rich man’s house now and again.”

“What else did you expect?” Conan laughed grimly. “They’re poor, and have riches within their reach. But about Karela.”

Hordo shook his shaggy head. “She walked into the Thestis this very morn. No, she strode in, looking as if she was ready for her hounds to follow her against a caravan of gold. From what you said, you knew she was here already, eh?”

“Not until I was in the dungeon,” Conan replied. “I will explain later.”

Suddenly Karela stopped, stretching on tiptoe to reach a rusty iron sconce. She seemed to be trying to twist it.

“Looks like where we came in,” Hordo muttered softly. “Looks like twenty places we passed, too.” Emerald eyes flashed at him scornfully, and he subsided.

Just as Conan was about to step forward to aid her, the sconce turned with a sharp click. A shot distance away on the same wall was another sconce, which Karela treated the same way. It swiveled, clicked, and there was a heavier thunk from deep within the wall. With a grate of machinery long unused, a section of stone wall as high as a man and twice as wide receded jerkily to reveal a descending flight of crude brick stairs.

“If you two can stop chattering like old women for a moment,” Karela said bitingly, “follow me. And take care. Some of the bricks are crumbling. It would pain me for you to break your neck, Cimmerian. I reserve that pleasure for myself.” And she darted down the steps.

Hordo shrugged uncomfortably. “I told you, she’s the only one knows the way.”

Conan nodded. “Follow me,” he told Machaon, “and pass the word to watch for crumbling steps.” The grizzled sergeant began muttering over his shoulder to those behind.

Taking a deep breath Conan followed Karela down the dark stairs, lit only by her torch, now only a glimmer far below. He did not actually believe that she would come just to lead him into a trap of her o

wn devising rather than let him die at someone else’s hands. But then, he did not entirely disbelieve it either.

At the bottom of the long stair, Karela waited impatiently. “Are they all in?” she demanded as soon as he entered the light of her torch. Without waiting for him to reply she called up the stair. “Is everyone clear of the entrance?”

There was some scraping of feet on stone, then a voice called back hoarsely, “We’re clear, but I hear boots coming.”

Calmly Karela placed both feet on one particular stone, which sank a finger’s breadth beneath her weight. The grating of machinery sounded again.

“It’s closing,” the same man’s voice shouted incredulously.