“Perhaps?” he said
. “What means of divining is this? Even Sharak does not so hedge his starreadings about.”
“The fire shows the many things which can be. Men choose which will be by their decisions. What is, is like a line, but at every decision that line branches, in two directions or ten, and each of those will also branch, until numbers beyond counting are reached. I will tell you this: if you enter, you, or Baalsham, or both, will stare Erlik’s minions in the eyes. But if you do not, you will surely die. A hundred lines I examined, hoping to find an escape for you, and a hundred times I saw you die, each time more horribly than the last. And if you do not enter, not only will you die. Tens upon tens of thousands will perish fighting the spread of Baalsham’s evil, and every day hundreds more will walk willingly to their deaths for his necromancies. Kings and queens will crawl on their bellies to worship at his feet, and such a darkness will cover the earth as has not been seen these many thousands of years, not since the attainted days of foul Acheron.”
Conan laughed mirthlessly. “Then it seems I must try to save the world, whether I will or no.” His blade leaped into his hand; he tested the edge carefully. “If I must wager my life, the odds will grow no better for waiting. I will go to these Blasted Lands now.”
“No,” she said sharply. He opened his mouth, but she hurried on. “Night is best, it is true, but not this night. Think of the girl with you. When you have done this thing, you must go immediately, for others sit Guardian besides me, and they will soon know what has been done. But she cannot stand, much less sit a saddle.”
“Then I’ll tie her across it,” he answered roughly. Already the battle rage was rising in him. If he was to die this night, he would not die easily.
“But if you let me bring her here, I can cure her sore flesh in a day. She will be able to ride by tomorrow night.” Samarra smiled. “Many women have asked me to take the pain from a smarting rump, but this will be the first time I have used my powers for so low a purpose.”
“The longer I wait, the greater the chance that someone else will remember Tamur.”
“But you still cannot enter the Blasted Lands without any help. The barrier of the Outer Circle will slay only those of Hyrkanian blood, but that of the Inner Circle, where you must go if you are to find what you seek, will destroy anything that lives. I must give you special powders to spread, and teach you incantations, if you are to survive.”
“Then give them to me,” he demanded.
Instead she untied her silk sash and tossed it aside. “No Hyrkanian man,” she said, staring him in the eye, “will look at a shamaness as a woman. I have slaves, young men, full of vigor, but full of fear, too.” She began to undo the silver pins that held her garment. “They touch me because I command it, but they do so as if I might shatter, afraid of hurting or angering. Until you put your hands on me, no man in my entire life has touched me as a woman, who will not break for a little roughness in a caress. I can wait no longer.” The long kirtle slid to the carpets and she stood in lush nudity, all ripe curves and womanly softness. Feet apart she faced him, defiance in her eyes, fists on the swelling of her hips, shoulders thrown back so that her breasts seemed even fuller. “There is a price for my aid. If that makes me a harlot, well, that is something I have never experienced. And I want to experience everything that a man and a woman can do to each other. Everything, Conan.”
Conan let his sword fall to the ground. Battle rage had changed to a different sort of fire in his blood. “Tomorrow night will be time enough,” he said hoarsely, and pulled her into his embrace.
XX
Early the next morning Conan sent a message to Akeba that the Turanian was to see to the trading that day. Soon after, Yasbet was brought to the shamaness’s yurt on a litter borne by two of Samarra’s muscular young male slaves. Samarra scrambled red-faced to her feet, hastily pulling a silk robe around her nudity. The slaves glared at Conan with covert jealousy.
“Conan, why am I here?” Yasbet almost wept. Lying face down on the litter, she winced at every movement. “I hurt, Conan.”
“Your pain will soon be gone,” he told her gently. “Samarra will see to you.”
Still blushing furiously, the shamaness led the litter-bearers to another part of the yurt. Half a turn of the glass later she returned, with high color yet in her cheeks. Conan lay sprawled on the silken cushions, occupying himself with a flagon of wine.
“I gave her a sleeping potion as well,” she said. “The spell took her pain away immediately, but she needs rest, and it is best if that does not come from magic. If I relieved her fatigue so, she would repay it ten times over, later. The powers always demand repayment.”
All the while she spoke she remained across the chamber from him, rubbing her hands together as if in nervousness. He motioned her to him. “Come Sit, Samarra. Do not make me play host under your roof.”
For a moment she hesitated, then knelt gracefully beside him. “Everything, I said,” she murmured ruefully, “but I did not mean to have my own slaves enter while I lay naked in a stupor of lust. Not to mention the woman of the man I am lying with. I feel strange to have your lover but a few paces away.”
Her ardor had surprised Conan in its fierceness. “What she does not know will not harm her,” he said, tugging her robe from a smooth shoulder.
She slapped his hand away. “Is that all women are to you? A tumble for the night, and no more?”
“Women are music and beauty and delight made flesh.” He reached for her again. She shrugged him away, and he sighed. So much for poetry, even when it was true. “Someday I will find a woman to wed, perhaps. Until then, I love all women, but I’ll not pretend to any that she is more to me than she really is. Now, are you ready to remove that robe?”
“You know not your own vigor,” she protested. Attempting to stretch, she stopped with a wince. “I am near as much in need of aid for sore muscles as that poor girl.”
“In that case, I might as well return to Akeba and the others,” he said, getting to his feet.
“No,” she cried. Ripping the robe from her, she scrambled on her knees to throw her arms around his legs. “Please, Conan. Stay. I … I will keep you here by brute force, if I must.”
“Brute force?” he chuckled.
She gave a determined nod. Laughing, he let her topple him to the pillows.
By two glasses after sunfall he was ready to go. Briefly he looked in on Yasbet. She slept naturally now; the potion had worn off. He brushed her cheek with his fingers, and she smiled without waking.
When he returned to the larger chamber Samarra had donned her kirtle, and put on a somber mien as well. “You have the powder?” she demanded. “You must take care not to lose it.”