Conan the Marauder

by John Maddox Roberts

  others think horse-eaters are blasphemers. The red-haired Budini are the greatest drunkards beneath the sky, and most believe that the green-tattooed Geruls eat human flesh. Only the greatest force of will can make a unified army of such independent people."

  "They seem satisfied to follow you," Conan said.

  "And rightfully so. As soon as I have given them one great victory and much loot, they shall be mine for life and their petty squabbles will be submerged in obedience to my will. I shall be Ushi-Kagan, the supreme chief, first to hold that title in many generations."

  The Kagan sat back and there was a moment of silence. "Now," he continued, "on to matters of more immediate interest. Are you able to read any of the western languages?"

  "I am no scholar," Conan said, "but I can read several tongues. It is a fool who thinks that books and reading weaken a man."

  "Wisely spoken. Can you read Turanian?"

  "I served as an officer in Turan. Only those who can read may hold an officer's commission."

  The Kagan took a small scroll from within his garments. "This was captured early in the spring from a courier riding from Khwarism to Sogaria. The courier died, and none of my followers can read Turanian. Translate it."

  Conan spread the document before him and began to read. It had been some time since he had coped with these letters, but the facility returned quickly. "It is a message from King Yezdigerd to his esteemed friend, the prince of Sogaria. It states that the king is most anxious to learn the whereabouts of a renegade Turanian wizard named Khondemir, who treacherously plotted against Yezdigerd and fled the country when his plans were discovered. If found within the prince's dominions, it is requested that the wizard be arrested and held so that agents of the king may come take charge of him and return him to the king's court for punishment. It ends with the usual pleasantries." He handed the scroll back to Bartatua. "This has the look of a message copied many times by scribes. It was probably written up, with words and names changed here and there, and sent to all the neighbouring rulers."

  "So," the Kagan said as if to himself. "Yezdigerd, too, has trouble with the spell-casters."

  Conan said nothing to this. Following a king in warfare was one thing, but he had no intention of becoming embroiled in the Kagan's feud with the shamans.

  "Sogaria shall be our first target," Bartatua went on, "the opening campaign in my conquest of the world. Can you guess why I have chosen Sogaria, Cimmerian?"

  "Like all the cities of the caravan routes," Conan said, "it is very wealthy and will provide much loot."

  "That is a worthy reason," Bartatua said. "What else?"

  Conan thought. "Such a city seldom sees war and should be a fairly easy conquest. It will be good practice for your hordes, who will need to be skilful in the besieging of cities."

  "Excellent," said Bartatua. "Also, it is the westernmost of the caravan cities. Through it pass most of the goods that cross between east and west. That includes information, and thus I shall be able to control what knowledge the kings of the west have of eastern matters. Someday I shall embark upon my conquest of the west, and hence at the outset I will have much influence there."

  Conan nodded understanding. This was very subtle planning for a simple steppe chieftain. He suspected that besides his own native abilities, which were considerable, Bartatua had expert advice from someone of greater sophistication.

  "How shall I serve you in the opening campaign, Kagan?" Conan asked.

  "You have a few more days in which to drill your men. Then I shall send you on raids into Sogarian territory. Outside the great city lie only small villages, and forts with their garrisons. You shall take some of these forts and harry the countryside, driving the inhabitants into the city, where I may bag them all in a single operation."

  As if eager for the victories he dreamed of, the Kagan grew restless and shifted on his cushion. "Go now. Hold yourself in readiness, and remember that my eye is always upon you, Cimmerian."

  Conan rose and bowed. As he turned to leave, he saw once again the slight movement of the curtain behind Bartatua. When the Cimmerian was gone, Lakhme came forth from its folds.

  "Why do you spend so much time on a mere fifty-leader, my lord?" she asked. She had shed her voluminous robe and wore naught but a loincloth and jewels. She sat at Bartatua's feet and the chief twined his fingers in her midnight tresses.

  "He amuses me. He comes from a far land I wish to learn about. He is shrewd as well, unlike so many of the simple brutes I lead. He owes his position only to my favour and has no friends here. That ensures his loyalty to me."

  "Still, you should not reveal so much of your plans to a mere adventurer." She turned her head and nuzzled his hand.

  "I make no great secret of my intentions," Bartatua

  said. "What is the sense of that? Wise and cautious kings will strengthen their defences no matter how fair my words are to them. Weak fools will pay no attention to the danger even when I state plainly my intention to reduce them to vassalage. A man's character is his destiny, and a fool will die a fool's death no matter how fully he is warned."

  "You are wise, my lord," said Lakhme, "but you should confide the deepest of your plans only in me."

  The Kagan thought for a while. "What think you of this message from Yezdigerd to Amyr Jelair about the wizard—what was his name?—Khondemir? Could this matter be of use to us?"

  Serenely Lakhme shrugged her white shoulders. "I cannot see how. We know nothing of what lies between Yezdigerd and this wizard. Nor do we know if he is in Sogaria or some other land thousands of leagues away."

  "So it is useless. It is a disappointment."

  "As I have told you many times, my lord," she said, "all knowledge is useful, and this may prove so some day."

  "Enough of such weighty matters," he said with a smile. "I have more pleasant prospects to attend to at the moment." He enfolded his concubine in his powerful arms.

  VII

  “The rope," Guyak explained, "is braided of hair from a horse's tail, or from human hair. It is said that the best are made from the hair of your enemy. One end is braided into an eyelet and the rope is passed through it, forming a noose. First you must learn to control the noose, then to cast it for a long distance."

  Conan was dividing his attention between Guyak's rope lesson and his men's drill manoeuvres. Rustuf had half of them slicing at gourds set atop stakes. The other half were taking lance instruction from Fawd. Fawd had been a Turanian light lancer and was a master of that weapon.

  "Slice, you horse-eaters, slice!" Rustuf cried in exasperation. "You need not hack a man from shoulder to saddle to get his attention! Three inches of sharp steel across his neck and he is a dead man. Also, it is much easier on your sword!"

  Conan tried a cast with the rope, using the snapping, underhand motion Guyak had taught him. The rope snaked out, the noose spread and settled over the tethering stake he had selected. With a flick of his wrist, he cleared the noose of the post and recoiled it.

  "Now try a moving target," said Guyak. "That slave who rides—" But now they could see that the serving man was riding toward them with some manner of urgent business in mind. The man reined in just before them.

  "The Kagan summons you to his tent, fifty-leader," he said.

  Conan spurred his horse toward the tall standard with its nine white horses' tails. He found Bartatua outside the great tent, surrounded by minor officers and fifty-leaders. He dismounted and saluted the Kagan.

  "Today," Bartatua announced, "we open the campaign. Each of you will be given either a fort or a section of land, with its villages to pillage. Remember, there are to be no massacres, unless a fort puts up a truly stiff resistance. But neither are you to show too much caution. These city-dwellers must know that we are utterly invincible. Do not let them think that we are either fearful or merciful. If there seems to be some doubt in their minds, slay them."

  The Kagan waved his arm toward a small group of mounted men who were distinguished by
black plumes in their helmets and whose standard bore a pair of eagle's wings. "These scouts have just returned from a reconnaissance into Sogarian territory. Each mission leader will be assigned one scout to guide him to his objective. Now come and receive your assignments. You must be riding from camp before the sun begins to go down."

  When Conan returned to his men, he found them already preparing for their march. As in military camps everywhere, word of the opening campaign had passed through the horde with the swiftness of the steppe wind.

  "What is our destination, captain?" Rustuf asked with a grin.

  "A small fort called Khulm, edging a stream of the steppe near the northern border of Sogarian territory," Conan answered.

  "With which horde do we ride?"

  "We shall be our own horde."

  "Just a single fifty to take a fort?" Rustuf queried, nonplussed.

  "The Kagan expects us to show initiative," Conan said. He raised his voice to address his troops. "We march in one hour. I want each man to bring all his horses with the remounts and to pack all his clothes."

  The men muttered among themselves, convinced that heir commander was mad. They had by now learned, however, that such thoughts were best kept to themselves. They packed their belongings, including the clothes, and made a hurried meal. As the sun passed its zenith, they rode out. Nearly half of the assembled horde poured from the camp. For hours they rode together, then small or large groups—each guided by a black-plumbed scout—broke away to go to their individual objectives.

  As the sun was touching the horizon to the west, the scout attached to Conan's fifty reined off to the left and Conan followed with his command at his horse's heels. Within a few minutes his fifty were riding alone over the darkening steppe.

  Conan felt free at last. This was the kind of war-making he liked best: to have an independent command, without some bothersome superior officer or nosy courtier interfering with his every move. It was something he seldom experienced in civilized armies.

  At nightfall he called a halt. The Kagan had stressed that his commanders were not to risk night gallops.

  They could achieve complete surprise without such extreme measures. The scout assured him that the fort at Khulm was still more than a two-hour ride and that the garrison was not sending out patrols. Since they were safe from observation, Conan granted permission to gather fuel and make small fires for cooking their evening meal. Some went out to find wood while others set about skinning and jointing the wild game they had shot during the march. They had sacks of the fermented milk of mares, but the Cimmerian had forbidden anything stronger.

  Conan and Rustuf sat at a fire and the soldiers brought them meat as it was cooked. "So," said Rustuf, "our Kagan plans to be king of the whole world? There have been others with that ambition."

  "This one may come closer than most of them," Conan said. "But I do not think he understands how large the world is. He has many horsemen, but spread out over the world, they are all too few."

  The Kozak rubbed his bristled chin. "Still, he could make great gains if he heads west. The Kozaki might well join him if he moves against Turan. Koth, Shem, perhaps Ophir and Corinthia also, would fall ere the western nations could cease their squabbling and unite against the Hyrkanians."

  "So think I," said Conan. "But he intends to conquer Khitai first, and then Vendhya. Those nations are so vast that it must be ten years before he could even consider a western campaign. By then, much will have changed. I believe that Bartatua will have to be satisfied with such conquests as he has, if he still lives."

  They had been moving along at a steady pace for two hours and the sun was just clearing the eastern horizon when the scout halted them. He pointed to a

  low rise ahead. "Beyond that hill," he told Conan, "you may see the fort."

  "Keep the men here," Conan said to Guyak. He rode up the hill but stopped his horse and dismounted well below the crest. He walked toward the summit, then dropped on his belly and crawled the last few yards. Below him was the fort, standing in the bight of a tiny river scarcely more than a stream. Reeds and brush grew along the stream, which looped around the hill and passed near the spot that Conan had posted his rein.

  On the far side of the stream a narrow road passed before the fort. He watched as a plume of dust appeared in the distance down the road and neared the fort. The fort itself was not imposing, a mere mud-walled enclosure large enough for a garrison of perhaps three hundred. The walls were no more than fifteen feet high, and there was no moat. It was not meant as a strong defensive position, but only as a stronghold for sending out mounted patrols.

  The plume of dust soon resolved itself into a force of men on horseback, riding with no haste or urgency. He counted fifty, all of them heavy lancers in gilded armour and with colourful plumes. They rode into the fort and the gate swung shut behind them.

  Conan was about to return to his men when he saw another plume of dust, this one small, coming from the road in the direction opposite that of the cavalry's approach. This he could well see was a single horse, hard-ridden. It had to be a messenger bringing urgent news to the fort. He meant to find out what that news might be.

  Backing away, still on his belly, Conan rose only when he was well below the crest of the hill and sprang into his saddle. His men were too far away for him to hail, so he left them gaping as he spurred along the flank of the hill and down onto the flat land. By staying along the base of the high ground, he remained out of sight of the fort. When he judged that he was far enough from the garrison to escape detection, he rode over the short spur of hill that remained and down its other side. The stream flowed along the base of the hill and he waded his mount across it without difficulty. The beast wanted to stop and drink, but he forced it on until he was upon the road. A few hundred paces away, the messenger was still coming at a gallop. The man waved something overhead, above his multiple yellow plumes. He caught sight of Conan, who had taken up his position in the centre of the road.

  "Make way for the messenger of the prince!" the rider shouted as, perforce, he slowed his horse. "Stand aside, fellow, or feel the wrath of the prince's justice. It is death to interfere with the prince's messenger!"

  Then the man's eyes went wide as he realized he was facing a foreign warrior, one equipped with the great bow favoured by the nomads. Setting spurs to horse, he sought to ride around Conan, for the road was on flat ground, with nothing to stop a horseman.

  As the messenger rode past him, Conan wheeled and gave chase. He caught up quickly, for the messenger's horse was tired. From his saddle he took the rope with which he had been practising and shook out a wide noose. He rode up within three spear lengths of the fleeing man, whirled the noose a few times and snapped it out underhanded as Guyak had taught him. True as an arrow, the noose dropped over the man's head and settled around his chest and upper arms. Conan pulled the rope tight and rode off at an angle, tugging hard.

  The messenger sailed over the rump of his horse and landed in the dirt with a bone-jarring thump. The horse ran on for a few dozen paces and then, with no one spurring it, slowed and halted, its sides heaving. Conan rode over to the fallen man, who was quite unconscious but did not seem to be badly hurt. From the messenger's belt he took a cylindrical case of gold-washed bronze. This was what the man had been waving overhead.

  From the case Conan took a rolled parchment. Unrolling it, he saw that it bore a script that he could not read. Cursing, he replaced the parchment in its case, remounted, and caught the messenger's horse. He threw the man across the horse's back and rode to join his men, horse and messenger in tow.

  When Conan was within sight of his force, Rustuf rode out to him grinning with relief. "I am glad to see you, Conan. The Hyrkanians were most puzzled to see you rush off like that. They thought you might have deserted the Kagan to go warn the Sogarians. Things might have gone ill for Fawd and me."

  "I should be satisfied to have obedience when I am present," Conan said. "Love and loyalty are too much to e
xpect when I am absent."

  "What have you brought us? A prisoner?"

  "A messenger," Conan said. "But I cannot read what his message says.''

  "Oh, we shall have answers out of him, never fear," Rustuf assured him.

  The Hyrkanians were equally delighted to see the prisoner, and anticipated some good sport. "First we will see whether the man will talk without coercion," Conan ordered. "No harm is to come to him if he cooperates."

  The Hyrkanians were puzzled by such unaccustomed delicacy, but they were willing to humour their commander. After a few minutes, the messenger began to revive. He sat up and looked about and fear spread across his countenance as he saw the fierce steppe hawks who sat in a circle surrounding him.

  "Sogarian," said Conan, "you are my prisoner. I-wish some answers from you. Speak freely and truthfully and you shall come to no harm. Refuse to speak, or speak falsely, and I must let my men try to persuade you. They are most proficient at the business of loosening tongues."

  The man swallowed hard. "Ask what you will. The little I know cannot aid you much."

  Conan grinned. "I shall be the judge of that. Know you the content of the message you carried?"

  "It is a warning to the commander of the garrison at Khulm. He is warned that the steppe nomads are descending upon Sogaria. This can hardly be news to you."

  "As you say. Were there special instructions for the commander?"

  "Just that he is to hold his fort bravely and die where he stands rather than yield an inch of Sogarian soil."

  "They all say that," Rustuf said with a barking laugh. "What soldier is so foolish as to take such orders seriously?"

  Something puzzled Conan. "How long has the prince of Sogaria known that the nomads are coming?"

  "Three days ago the city began to prepare for siege. I was sent forth yesterday morning to warn the three royal forts on my route. Khulm is the last."