Tamira shook her head, smiling. “You would have to be a woman to understand. Her choice is to return to being a wealthy outcast, scorned for her blood, or to be the captive of a man who loves her. And whom she loves, though she cannot bring herself to admit it. It is a choice any woman could make in an instant.”
Conan admitted to himself that Jondra did not seem to be struggling as hard as she might, though she almost made up for it with her tirade. “You Brythunian oaf! Erlik blast your soul! Unhand me! I’ll have your head for this! Derketo shrivel your manhood! I will see you flayed alive! Ouch! My ransom will be more wealth than you’ve ever seen if I am unharmed, Mitra curse you!”
Eldran straightened from her with a grin. She was a neat bundle in the cloak, now, snugly tied from shoulders to ankles with the leather thongs. “I would not take all the wealth of Zamora for you,” he said. “Besides, a slave in Brythunia can have no interest in gold in Shadizar.” He turned his back on her indignant gasp. “You understand, Cimmerian?”
Conan exchanged a glance with Tamira; she nodded. “I have had it explained to me,” he answered. “But now it is time to take my leave.”
“Wiccana watch over you, Cimmerian,” Eldran said. Frydan and Haral echoed the farewell.
Conan swung into the saddle of one of the two horses. “Tamira?” he said, reaching down both hands. As he lifted her up behind him, her cloak became disarrayed, exposing soft curves and satin skin, and she had to press herself to his back to preserve her modesty.
“Be more careful,” she complained.
The big Cimmerian only smiled, and spoke to the others. “Fare you well, and take a pull at the hellhorn for me if you get there before me.”
As their shaggy mount carried them away from the small camp, Tamira said, “Truly you do not have to worry for her, Conan. I’ll wager by the end of the year she has not only managed to make him free her, but that they are wed as well.”
Conan only grunted, and watched for the first appearance of the lowlands through the gap ahead.
“It is a pity we must go back to Shadizar empty handed, is it not?”
Still Conan did not reply.
“No doubt some hillman has the rubies, now,” Tamira sighed heavily. “You must understand, I do not hold it against you. I would like to see you once we return to Shadizar. Perhaps we could meet at the Red Lion.”
“Perhaps we could.” Delving into the pouch at his belt Conan drew out the two great rubies from Jondra’s regalia. They seemed to glow with a crimson light on his calloused palm. “Perhaps I might spend some of what I receive for these on you.” Tamira gasped; he felt her rumaging within the cloak, and smiled. “Did you think I would not know of the pouch sewn inside my own cloak?” he asked. “I may not have been raised as a thief, but I have some skill with my fingers.”
A small fist pounded at his shoulder. “You said you would not steal from her,” the slender thief yelped.
“And so I did not,” he answered smoothly. “I stole them from you.”
“But you would not steal from her because you slept with her, and you … I … we … .”
“But did you not say that should not trouble a thief?” he chuckled.
“Do not go to sleep,” Tamira said direly. “Do not even close your eyes. Do you hear me, Cimmerian? You had better heed my words. Do you think I’ll allow … .”
Conan tucked the rubies back into his pouch, then thoughtfully moved the pouch around on his belt where it would be harder for her to reach. He might not receive the triumphal parade that Tenerses would get, but his would not be a bad return to Shadizar. Laughing, he booted his horse into a gallop.
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Tales of the legendary barbarian created by Robert E. Howard
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With a speed that seemed too great for its bulk, the glittering creature moved to within ten paces of the bound men. Suddenly the great, scaled head went back, and from its gaping maw came a shrill ululation that turned men’s bones to water. Awed silence fell among the watchers, but one of the prisoners screamed, a high, thin sound with the reek of madness in it.
Mouth still open, the head lowered until those chill golden eyes regarded the captives. From those gaping jaws a gout of rubescent flame swept across the captives.
“All praise to the true gods!” the watchers cried.
“Death to the unbelievers!” The roar was deafening.
‘‘DEATH TO THE UNBELIEVERS!”
‘‘Although I have more than a mild prejudice against the sub-genre characterized by mighty thewed warriors pitted against ancient sorceries, I find that I actively look forward to each new Conan by Robert Jordan.”
—Science Fiction Chronicle
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are fictitious.
CONAN THE MAGNIFICENT
Copyright © 1984 by Conan Properties, Inc.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN 9781429935494
First eBook Edition : March 2011
First Edition: May 1984
Fourth Edition: April 2009
Conan the Magnificent Page 20
