Ghosting among the tents, they more than once barely avoided the searching Vendhyan soldiers. At first Conan was surprised that Vyndra made no effort to escape when the turban-helmed warriors were close, nor even to attract them with noise or struggle. In fact, she had become as silent as he, eyes constantly searching for what might trip or betray. Then it came to him. Escaping him was one thing, being rescued while garbed in naught but two scarves quite another. He smiled gratefully, accepting anything that made his own escape easier.
Once more he was in the merchants’ area, so deathly still that he knew all there were huddled breathlessly, not daring to make a sound that would attract the soldiers. A destination had come to his mind, a place where there might be horses and a place the soldiers would not be searching if he had but a particle of luck.
Movement in th
e shadows ahead again sent him to hiding, dragging a compliant Vyndra behind. This was no patrol, he saw quickly, but a lone man padding furtively. Slowly the shadow resolved into Kang Hou, half-crouched with his hands in his sleeves. As Conan opened his mouth, two more shapes appeared behind the first. Vendhyan cavalrymen, afoot and carrying their lances like spears.
“Searching for something, Khitan?” one called.
Smoothly Kang Hou pivoted, hands flickering out of concealment. Something flew through the air, and the two Vendhyans dropped soundlessly. Hastily the merchant ran to crouch above the bodies.
“You are a dangerous man for a merchant,” Conan said softly as he stepped into the open.
Kang Hou spun, a throwing knife in each upraised hand, then slowly slid the knives from sight within his sleeves. “A merchant must often travel in dangerous company,” he said blandly. He ran his eyes over Vyndra and raised an eyebrow. “I have heard it said that some warriors favor women above all other loot, but under these circumstances, I find it strange.”
“I do not want her,” Conan said. Vyndra growled through her gag. “The problem is, where can I leave her and be sure she’ll not be found before I have gotten a horse and left this place?”
“A quandary,” the Khitan agreed. “You have considered where to find this horse? The soldiers check the picket lines constantly and a missing animal will not go long undiscovered.”
“At the last place they will look for one of us,” Conan replied. “The picket line behind your tent.”
Kang Hou smiled. “Admirable reasoning. Having led my original pursuers a way from the encampment, I am now returning there. Will you accompany me?”
“In but a moment. Hold her.”
Thrusting Vyndra at the startled Khitan, Conan hurried to the dead Vendhyans. Quickly he dragged them into the deeper darkness beside a tent—no sense in leaving them to be easily found—and when he returned to the others, he carried one of the soldiers’ cloaks. Kang Hou wore a small smile, and Vyndra’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
“What happened?” the Cimmerian asked. He draped the cloak around the woman as best he could with her hands bound. Her eyes flew open, giving him a look of mingled surprise and gratitude.
“I’m not entirely certain,” the merchant said, “but it seems that her belief is that if she cannot see me, I cannot see her.” Even in the dark her blush at his words was evident.
“We have no time for foolishness,” Conan said. “Come.”
A thousand gold pieces was a powerful spur when added to the command of a man such as Karim Singh, but even that spur lost its sharpness when the searchers began to believe their quarry had already escaped from the encamped caravan. Patrols of Vendhyans began to grow fewer, and those who still hunted did so in desultory fashion. Many no longer even went through the motions, gathering instead in easily avoided knots to talk in low voices.
Short of the Khitan’s camp Conan halted, still hidden in the darkness among the other merchants’ tents. Vyndra obeyed his grip on her arm with seeming docility, but he maintained his hold. The fire was only coals now, and bales of velvet lay ripped open among carpets unrolled and scattered about. If anyone had died there—the Cimmerian remembered the report to Karim Singh of four dead—their bodies had been taken away. The picket line was only a murky mass but some of those shadows moved in ways he did not like. Kang Hou started forward, but Conan caught his arm.
“Horses move even in the night,” the Khitan whispered, “and the soldiers would not hide. We must hurry.”
Conan shook his head. Pursing his lips, he gave the call of a bird found only on the plains of Zamora. For an instant there was silence, then the call came back, from the picket line.
“Now we hurry,” Conan said and ran for the horses, hauling Vyndra behind him.
Hordo stepped out to meet him, motioning for greater quickness. “I hoped you had made it, Cimmerian,” he said hoarsely. “Hell has come to sup, it seems.” Two other shadows became men, Enam and Prytanis.
“I heard there are four dead,” Conan said. “Who?”
“Baltis!” Prytanis spat. “The Vendhyan scum cut him to shreds. I said you brought us all to our deaths.”
“He followed me,” Conan agreed, to the slit-nosed man’s evident surprise. “It is another debt I owe.”
“Baltis died well,” Hordo said, “and took an honor guard with him. A man can ask no more of dying than that. The other three,” he added to the Khitan, “were your servants. I have not seen your nieces.”
“My servants were not fighting men,” Kang Hou sighed, “but I had hoped…. No matter. As for my nieces, Kuie Hsi will care for her sister as well as I could. Might I suggest that we take horses and continue this talk elsewhere?”
“A good suggestion,” Conan said.
The stallion was still there; Conan had feared that such a fine mount would have been taken by the Vendhyans. He heaved the saddle onto the animal’s back one-handed but fastening the girth would require two hands. Giving Vyndra a warning look, he released her but kept a sharp eye on her as he hastily strapped the saddle tight. To his surprise, she did not move. No doubt, he thought, she still dreaded being found clothed as she was, even if it did mean rescue.