Conan the Destroyer (Robert Jordan's Conan Novels 6)

Once more Jehnna gave a slight shake of her head. “If what I see before me is the proper way to go, then I … remember it. But I must see it first.” Abruptly she laughed and let herself fall back to stare up at the sky. “Besides, I do not want this journey to end quickly. I wish it could last forever and ever.”

“It cannot, child,” Bombatta said. “We must be back in Shadizar in six more nights.”

It was all Conan could do to keep his face expressionless. The configuration would occur in six nights, but Bombatta had no care for Valeria’s return. What else was to occur on that night?

“Now it is time for you to sleep, girl,” the scarred man went on. “We must travel onward early.” He began preparing her bed, clearing rocks away from a space of ground, then digging at the earth with his dagger.

“Please, Bombatta,” Jehnna said, “can. I not remain awake a little longer? The stars look so different here than from the palace gardens. It seems I could almost touch them.” Bombatta wordlessly spread blankets over the softened ground. “Oh, very well,” she sighed, then covered a yawn with her hand. “It’s just that I want to experience everything, and there is so much.”

As she lay down, Bombatta put another blanket over her with surprising gentleness. “I will let you experience as much as I can,” he said softly. “As much as I can, child, but we must be back in Shadizar in six nights more.”

Pillowing her head on her arms, Jehnna mumbled sleepily.

A lover, Conan thought, watching the way Bombatta remained bent over the girl. Were Jehnna not so obviously a virgin he would have been sure the other man was her lover.

Rising to his feet, Bombatta walked to the fire and began to kick dirt over it. “I will take the first watch, thief,” he said. Without another word he returned to Jehnna’s side, drew his sword, and sat crosslegged with the naked blade across his knees.

Conan’s mouth tightened. The man had placed himself between Jehnna and the Cimmerian, as if it were he who must be guarded against. Not taking his eyes from Bombatta, Conan stretched out on the ground, one hand gripping his own swordhilt. He drew no blanket over himself. He was inured to more cold than the Zamoran plain had to offer, and a blanket would slow him an instant should he need to bring his sword into play. Such could be fatal against a man with steel already in his fist. Yet even through his distrust of Bombatta, he wondered about the new mystery that had been added to the rest. What was to occur in Shadizar in six nights? His mind was still on that when he allowed sleep to overtake him.

The rufescent sun beat down fiercely on the mounted trio making their way westward across the Zamoran plains, and Jehnna tugged the hood of her snowy cloak lower in a vain attempt to find coolness in its shadow on her face. She knew Bombatta was right when he said the cloak protected her from the sun—she had held a hand out from under the cloak long enough to feel the strength of the sun’s direct rays, and been convinced—but that did not lessen the heat. This was one experience she felt she could do without. Ahead loomed the gray bulk of snow-capped mountains, the Karpash Mountains, promising both cool and wetness. She licked her lips, but they were dry almost as she was done.

“The mountains, Bombatta,” she said. “We shall reach them soon?”

He turned toward her, and a thrill of fear shot through her at his scarred, sweaty visage in the ebon helmet. Foolishness, she told herself. To be afraid of Bombatta, whom she had known all of her life? Foolishness indeed.

“Not soon, child,” he replied. “Tomorrow. In the morning, perhaps.”

“But they seem so near,” she protested.

“It is the air of the plains, child. Distances seem nothing to the eye. The mountains are many leagues distant yet.”

Jehnna thought of asking for another drink of water, but she had seen Bombatta eyeing the waterskins after her last drink, weighing what remained. He had take

n only two drinks since waking. Her eyes went to Conan, leading them, with the packhorse’s rope tied to his saddle. The northlander had taken one swallow of water on waking and had not looked at the waterbags since. Now he rode easily, one hand resting lightly on his sword hilt, eyes always searching ahead, apparently not even noticing that the sun had broiled them since dawn and was still not halfway to its zenith.

What a strange young man he was, she thought, though she had little with which to make comparison. He was no older than her, she was sure, but his eyes—such a peculiar color for eyes, blue—seemed unimaginably older. Thirst did not bother him, nor the heat. Could anything slow him? Rain, or wind, or snow? She had heard stories about snow in the mountains, piled as high as a palace. No, she was certain he would go on, deterred by nothing. Perhaps that was why her aunt had sent him. Perhaps he was a hero, a prince in disguise, as in the stories some of the serving girls told her when her aunt was not there.

She shot a glance at Bombatta from the corner of her eye. “Is he handsome, Bombatta?”

“Is who handsome?” he asked gruffly.

“Conan.”

His head swiveled toward her; for an instant she was afraid again. “You should not think of such things.” His voice was hard, with no trace of the gentleness he usually had with her. “Especially not about him.”

“Do not be mad at me, Bombatta,” she pleaded. “I love you, and I do not want you to ever be angry with me.”

A pained look flashed across his face. “I … love you, too, Jehnna. I am not angry with you. It is just that … . Do not think about the thief. Put him from your mind entirely. That is best.”

“I do not see how I can do that, when he rides with us. Besides, Bombatta, I think perhaps he is handsome, as in the stories about princes.”

“He is no prince,” Bombatta snorted.

Jehnna felt a flash of disappointment, but went on. “Even so, I think he is. Handsome, I mean. But I have no one to compare him with, save you and the male slaves and servants in Taramis’ palace, and I cannot see any of them as handsome. They are always kneeling and bowing and groveling.” Bombatta’s face had been growing harder as she spoke; she hunted among her words for something that might have offended him. “Oh, of course you are handsome, Bombatta. I did not mean to imply that you are not.”

The big man’s teeth ground audibly. “I told you not to think of such things.”

“He is bigger than any of the slaves. He’s almost as big as you, Bombatta. Do you think he is as strong as you? Perhaps that is why Taramis sent him with us, because he is as strong as you, and as brave as you, and as great a warrior.”