It seemed, Conan thought, that the Hyrkanians were not quite as swift and invisible as they thought. Or perhaps there was a traitor within the Kagan's following who had warned the city. A traitor who knew that
Sogaria was to be the first city attacked. He kept his suspicions to himself.
"How many men garrison Khulm?" the Cimmerian asked.
"Why, the same as any royal border fort, of course. A quarter-wing of cavalry, two hundred fifty men."
Conan knew well the ways in which a frightened man would strive to salve his pride. This one was pretending that since it was common knowledge how many the forts garrisoned, he was giving away nothing.
"Is the commander an experienced warrior?" Conan asked
"He is the son of some courtier, like most of the officers in our army." The man acted as if this, too, were common knowledge.
"Bind him," Conan said. "I may want to question him further." The messenger wore a look of intense relief as he was tied securely.
Conan scanned the landscape. At the place the stream wound around the left side of the hill, there was a stand of small trees. He pointed to the trees and addressed his men. "Go to yonder stand and cut many short poles and gather bundles of reeds. Be careful not to advance past the cover of the hill lest you be seen by the fort. Be quick, now." Mystified, the men obeyed. Surely, they thought once again, their foreign captain was mad.
As the sun was passing its zenith, Conan and his fifty rode around the hill and across the stream. In a few minutes they closed the distance to the fort, and there was much blowing of horns and beating of drums as the gates were shut and barred. Fearlessly the horsemen rode to within a few dozen paces of the walls.
"Commander of the fort!" Conan called. "Come out and parley!"
After a short while, during which time the wall grew
crowded with men, a man in elaborate plumes and gold-chased armour mounted the wall. "Who are you?" he shouted. "And what does this mean?"
"I bring you greetings from Bartatua, lord of the Ashkuz and rightful king of all the world," Conan cried in a loud voice. "My lord has come to take his sovereign place as ruler of Sogaria and all the other cities of the caravan route. I am General Conan, formerly of Cimmeria, and I am here to accept the surrender of this trifling stronghold. Accept my terms and you shall live."
In the silence, an archer atop the wall, too poorly disciplined to wait for orders, drew his bow and aimed at Conan. Rustuf spoke a word and his ten shot as one man. The Sogarian archer toppled from the wall and landed with a dust-raising thud in full view of the defenders. At such short range, the ten arrows had smashed through the man's heavy scale armour as if it were no more than parchment. All ten arrows stood in a space that could be covered by a man's palm, directly over the heart.
Conan acted as if nothing had happened. "I await your answer."
"Can you be serious?" the commander blustered. "You call yourself a general, yet I see you at the head of less than fifty riders. How can you expect me to surrender to so inconsiderable a force?"
Conan smiled grimly, knowing that he had won. The commander had not said that he would not surrender, only that he would not give in to a force so small.
"This is merely my personal bodyguard," Conan said. "I came ahead of my troops so that you would have the opportunity to surrender to someone of suitable rank. There is my army!"
The Cimmerian swept his arm upward and to one side in a grand gesture. The heads of the men atop the wall turned to see where he was pointing. On the ridge cresting the low hill from which Conan had spied upon the fort, a file of horsemen could be seen clearly. They rode up the low spur to the left, walked their mounts along the high ridge and descended the right-hand spur, disappearing from view in the clump of reeds and small trees where the stream wrapped around the base of the hill.
Conan saw the lips of the men on the wall move as hey sought to count the enemy's strength. There seemed to be no end to the troops, and as they vanished into the reeds and trees, more of them ascended the spur to the
"They go to water their mounts and set up camp in that convenient spot by the stream. I tell you that to save time should you wish to come out and fight us in 'lie open, before the siege engines arrive with the sappers. I see that you are too proud to surrender and would rather die nobly in defence of your prince's honour, although your lord did not see fit to warn you of your danger. A quick fight now will spare us several hours of tedious work in the morning, storming your little fort."
"Be not so hasty, good General Conan!" said the commander of Fort Khulm. "In truth, this is not a true stronghold of war but a mere barracks from which we may chase the scurvy bandits of the wasteland. Our real duty is the defence of Sogaria. If you will allow us to march away from here to rejoin our lord in his city, I will listen to your terms."
"Excellent," Conan said. "All of you are to lay down your arms at once. All horses, arms and armour are to be left in the fort. All valuables as well. Each man may keep one tunic, one pair of trousers and a pair of boots. Each will be searched, so I warn you not to try to hide anything on your persons. I also remind you that I could leave you with a good deal less, including bodily parts. My men, for instance, are fond of collecting men's—"
"I accept your generous terms, good General Conan!" the commander gushed. "We comply at once!"
The defenders rushed from the walls, tearing at the laces and straps of their armour even before they could reach the stairways. Within minutes the gates were opened and the unarmed men began filing out. Conan detailed a ten to search them, while the rest of his men sat their horses with bows at the ready.
"You have had a cheap victory, General," said the commander as his men began their long, weary trek toward Sogaria. "Do not expect to have it so easy in the future. Sogaria is strong, and its walls are vast beyond the comprehension of you steppe savages. We found it inconvenient to give you battle today, but you will never take Sogaria!"
"With such defenders as you," Conan said, "I anticipate a spirited and enjoyable fight. Good evening to you, Commander. If you hurry, you and your men may make it into the city before the gates are closed against refugees." Head bowed, the commander trudged wearily off toward his city.
When the former defenders were but dwindling spots on the distant road, Conan nodded to Fawd and the Turanian blew a long note on his silver hunting horn. A few minutes later Guyak came riding in, wearing a', broad grin and leading some of the remounts. Others chivvied the beasts along, each horse bearing wooden poles, reed-stuffed clothes and stick weapons. Guyak had been leading them in an endless precession, circling between the crest of the hill and its base turning Conan's force of fifty into an army of thousands.
"It worked, captain!" Guyak shouted gleefully.
"Not captain," said a jubilant bowman, "but general! He named himself so!" The men of the fifty were dancing about and singing in exuberance.
"Come," Conan ordered, "let us see what we've won."
Inside the fort they found heaps of armour, many stabled mounts, stores of food, and sacks of personal belongings tied at the foot of each soldier's bunk. In the commander's quarters there were rich furnishings and hangings. He had left behind a table service of gold plate and a great deal of jewellery. "Take all of it into the courtyard," Conan ordered.
By torchlight they packed everything on captured horses. "The Kagan will divide the spoils," Conan reminded them. "We may take only food and drink. Any man who is caught trying to keep something back for himself is to be executed immediately."
By midnight all was in marching order. "Captain," said Guyak, "we have captured much wine. May we have some in celebration of this fine victory?"
"We'll not encounter enemies as we ride to join the horde," Conan said. "Give each man a skin of wine to drink on the march back. But any who gets so drunk that he falls off his horse is to lie where he drops and make his way back on foot."
He knew that the thought of walking would so horrify his men that they would
moderate their drinking. He had neither the manpower nor the tools with which to demolish the fort, and so he had the gate soaked with oil and they rode away as it burned brightly behind them.
Conan's force was the first to return to report its mission accomplished. The Kagan's camp was marching upon Sogaria, herding the slaves before it. About half of the total strength of the army was with the Kagan, and news of Conan's feat spread through the ranks like a steppe fire. The camp rocked with laughter as the men sat about their fires after the day's trek.
Bartatua was vastly amused. "Would that all my officers showed such imagination!" he said. "A fort taken with all its loot and we lost nothing at all?"
"One of the captured armours was damaged when we had to kill an archer," Conan corrected. "And Rustuf's ten had three broken arrows."
"Seldom," said Bartatua, "has any man gone from fifty-commander to five hundred-commander so swiftly."
"Not to mention possessor of a siege train and sappers," added a grizzled officer whose face was tattooed with a stylized eagle. All the Hyrkanians thought this cheap victory won by cunning and deception was a fine thing. They did not have western concepts of chivalry, and they judged courage and honour by different standards.
Bartatua let the merriment die down and then became serious. "Your next assignment, Conan, will not be so easy. Tonight your men rest. On the morrow you will take them and ride south-east. The prince of Sogaria has appealed to his fellow ruler, the satrap of Bukhrosha, for reinforcements. He has asked for a large force of horsemen, and there is little doubt that the satrap shall comply. You are to lie in wait upon the Great Road and destroy this column of reinforcements. This time you shall, of course, have five hundred men."
"How many should I expect to meet?" Conan asked.
"The satrap will not send less than a wing, about one thousand heavy cavalry."
Conan nodded. Two to one was not bad odds when leading warriors of such calibre. "It shall be done Kagan."
As he walked from the tent, he encountered the black-draped woman who had picked him for the fights. fie knew now that her name was Lakhme and that she was the Kagan's concubine. She stood before him as if she wanted to speak, and he saluted her respectfully.
"A good evening to you, my lady."
"You have risen high in a very short time, foreigner," she said.
"The Kagan appreciates ability when he encounters it" Conan said, "and he rewards loyal service generously. I shall not fail his confidence."
"See that you do not. I am not so easy to please. The Kagan is a trusting man who does not realize that treachery can lurk behind a smile and that loyal service is often a stepping-stone to treason."
Conan felt the hot blood rising to his face and he reined his temper. "Should any prove treacherous to the Kagan," he said, keeping his voice steady, "I shall kill Mm. Or her."
She hissed like a Stygian serpent, and he saw that his barb had sunk into over-sensitive flesh. The woman swept around him in a swirl of black robes, and he caught the heady scent of her perfume. It was not only at the civilized courts, he knew, that those closest to the ruler had their daggers ever sharpened for one another.
VIII
Do not trust him, my lord," Lakhme said.
"I trust the man to perform his duty on the battlefield," the Kagan told her. "No more than that. What has he to gain by serving me ill? Who can reward him more greatly than I? How can he rise higher than in my service? And surely he cannot hope to seize my power and become Ushi-Kagan?" He laughed at the idea. "My vassal chiefs may nurse such hopes, but not Conan. He knows well that the Hyrkanians will accept only a ' king of their own blood."
Lakhme knew that well also, and it was for this reason that the wizard, Khondemir, must resort to so perilous a spell in order to seize control of the Kagan. She knew, too, that it was time to turn her lord's thoughts from logical paths and play upon his passions instead. She crossed to the table before Bartatua and poured him' a cup of wine. A more worldly king might have seen calculation in her pose, but the Hyrkanian saw only her white, statuesque body, draped in jewels and nothing else.
"There is one thing you possess that he envies and would have," she said as she handed him the cup.
His brows came together in an eagle frown. "What may that be?"
"Your concubine-."
"What has he said—"
"He has said nothing," she broke in. "But he has the eyes and the. manner of a stallion, and he makes his desires plain for me to see."
'he Kagan sat back and brooded into his cup. "Anyone may look, and envy. But no more than that. For now, the man is valuable to me. Later, we shall see."
"Your welfare is all that concerns me, my lord," said Lakhme. She was well satisfied that the seed she had planted was in fertile ground.
Late that night the Vendhyan woman slipped silently from Bartatua's tent. Inside, the Kagan slept soundly. As she neared the boundary of the camp, a sentry challenged her.
"It is I, Bajazet," she said. The sentry was he who had accompanied her to Sogaria. Once an officer of Kuchlug's, he nursed a grudge against the Kagan. Lakhme's carefully subverted him with favours and bribes, and now she owned him fully. "I go without the camp. I shall return before dawn."
"Very well, my lady," he said, bowing as she pressed gold coins into his palm.
She walked eastward until she heard a sound of drums and flutes. In a depression in the ground, she came upon a group of shamans gathered around a small fire, playing their wild, shrill music.
Around the fire whirled two dancers. One of these was dressed as a royal stag, in spreading horns and glossy hides. The other was a slender, effeminate boy clothed in scanty, women's garb. Lakhme watched impassively as the dance grew wilder and quite obscene. When it ended, she stepped into the circle of firelight.
The shaman who had been beating the drum looked up. He had hair and beard like matted cobwebs, and his teeth were yellowed snags. "Why do you interrupt our rites, my lady?" he asked.
"I have a task for you," she said. "There is someone whose influence with the Kagan waxes daily, and I want an end to it." Never would she plot directly against Bartatua with these repulsive creatures, but there was no risk in using them against another.
"Who is this?" asked the ancient shaman.
"The foreigner, Conan. He has gone from slave to fifty-leader to leader of five hundred in the space of a few days. His ambitions grow vaunting, and I wish an end to them."
The old man cackled shrilly. "Death is the end to all ambitions, whether those of common adventurer or great Kagan.'''
"Do not speak to me of the Kagan," she warned. "It is the Cimmerian who concerns us here. Can you dispose of him for me?"
Again the old man laughed like a screeching bird. "Who may we not dispose of! We commune with the world of spirits. We spy what the future holds and can identify the casters of baleful spells—or cast such spells ourselves. Yes, I shall return the tall foreigner to the obscurity whence he came."
"Good. You shall be well rewarded." She began to turn away.
"With what," the shaman called, "shall you reward us?"
Slowly, she turned back. "With gold. With jewels or silver.''
"Those things mean nothing to us," he said with deep scorn. She saw the eyes of the other shamans upon her, and she felt their hunger.
"What would you have?" she asked.
"There is a rite," the old man whispered, his voice like the wind in dry grass. "A very important rite, one that renews our power. We must perform it soon. It calls for a woman. A woman such as you, my lady. Many would be terrified to take the woman's part in this rite, but you have the courage to do what must be done to preserve your influence." The voice was low, insinuating. She saw the effeminate boy as he swayed by, a smile of infinite evil on his painted face. The stag-man loomed beyond the flames, his exaggerated attributes glistening in the crimson light.
"Very well," she said. "Eliminate the foreigner for me and I shall perform in your rite."
As she walked away, she heard the drums and flutes take up their maddening rhythm once more. This would certainly mean Conan's doom should her seed planted with Bartatua fail to bear fruit. She would have tried hiring a simple assassin as well, but she had doubts that any man, or group of men, she might subvert could ever succeed in killing the terrible Cimmerian. She would never leave an important plan to chance by attacking it from only one direction; always she had tall-back plans, and further plans should those fail. As with Conan, so with Bartatua. And also with Khondemir.
Conan and his five hundred rode across a landscape turned chaotic by invasion. They could see that in the distance a column of smoke rose every few miles, marking the site of a burning village. The roads and paths were choked with refugees, their bundled belongings balanced on their heads or borne upon their backs.
"I will never understand villagers," Rustuf said as they surveyed the scene of confusion. "Why, when the countryside is attacked, do they always have this urge to get out on the roads and walk as if somewhere else is safer than where they are?"
Conan had called a brief halt to rest the horses and let an especially large pack of pitiful refugees go by. His men had wanted to clear a way with their swords, but he had reminded them of the Kagan's command that there be no massacres, yet.
"I do not know," Conan said. "Perhaps it is because we burn the villages."
"How long does it take to replace a little thatch? If they would stay where they are, they would be fairly safe. They could scavenge food in the countryside after the armies have passed. As it is, they are going to the one place where they are sure to starve and die of pestilence: a besieged city."
"They are afraid of being robbed," said Fawd.
"That, too, makes no sense," said Rustuf. "They have already been robbed, and they had little to be stolen in the first place. What they have left they carry bundled on their heads, where it may be conveniently plucked without dismounting. They are fleeing to the man who robs them on a regular basis: the local overlord. He will use them on the defensive works while' they are useful and expel them as soon as there is food enough for only the court and the fighting men."
Conan the Marauder Page 10
