“Emilio intended to steal from the compound of the Cult of Doom, Sharak. I think me he tried two nights past.”
“Then he is dead,” Sharak sighed. “That place has acquired a bad name among the Brotherhood of the Shadows. Some thieves say ’tis doom even to think of stealing from them.”
“He meant to steal a necklace of thirteen rubies for a woman with blonde hair. He wanted me to aid him.”
The old astrologer tossed his spoon into the bowl of stew. “Mayhap your chart …” he said slowly. “These eyes are old, Conan. ’Tis possible what I saw was merely an effect of your association with Emilio.”
“And it’s possible men can fly without magic,” Conan laughed ruefully. “No, old friend. Never have I known you to make a mistake in your star-reading. The meaning was clear. I must enter that compound and steal the necklace.”
Conan’s bench creaked as a man suddenly dropped onto it beside him. “And I must go with you,” he said. Conan looked at him. It was the hard-eyed, black-skinned Turanian army sergeant he had seen asking after Emilio. “I am called Akeba,” the sergeant added.
The big Cimmerian let his hand rest lightly on the worn leather hilt of his broadsword. “’Tis a bad habit, listening to other men’s conversation,” he said with dangerous quietness.
“I care not if you steal every last pin from the cult,” Akeba said. His hands rested on the table, and he seemed to take no notice of Conan’s sword.
“’Twas rumored this Emilio did not fear to enter that place, but I heard you say he is dead. I have need to enter the compound, and need of a man to guard my back, a man who does not fear the cult. If you go there, I will go with you.”
Sharak cleared his throat. “Pray tell us why a sergeant of the Turanian army would want to enter that compound in secret.”
“My daughter, Zorelle.” Akeba’s face twisted momentarily with pain. “She was taken by this Mitra-accursed cult. Or joined, I know not which. They will not allow me to speak to her, but I have seen her once, at a distance. She no longer looks as she did before falling into their hands. Her face is cold, and she does not smile. Zorelle wore a smile always. I will bring her out of there.”
“Your daughter,” Conan snorted. “I must needs go with stealth. The stealth of two men is the tenth part that of one. Add the need to drag a weeping girl along … .” He snorted again.
“How will you steal so much as a drink of water if I summon my men to arrest you?” Akeba demanded.
Conan’s fist tightened on his sword hilt. “You will summon no one from your grave,” he growled. Akeba reached for his own blade, and the two men began to rise.
“Be not fools!” Sharak said sharply. “You, Akeba, will never see your daughter again if your skull is cloven in this tavern. And Conan, you know the dangers of what you intend. Could not another sword be of use?”
“Not that of a blundering soldier,” Conan replied. His eyes were locked with those of the Turanian, blue and black alike as hard as iron. “His feet are made for marching, not the quiet of thieving.”
“Three years,” Akeba said, “I was a scout against the Ibarri mountain tribes, yet I still have my life and my manhood. From the size of you, you look to be as quiet as a bull.”
“A scout?” the Cimmerian said thoughtfully. The man had some skill at quietness, then. Perhaps Sharak had a point. It was all too possible that he could use another blade. Besides, killing a soldier would make it near impossible for him to remain in Aghrapur.
Conan lowered himself slowly back to the bench, and Akeba followed. For a moment their eyes remained locked; then, as at a signal, each loosed his grip on his sword.
“Now that is settled,” Sharak said, “there is the matter of oaths to bind us all together in this enterprise.”
“Us?” Akeba said with a questioning look.
Conan shook his head. “I still do not know if this soldier is coming with me or not, but I do know that you are not. Find yourself a wench who wants her stars read. I can recommend one here, if you mind not a head full of beads.”
“Who will watch your horses,” Sharak asked simply, “while you two heroes are being heroic inside the compound? Besides, Conan, I told you I’ve never had an adventure. At my age, this may be my last chance. And I do have this.” He brandished his walking staff. “It could be useful.”
Akeba frowned. “It’s a stick.” He looked at Conan.
“The thing has magical powers, the Cimmerian said, and dropped his eyelid.
After a moment the dark man smiled faintly. “As you say.” His face grew serious. “As to the compound, I would have this thing done quickly.”
“Tonight,” Conan said. “I, too, want it done.”
“The oaths,” Sharak chimed in. “Let us not forget the oaths.”
The three men put their heads together.
VII