Conan the Marauder

by John Maddox Roberts

"Two reasons," said the Cimmerian. "First, I am the strongest, the wisest, and the best warrior among you. Second, and more important, the great Kagan has ordered it so. I am a reasonable man. If you do not wish to obey my command, you may try to slay me. It is possible that a few of you may survive. The survivors

  would be well advised to kill Bartatua, for he does not strike me as a man who takes disobedience to his order lightly."

  The standing man backed away a pace: "We meant! no disrespect, captain," he said. He turned to the men seated behind him. "You heard our fifty-commander On your feet." The men stood, not hurriedly, but neither with insolent slowness.

  "That is better," Conan said. "Listen to me. I an! Conan of Cimmeria. I have fought in many wars in the armies of many nations. I have been a foot soldier and a general, and I have held every rank in between. I know how to lead men, and I know how men like to be led. You will never find me ordering you to do that which I would not do myself. I am fair, but I mean to be obeyed. I will give you the best leadership you have ever had. In return, I expect you to be the best fifty in the Kagan's horde. Back me to the best of your ability and I will do the same for you. This I swear by Crom the god of my people, and by the Everlasting Sky." He made the hand gesture he had observed among Boria's band, and the men of his fifty repeated it.

  The Cimmerian walked up and down before the fifty surveying them. They had the features and dress of a number of tribes, and there seemed to be little unity among them. He turned to the man who had first challenged him. "How are you organized?"

  "We were sent over here last night, captain. We have not yet been divided into tens. I am Guyak, and will be your standard-bearer." He pointed to a small tent beside which was propped a pole surmounted by horse's skull and a pair of spreading yak horns. From the silver-sheathed tips of the horns dangled two black horses' tails.

  "Later today," Conan instructed, "I will watch

  of you ride and shoot. I shall then form you into tens, each under a ten-commander. For now, go to the horse pens and care for your mounts. Henceforth, I do not want to see you lounging about at your ease at this hour. At first light, as soon as you have eaten, you are to be caring for your horses. After that, weapons practice. In one hour I shall inspect the mounts. I want to see glossy coats, and woe unto the man whose beast has open sores or a sore mouth."

  The men turned away to do his bidding. Clearly, they resented being told by a mere foreigner how to care for horses, but they said nothing.

  "You know how to take charge, Conan," said Rustuf when the others were gone. "I think we shall see warm work under your command."

  Conan turned to Fawd. "Can you lead cavalrymen?"

  "As well as they can be led," said the Turanian. "There are no formations or manoeuvres to practice. Ten-leaders make sure that their men are at the right place on the battlefield, and at the right time. They watch for the Kagan's signals and deploy their men where they are ordered to."

  "What do they signal with?" Conan asked.

  "Flags by day, lanterns by night."

  "They fight by night?"

  "Rarely, but they often make night marches, the better to take an enemy by surprise. These night marches may be done at a gallop, with men changing mounts frequently. It is essential to maintain order during night movements, and the signallers ride in front with coloured lanterns."

  "These Hyrkanians do not lack boldness," admitted Rustuf grudgingly.

  "Let us see what kind of mounts we have been given," Conan said.

  They rode to the horse pens and found that the Kagan had supplied them with prime horseflesh. Conan's men were grooming their mounts. The Hyrkanians were not in the habit of currying their horses daily, but his men would learn.

  At the archery range he saw a familiar form riding toward him.

  It was Boria.

  "The wheel of fate turns, foreigner," said his erstwhile captor. "You were my prisoner, now you are my equal. I brought you these." He handed over the mail shirt and the helmet he had taken from the Cimmerian. "I would return your horse and sword as well, but I lost them at dicing."

  "I am satisfied," Conan said.

  "Are you satisfied with these rogues you have been given to command?"

  "They are not pretty," Conan admitted, "but I will make them into something. Tell me, Boria... last night the Kagan said he would give me men from his own horde. Yet these are not all Ashkuz, by the look of them."

  Boria laughed, and Conan reflected that the Hyrkanians found humour in the grimmest of situations. "The Kagan spoke truly, but his personal horde includes any men who are not claimed by another commander. Some of these men have been expelled from their own tribes or, are the survivors of hordes that have been wiped off the steppe."

  "No matter," Conan said. "I have commanded men of less than illustrious background before this. It does not mean that they cannot be good soldiers." He slipped' the mail shirt over his head and buckled his sword belt over it. "Tell me," he said when he was satisfied with its fit, "am I to expect trouble from your man, Torgut?"

  "Torgut nurses a grudge and is not likely to forget you," said Boria, "but if he comes for you, it will be from in front."

  "That is all I ask," said Conan.

  "Then farewell, Cimmerian. Your situation is improved, but I do not envy you your new command." With a shrill laugh, Boria rode off.

  Conan took up his bow and called his standard-bearer to his side. "Guyak, I need practice with this bow. Watch me as I shoot and tell me what I am doing wrong."

  "First," said Guyak, "you must string it. It is possible to do this oneself, but it is easier to use a stringing harness and the help of a friend. The Kagan has given you a two-man bow. He himself wields a three-man bow. There should be a harness in your bow case, and I will help you string the bow."

  "Let me try it alone first," Conan said. He hooked the lower limb of the bow around his left ankle and stepped across it. Grasping the upper limb in his right hand, he bent the bow around the back of his right thigh. The extreme curvature of the bow made this manoeuvre awkward, but he brought the upper limb around to his front. The multiple layers of the bow creaked in protest as he slipped the bowstring loop into its notch on the upper limb.

  Guyak was visibly impressed. "You are very strong, captain. Few men can string a two-man bow so easily."

  Conan stepped from the bow and thrummed its string wife his thumb. The silken cord quivered like a lyre string. In the case he found a horn ring and slipped it over his thumb. It covered the joint and tip of the thumb and would bear the bite of the string.

  "Remember that when it is strung, the bow is under great strain," Guyak cautioned. "Never leave it strung

  for more than two hours. That is why you always car two bows. If there may be trouble, keep one strung and the other unstrung at all times. In cold weather, always! warm a bow before you string it or it will shatter. These' are the finest bows in the world, but they are as temperamental as a fine horse or a Vendhyan courtesan."

  "Do the Hyrkanians make their own bows?" Conan asked.

  "No, we cannot. The staves are made of many layers glued together, and they must spend years seasoning in special forms. Most of them are made in villages north of Khitai, bordering on the steppes. Some of these villages have no occupation except to make bows for the horseback tribes. I have seen workshops where hundreds of prepared bowstaves lie seasoning in huge wooden forms. There is no way we can carry such forms in our wanderings. Those villages are fortunate, for they lie under our protection and no king dare molest them."

  His men were shooting at long-range targets, arching their shafts so high that they looked like fowlers shooting at birds. "First," Guyak advised, "try that target." He pointed at a cloth-covered bale some one hundred paces distant. "That is one we train boys on."

  Conan selected an arrow and laid its nock to the string. The easterners shot on the right side of the bow, whereas the westerners shot on the left side. Shooting in the eastern way was swifter when ridi
ng, for the string hand did not have to reach the arrow all the way around the bow in order to nock it.

  He wrapped his horn-ringed thumb around the string and locked it with his forefinger. Slowly, testing the tension of the bow, he drew until the fletching of the arrow brushed his cheek. He loosed, and watched as the arrow sailed high over the target.

  "You are not allowing for the power of the bow," Guyak said. "You must hold very low at such close range."

  Close range! The Bossonians, best of the western bowmen, would have considered this a fair cast for a good archer. He tried again, and this time his arrow just caught the upper edge of the target. Ten shots later he was putting every arrow into the centre.

  "You are beginning to get the feel of it," Guyak said. "Now try one at two hundred paces."

  The process resumed. By the time the sun was past its zenith, he was hitting the three-hundred-pace targets more often than he missed. Guyak was impressed at such quick improvement by a mere foreigner.

  "Enough for today," Conan said, unstringing the bow. "Tomorrow I begin practice from horseback. Gather the men now, and we shall portion them into tens."

  For the next few hours Conan watched his fifty ride and perform various feats of horsemanship. All could stand in the saddle at a gallop; many could stand on their heads or hands. Most could grasp their mount's barrel with their legs and shoot beneath its belly or neck. All could unsaddle at a full gallop and transfer saddle, weapons and all, to another mount.

  With Guyak's expert advice, he divided the men into five tens, making an equal distribution of excellence in riding, archery and other skills. Rustuf and Fawd each received command of a ten. Two other tens were put under experienced warriors. The remaining ten Conan kept as his personal command, with Guyak as his sub-commander.

  As the long day drew to a close, the Cimmerian addressed his tired men. "Your riding and shooting please me well, but there is more than that to fighting. Tomorrow, after bow practice, we will drill hard with

  the sword and lance. All of my men must be proficient with these weapons."

  There were sour looks, but no complaints. The Hyrkanians had little regard for sword or lance, considering them useful mainly for cutting down or skewering enemies who were fleeing and not worth wasting arrows upon.

  As he dismissed his men, Conan saw a lone figure approaching. All the Hyrkanians were superlative horsemen. With this one it was difficult to tell where the man ended and the horse began. It was with no surprise that he recognized Bartatua. The Kagan did not bother with an escort, nor with any weapon save his belted dagger.

  "Greeting, Kagan," said Conan.

  "Greeting, Cimmerian. I hear that you have taken charge of your command most efficiently."

  "You have eyes and ears everywhere, Kagan," Conan observed.

  Bartatua grinned. "Something all do well to remember. A Kagan who is blind and deaf is of little use to anyone. Attend me this evening at the feast I shall hold for my commanders. There are things I wish to discuss with you." The Kagan wheeled and rode away, leaving Conan to wonder why the greatest chieftain of Hyrkania wished to so honour a mere fifty-leader.

  That evening's feast was no such elaborate event as the revel of the previous evening. The chiefs were seated in circles around the dais of Bartatua, and Conan found himself occupying a place at the periphery, his. back against the supporting lattice. The food was lavish, though, if not exotic, and the Cimmerian ate well. He drank only moderately, for he knew better than to befuddle his wits when his situation was so precarious.

  As a mere despised foreigner, Conan knew that his neighbours were not inclined to socialize with him. He was not unaccustomed to such social rejection, and he used the opportunity to observe more closely these people among whom he had fallen.

  He saw immediately that those of a certain dress or cast of features tended to sit close together and draw away from those of another sort. Whatever unity they shared was the result of Bartatua's will. He saw much evidence of differing customs as well. A plate of steaming meat would be fallen upon with gusto by one group, while another group would turn away from the same food with disgust. Some men were heavily tattooed; others did not practice the custom

  Against one wall sat a band of men who drew his special attention. Their hair was long and upbraided, and their faces were shaven or plucked clean of beard. Their clothes were bizarre collections of rags, finery and even, he was amazed to note, of some elements of women's dress. They were draped about with animal bones and amulets, and many carried drums, flutes and rattles.

  Conan did not need to question his neighbours in order to identify these odd persons. They had to be shamans: medicine men and sorcerers, practitioners of the tribesmen's primitive religions. The place where they sat was not that of most-favoured guests, and that came as no surprise either. Conan had encountered few nations wherein priests and kings were not fierce rivals for power and influence.

  As the banquet drew to a close, a servant came to Conan and said in a low voice, "The Kagan bids you stay after the others have left, lord."

  Soon men arose and walked out, many of them unsteady. Some had to be carried. Drunkenness was the abiding vice of the steppe warriors, and the sight made

  Conan more determined than ever to keep a clear head while he was among them. Soon the last of the guests were gone, leaving only Conan and Bartatua.

  "Come, Cimmerian," the Kagan said. "Sit with me."

  Conan sat upon a cushion facing the chief and took a bowl of the wine proffered by his host. His eye caught a hint of movement from behind Bartatua's low dais. There was someone on the far side of the silken curtain that screened off Bartatua's sleeping quarters.

  "That you are a good fighter I saw last night. Today you have shown that you are a capable officer as well. This is good, but these are the abilities of the hands and the will. The abilities of the mind are also valuable to me, and since you are now my follower, I expect you to put what is in your head at my disposal as well."

  "I understand, Kagan," Conan said. "What would you have of me?"

  "You have travelled widely in the west?" the Kagan asked.

  "I have visited all the western nations, and many of those to the far south. I have sailed upon the Western Sea and upon the Vilayet. From boyhood I have been a wanderer, and never can I stay in one place more than a season or two before I yearn to see new lands."

  "Good. I shall wish to hear much about those lands. Most of the information I have of them I must glean from traders. These men know all the mysteries of buying and selling, which kings levy the most oppressive taxes, and which officials are the most amenable to bribery. This is useful information, but when I wish to know how armies are organized, how forts are garrisoned, whether commands are given for merit or for birth, they rarely know aught of value. You have some idea now of how my hordes fight. Where in the western lands would they be the most effective?"

  Conan thought for a while, drawing in his mind a map of the world he knew. Few men of his day had gravelled more extensively. "The nations west of the Vilayet and north of the Styx are for the most part pastoral lands: Koth, Shem, Corinthia, Ophir and the lesser kingdoms. Zamora, Brythunia and Nemedia are likewise lands with few rivers and broad plains. In those lands your style of warfare will serve you well. Beyond Nemedia and Ophir, though, are Aquilonia, Poitain, Zingara, Argos and other lands that are cut up by broad rivers and are often mountainous, with many deep valleys. They are populous, with a great many towns, each with its fort or castle. I think you would not fare so easily there."

  "And south of the Styx?" asked Bartatua.

  "First, there is Stygia. No king in his right mind would have anything to do with that land. It is the home of wizards and priest-kings who can call upon the ancient serpent god, Set. South of Stygia lie the black lands. These are countries where your hordes would be all but useless."

  "Are the black men so fierce?" Bartatua demanded.

  "Fierce enough, but they are few in number, an
d men are not the true enemy in those places. The land itself is ferocious, with squalling, chaotic jungles so thick that often it is necessary to cut your way through the growth with heavy knives. The rain is incessant and anything made of cloth or leather rots quickly. But worst of all is pestilence. Men die in droves and horses die even more swiftly. If you pressed your hordes into those lands, within six moons you would have half of your men and none of your horses. The only way to subdue those countries is with armies of native troops."

  "These things are good to know in advance," said the Kagan. "It shall be some time before I seek west-

  ward conquests, but that eventuality shall come. And when I do reach the western lands, I shall have foot armies of soldiers pressed from the conquered lands. From Khitai I shall have the cleverest siege engineers in the world, with their machines and stratagems. Should I wish to take the black nations, I shall by that time have armies so huge that the loss of half to disease shall be of no consequence."

  Conan sipped at his wine. "I take it, then, that you intend to conquer the entire world."

  "That is what I will do " the Kagan said simply.

  Conan studied his face and saw no madman's gleam in his eyes. To Bartatua, his destiny as master of the world was as natural as the daily ascent of the sun above the steppe.

  "I was born into a chaotic world," the Kagan said, "a world in which all mankind was divided into an absurd number of peoples and kingdoms, bickering with one another wastefully, and ruled often by fools whose only qualification was birth, as if kingship were a quality one could achieve by breeding, like swiftness in horses or fatness in cattle."

  "I have never seen much sense in aristocracy of birth," Conan said truthfully. "Among my people, all are equal and all men are warriors. Clan leaders bear the family name, but leadership in war goes to the most-proven warrior, whether chieftain or cowherd."

  "It is much the same among us. So you can see that I am offended by this senseless situation. As there is one Everlasting Sky above the earth, there should be only one supreme king upon it. My destiny is to become that king. Those who help me to realize my destiny shall be great lords. My first step was to unite the steppe tribes. This was a formidable task. You have seen how fractious and feuding they are. Some eat horseflesh, and