"What did he look like, and whence came he?" This news could not be true, she thought.
"The survivors described him as a veritable giant, with black hair to his shoulders and eyes that looked grey in the torchlight. He was painted black to escape detection. I suspect that he came from the Sogarian camp to spy upon me, but the pompous oaf of a captain denies having any such man in his following, and treated me insolently. He lies, of course. Where else could the man have come from? Men do not just wander in from the trackless steppe. What does the name mean to you?"
"An enemy," she said. "An upstart who grew too close to the Kagan. He seemed a needless complication, so I sought his downfall, both to rid myself of a rival for Bartatua's trust and to cement my secret relations with the shamans. I had him bound and naked and ready for sacrifice, but his friends rescued him and they escaped pursuit."
She rubbed her bare arms, although the night was warm. "It is he. Everything fits—the size, the hair, the eyes. And I know that he darkened his skin on a mission into Sogaria. He is a fearsome swordsman, and it is no wonder that your rogues were no stop to him."
Khondemir shrugged. "It is a minor matter. The man must have fallen in with the Sogarian column after his escape. He will have offered his services to Captain Jeku, including his expertise as a spy. Have no fear, he can cause you no harm now. After the fighting is over, should he still live, I shall give him to you as a plaything. Pray do not vex yourself over this trifling matter.''
"As you say," she said. "Perhaps it is just a coincidence." Still, she could not rid herself of a feeling of dread. "Enough of this," she said. "Let us go to your tent. I must return to the Hyrkanian lines long before it is light."
"Why?" Khondemir asked. "Stay here with me. You have done all that was necessary, now that I have those items which shall confer upon me power over the mind and soul of Bartatua."
"No, I may still spy upon the Hyrkanians. Who knows when some new factor, some change of plans, may be important?" In truth, she did not want to be in the City of Mounds should Khondemir fail.
He shrugged beneath his robes. "No matter. Perhaps it is best that you sit out the fighting in a safe place and join me afterwards." He looked up and studied the full moon, hanging skull-like above them. "At any rate, it will all be over after the sun sets tomorrow."
XVI
“The important thing to remember," Conan said, "is to keep your mouth shut, whatever anguish that may cost you. No matter what the Hyrkanians say, no matter what the threats to your city or country, do as I have told you or you are surely a dead man."
"I will remember," Manzur said. He was filled with tremendous fear and elation. They were in the midst of a vast enemy host! How dangerous, yet how heroic! What verses he would write when all this was over.
"Good," Conan said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Think of the loss to the world of poetry should you die before your time."
As they made their way toward the Hyrkanian lines, they passed two figures, one of them muffled in black robes. Manzur took no notice, but Conan smiled grimly as the black-robed one passed from view.
Among the tribesmen, who wore the dress of many steppe peoples and the armour of many nations, the two went unnoticed. They avoided fires, and the moonlight was not sufficient to reveal facial features clearly. Conan was looking for a fire larger than the others, and soon he found it. As they drew nearer, he saw faces he recognized, those of the Kagans and the high officers of Bartatua's great horde.
"Greeting, Kagan," Conan said as he stepped within the circle of firelight. Bartatua looked up and his face went blank.
A man seated at Conan's feet turned and snapped: "That is the Ushi-Kagan, you mannerless—" Then the man's jaw dropped. "By the Everlasting—" He struggled to his feet, yanking at his sword hilt.
Conan felt a dozen pairs of hands laid upon him, but he made no move to resist. A struggle would mean certain death.
"Hold! Do not slay him!" said the Ushi-Kagan. The grip upon Conan did not loosen. Bartatua rose to his feet and stood face-to-face with Conan, separated by no more than a hand-breadth. "I never thought to see you again, Cimmerian." He turned to look at Manzur. "Who is this? His garb is Sogarian."
"A man without power of speech, Ka—Ushi-Kagan. He found me lost upon the steppe. He is a caravan drover. His last stop was Sogaria, hence the clothes."
The assembled chieftains goggled at the apparition. They were ready to kill, but their leader seemed more thoughtful than wrathful.
"Come, Conan," Bartatua said. "Let us walk together. Release him."
A dozen voices shouted protest. "Nay, my lord!" cried the Gerul Kagan. "This is some trick! This foreigner proposes to slay you."
Bartatua barked a short laugh. "He walked to within three paces of where I sat unaware. Think you this man could not have slain me before you even knew he was in our midst?"
"Take my weapons if you wish," Conan said. "I mean the Ushi-Kagan no harm."
"You do not fool us, Conan," said the Budini chief. "Our leader is a mighty man, but we have all seen your strength. You can snap the neck of a powerful man in an instant."
"Bind my wrists, then," Conan said impatiently.
"No," said Bartatua. "I sense this is something important." He turned to his men. "Take his weapons and follow us at a little distance." He turned back to Conan. "I am curious, but I am no fool. Come with me. Your companion will be given food and wine."
The two walked a short way from the lines, where they could observe the fires of the City of Mounds. Behind them trailed the group of chiefs, hands gripped tight around the hilts of their weapons.
"I confess," Bartatua said, "that I was saddened to condemn you to death, and I felt little rage when I was told of your escape. Especially"—he grinned— "when I learned of how many of those scurvy shamans you sent to hell in getting away." He sobered again. "But that was a foolish thing you did, attacking my woman. I should kill you now for that."
"It is about your woman that I wish to speak," Conan said.
"Well?" said Bartatua, his voice dangerously gentle.
'' She has betrayed you."
The Ushi-Kagan turned to face Conan, and his expression would have stopped a charging bull. "Betrayed me? You mean with you?"
"It is not that kind of betrayal," said Conan. "And it is with Khondemir."
"Speak swiftly, Cimmerian," Bartatua ordered. "Your life hangs by a fine thread."
"My life has hung by many a thread," said Conan,
"and some of them have been finer than I care to remember." Then he told the Ushi-Kagan of the events upon the night when Lakhme had brought her false charge of attempted rape against him. He spoke of her orgiastic dance with the shamans. Bartatua's face became twisted with an immense pain in the telling, but Conan could not spare him.
The Cimmerian told of his escape and his wandering in the dust storm, and of how he was found by Manzur. He held back nothing save Manzur's true identity. At the end he told of the words he had heard issuing from Khondemir's tent on the previous night. For some time the Ushi-Kagan was unable to speak.
"Conan," he said at last, his voice little more than a husky croak, "if you lie, you shall die a death such as no man has ever known. It shall be a death so terrible that the demise of Conan the Cimmerian must resound through the centuries as the ultimate horror to be endured by mortal man." His tone left no doubt as to his sincerity.
"I do not lie, Kagan," Conan said. "Or should I say Ushi-Kagan?'
"Kagan is a good title," Bartatua said. "There is none nobler beneath the Everlasting Sky. Ushi-Kagan is the vaunting boast of a conqueror. I know not why, Conan, but I find it in my heart to believe you. Your words strike me harder than would the arrows of an enemy, but they carry the terrible sound of truth. Yet still I find it difficult to believe. Perhaps I gave her my heart because I always wanted a woman to love. But then, perhaps I trusted you because I always wanted a friend I could trust."
Conan found that his own heart was stricken
by his next words. "If you would be convinced that I speak the truth, Bartatua," he said, "go now and call for your
woman. As I came hither, I saw her skulking toward the City of Mounds. She had a tribesman with her. She has gone to deliver to Khondemir whatever it is that he must have."
For a while Bartatua was again speechless. "After this," he said upon recovery, "even when I mount the throne of the world, the taste of triumph will be as the taste of soured wine. My destiny was to be pure, as ordained by the gods beneath the Everlasting Sky. Now it is corrupted by the perfidy of this woman, by my foolishness as a man, by my very acts. I was like a puppet in a Khitan shadow play, manipulated upon sticks by shadowy slaves behind a screen. Thus I betrayed and persecuted my only friend, while I foolishly was led by a faithless woman, as easily as a drover-boy leads a gelded ox!"
"Bartatua, my friend," Conan said, "you are not the first man to be gulled by a beautiful woman. Certainly you shall not be the last."
"But how many of those men," said the Ushi-Kagan, "aspired to the throne of the world? I am such a man. And what is to be expected in an ordinary man is unforgivable in an Ushi-Kagan. Come, let us go back and speak to my chiefs. None of this makes any difference as far as our attack on the City of Mounds goes. Whatever plots Lakhme and Khondemir have hatched are out of my hands. The dawn assaults shall be as scheduled. Will you lead one of them? I know that I have forfeited your loyalty through my foolishness, but some things can still be made right."
"I would be willing, Kagan," Conan said, "but would your men follow me? You have looked into my eyes. You and I are men of the same sort, save that I am Cimmerian and you are Hyrkanian. But your men will need more than my word ere they will accept me as one of their leaders once again."
Bartatua took Conan by the arm. "Come with me, my true friend. We shall make all right. I know of a way not only to confirm your story, but to expose Lakhme's perfidy. Upon the morrow you shall lead my armies against the enemy, and you shall have honour before any other. Beneath the Everlasting Sky, there shall be no man second to the Ushi-Kagan, Bartatua, save Conan of Cimmeria!"
The stars had not yet begun to fade in the east when Lakhme returned from the City of Mounds. Around her she could hear the sounds of the camp waking, of men making their final preparations for the battle to come. She took deep satisfaction in the knowledge that soon she would be done with the barbarous camps of the nomads.
She would live in a palace in the centre of a great and rich city. Slaves would pander to her every whim, and the greatest men of the world would approach her on their knees to beg for her favour. That was the proper ordering of the world. She who had been sold into slavery by her parents would be the greatest of women. The figurehead upon the throne might be Khondemir, or Bartatua, or some other man of her choosing, but in time there would be little doubt of where the true power lay.
In her mind she began to build her palace. It would be gorgeous beyond belief, with spired towers high enough to pierce the clouds. Her floors would be paved with gold and pearls. There would be no cloth in the palace save the finest silk. Her slaves would be the most beautiful—She was jarred from her dream when iron fingers closed around her upper arm.
"We meet again, my lady," said Conan of Cimmeria.
"You!" she hissed. "When Khondemir said—" She stopped herself abruptly. There might be listeners nearby. "When my lord sees you, his vengeance shall be terrible. How have you come here, traitor? Do you yet plot against the Ushi-Kagan?"
"You may as well forget your pose, Lakhme," he said. "I have already spoken with the Ushi-Kagan. He knows everything now. Perhaps I should say that he knows the more important points of your betrayal. What mortal mind could comprehend all the schemings of a lovely serpent such as you?"
"What lies have you poured into his ears?" she asked accusingly. She spoke loudly now, for she was sure that listeners stood in the darkness nearby. "The Ushi-Kagan is too trusting. He sees courage and battle skill in a man and he thinks that these mean the warrior is honourable. You are a traitor!"
She saw that the man was taking her toward a large fire, and she thought of the dagger tucked into her loincloth. No, she thought, the time is not yet. She might still retrieve her situation by smooth words and the Ushi-Kagan's love for her.
"Words will not help you," Conan said. "The Ushi-Kagan is not as trusting as you think. When he heard my tale, he wanted proof. He has found it."
Now she saw that there were many men around the fire. At the centre, near the fire, stood Bartatua. At his feet were three shamans, trussed like calves for branding. Other shamans knelt with their hands tied behind them and terror upon their faces. In the Ushi-Kagan's hand was a short sword, half of its length glowing blood-red. A wisp of thin smoke drifted from its tip, and the stench of scorched flesh was heavy in the air.
When Bartatua looked at Lakhme, she almost fainted. She knew now that she should have used her dagger when she had the chance. Her nimble mind raced. What lies would divert Bartatua's wrath? It never occurred to her to use the dagger upon herself.
"These amulet-rattling frauds," Bartatua said to her, "have been providing us with some rare entertainment. They have spoken freely, with many clever embellishments. They threatened me with the wrath of the gods at first, but a taste of the hot iron loosened their tongues and refreshed their memories. It seems that there have been ceremonies to which I was not invited, but which you attended. Indeed, I understand that you participated with rare zeal."
"I knew they plotted against you, my lord," she said. "I but spied upon them to learn their plans."
"Yes, spying and secret nocturnal missions are a speciality of yours. Where did you find her, Conan?"
"There is a small gully not far that runs near the City of Mounds. A tribesman on guard there let her pass without challenge."
"Go and arrest that man," Bartatua said to a warrior who stood nearby. "He is a traitor. From him we will learn if there are others."
"What fate for the woman, Ushi-Kagan?" asked the scar-faced eastern Kagan.
"It can be no ordinary death," Bartatua said. He glared at Lakhme with an expression of pure stone. "You could have been the woman of the ruler of the world. Why did you betray my trust?"
She said nothing, but stood with eyes downcast.
"She schemed against you," said Conan, "because it is her nature to do so. She could no more act in good faith than could a scorpion turn into a dove. She would
betray Khondemir as well, or any other man. Even now she stands here plotting some way out of this trap that she has prepared for herself."
"Kill the slut and be done with it, my lord," advised the Gerul Kagan. "The sun will rise soon and we have a battle to fight."
Bartatua's hand closed around his hilt, and he stared at Lakhme for a moment. Then he released the weapon. "No. After the fighting, when we reconsecrate our place of burial, then she shall die. Then all shall see what happens to one who betrays the trust of the Ushi-Kagan. Take her to her tent and put her under guard. She has no place whence to run, but watch her well lest she slay herself and cheat me of my vengeance."
Two trusted warriors led Lakhme away. She did not speak and she kept her face lowered. Those who watched thought that she averted her eyes in shame or fear, but they were wrong. She did it to hide her smile. She would be placed under guard, and the guards would be mere men. Men were tools, instruments for her use. She knew that she would not die on this day, and her thoughts turned on the empire that still lay before her.
"To more important things," said Bartatua when she was gone. "The Budini and the Gerul will make the first assault at sunrise. That is the feint to the north wall. We shall give the defenders time to align most of their forces against the feint; then the mass of the horde shall make the true assault against the great entrance in the south wall. Conan will be in charge of that assault. Conan, have you anything to say before we go to prepare our forces for the coming battle?"
Conan stood before the assembled c
hiefs. The shamans still lay moaning upon the ground, but he ignored them. "I wish that I had time to train the men properly for this sort of combat, but that is a futile thought. The thing to remember is that the defenders have horses and bows and that they will have no compunction about using them. The Turanians are not bowmen as mighty as your own, but they are adequate. In any case, the range will not be great, and your men wear only light armour. In a massed charge, nearly every shaft will find a man.
"The important thing is to cover the intervening ground as swiftly as possible. The sooner you can come to hand strokes, the better. The enemy has swords, lances and shields, and knows well how to use them. Do not try to fence or to match swordplay. You must rob their forces, three or four men piling atop every defender. Leap over their shields and go for the throat. You will take many casualties in this way, but the alternative is to be massacred without inflicting any casualties yourselves;"
This was a sobering prospect, and it was a grim group of men who began to seek out their followers. "What shall we do with these, Ushi-Kagan?" asked a warrior who stood guard over the bound shamans.
Bartatua turned back for a moment. "Those fraudulent traitors? Kill them all. From this day forth, any shaman who sets foot within my camps shall die on the spot." He turned away and left for his position as the warrior began methodically cutting throats.
Conan signalled Manzur, and the two walked off alone. When they were well out of earshot, Conan said, "You may speak now, but keep it low."
"Conan, those are my countrymen in that camp! I care nothing for the Turanians, but the Red Eagles are Sogarians. I cannot stand by and see them slaughtered."
"Manzur," Conan said grimly, "those are dead men.
This great mob of nomads will not let one survive. The Sogarians have trodden upon sacred soil, and even if a few break away and run, the tribesmen will track them down relentlessly and slay them. They will die cleanly in battle. That is the way soldiers should die. The day they took up arms they knew that this time might come."
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