'A harsh god. Do you pray to him and make sacrifices?'
'We do not pray, for he would not listen. Crom has little use for any who would beg a higher power for favour. He is pleased with the blood we shed in battle, both our own and that of our enemies.'
'That sounds like a true fighting-man's god,' the boy said, sending a disdainful look at a man who wore the robes of a priest of Mitra.
'This is the deity of a primitive people, Majesty,' said the priest with a sniff. 'A civilized sovereign honours the gods of order and justice, the gods who are pleased by the arts and industries of civilization. When a king rears a magnificent temple to his god, all the world has to acknowledge his splendour'
'Aye,' said Conan, 'and the priests get a fine new house in the bargain.' He noted that some on the dais were secretly pleased with his insolent words. Others were scandalized. 'My lord, I am ready to answer all your questions about myself, my god and my people, but I would like to know whether you wish to accept my services.'
Idris looked over Conan's band with an extremely dubious expression. 'Surely the rest of these are not Cimmerians. One, has the aspect of a priest or scholar. The rest have the aspect of a pack of brigands.'
'Your Majesty has a good eye for men,' Conan admitted. 'Yes, they are a crude lot, with none of the spit and polish of a guards regiment, but one does not hire warriors for their fine looks. These are irregular cavalry of the finest stamp, scouts and raiders beyond compare.'
'I can well believe they know how to raid,' said a man in armour with curling lip. 'No doubt many a caravan and band of pilgrims have learned that to their cost. As for scouting, it is true that such men often spy out their prey from hiding, carefully noting that such as they would attack are weak, unsuspecting and as nearly helpless as possible.'
'Perhaps, Cousin Dunas, you are too hard on them,' chided the putative king.
'Nay, Your Majesty, he is quite right,' Conan said, 'but what of that? Do we speak here of holding polite balls for the court ladies and foreign ambassadors? Nay, we speak here of man-slaying! It is a hard business, best left to hard men, and these are masters of the craft. If they are such men as you would not see in your kingdom in times of peace, have no concern on that point. Let peace come, give them their pay and they will be off forthwith, riding across your borders to seek excitement elsewhere, for these are men who cannot abide a land at rest.'
Idris laughed again. 'I like him, my councillors! I want to hire him and his men. He amuses me, and perhaps they will serve me well.'
'Your Majesty,' the white-bearded man protested, 'this is intolerable! The rightful ruler of Iranistan cannot be served by lowly brigands! It would make you unpopular with the common people, and the foreign kings around your border would claim that you are no true king, but rather, an imposter supported by criminal hirelings!'
The youth turned in his chair and stared at the older man. 'Grandfather, am I, or am I not, the rightful king of Iranistan?'
'Of course you are king, my grandson,' the old man said, his face colouring.
'Then my will is law here, and it is my will that this Conan and his men serve me.'
The old man bowed. 'It shall be as you wish, Your Majesty.'
'Excellent!' said Conan. 'And, Majesty, you need not concern yourself with what the neighbour kings think of us. A king like the usurper Xarxas, who is served by the likes of General Katchka and the Vizier Akhba, is nonetheless regarded as a sovereign like any other.'
The man called Dunas strode to the front of the dais. 'How comes it that you know the character of those men, out-lander?'
'Why, until just yesterday we were in the town of Green Water, which is Katchka's headquarters.' He saw that Dunas looked somewhat crestfallen, as if this were intelligence he had planned to spring by surprise.
'And did you offer him your services as well?' asked a bleak-faced man who stood behind the throne.
'I had no need to,' Conan said. 'Katchka and Akhba sought me out personally.'
The old man laughed disbelievingly. 'What use had those men, served as they are by first-class cavalry, for a barbarian sell-sword like you, with your band of ragged ruffians?'
Conan looked at the man as if his sanity were in doubt. 'Why, they wanted me to kill your king. What else?' He heard a sharp in-drawing of breath from his men behind him. 'They promised me three thousand ounces of fine gold to bring them the head of Idris, whom they hold to be a pretender.'
There was stunned silence from the dais. Then the man who stood behind the throne spoke again. 'But you were not fool enough to think they would honour the bargain, is I that it?'
'Aye. Of course, I agreed to do it. We rode hither with a band led by one Captain Mahac dogging our heels, so we had little choice. If your sovereign does not offer me an absurd reward and a suicide mission, I think he will be a better master to serve than his usurping half-brother.'
The man behind the throne nodded. 'For the first time, Your Majesty, I begin to believe this rogue. He looks as if he knows his trade. I will reserve judgement on his men until I have seen them in action.'
'Splendid, Uncle,' the boy said enthusiastically. Then, to Conan: 'This is my mother's eldest brother, General Eltis, commander of my forces. His father and my grandfather is the Vizier Jemak.' The white-bearded man nodded slightly.
Eltis beckoned, and Hosta, the leader of Conan's escort, ran up and saluted. 'My lord?'
'Find a tent for these men and enrol them among the scouts. You are to keep them under close observation and report to me.'
'As you command, my lord,' Hosta said, bowing.
'I will speak with you later, Captain Conan,' said the young pretender.
'At Your Majesty's pleasure,' Conan said, bowing. He turned and remounted his horse. The little band followed Hosta to the warren of dingy tents.
'What is the name of this village?' Sagobal asked. 'Telmak, my commander,' said the troop commander. His was one of many such cavalry detachments scouring the countryside. 'It is an insignificant place, with nothing of note save a camel market. They know naught of the men of the temple.' The young captain wiped sweat from his brow, for the day was scorching. 'Nothing of importance has happened here in years, save that a few days ago, ninety-three r their camels were stolen, but the villagers tracked the I toasts down and recovered them.'
'This is a waste of—' Then the captain's words tickled something in Sagobal's memory. What was it? Suddenly he remembered. Berytus had told him that he and his men had tracked the outlaws to a small gorge wherein lay a good water supply. There were signs that a great many camels had seen there recently, but the camels had gone off in one direction, unladen. The bandits had arrived later, for their tracks will lay atop those of the camels', and they had ridden off in another direction. This was something to look into.
'Summon the head men of the village.'
The men arrived, looking suitably fearful. 'Tell me about Iris theft,' Sagobal said brusquely.
'Excellency,' said a man whose forked beard was dyed yellow, 'some few days ago, just before the full moon, bandits came here and ran off ninety-three head of our best stock. The next day, our best men armed themselves and set out to track them.'
'Aye,' said a younger man. 'It was not so difficult, for there were a great many animals and the thieves did not break them up into smaller herds, taking different routes, as camel-thieves usually do. The tracks led to a small canyon deep in the hills, a watering place on the old caravan road. Few use it save shepherds now, for in past years it has served as a lair for bandits.'
'We found all the camels there,' said the yellow-bearded man, 'guarded by a single bandit, who had been wounded in stealing them. Him we slew, and we butchered his body and hung him in pieces from the branches of a bush, as a warning to the others. Then we drove our stock back home.'
'But you saw no sign of the rest?' Sagobal asked.
'No, Excellency. The camels had trampled over any other tracks.'
'Some of you lead me to this
place,' Sagobal directed. 'I want to see it.'
A few hours later, Sagobal walked up and down the little canyon. The winds had carried away most of whatever tracks the thieves had left behind. It was a perfect outlaw's lair, no question of it. But what had happened here? His mind began to fit the pieces together.
The big herd of camels had been stolen and kept together because someone had a great deal of cargo to carry. A single, wounded bandit had been left behind to watch the camels while the rest had gone on to gather that cargo. But then the ' villagers had come to reclaim their stock. The bandits re- turned and found their transportation fled. What then?
The crucial question was: Had the treasure, so magically transported from Shahpur, been here? Or had they planned to take the camels elsewhere to load them? If the former, then they must have concealed the treasure some place nearby.
'What are your orders, Excellency?' the young officer asked, breaking into Sagobal's thoughts.
'Eh? Oh, we ride back to Shahpur now.' It was tempting to order the men to search the area, but the last thing he wanted was for someone other than himself to find the treasure. If it was here, the bandits would be back for it soon. And he had Berytus and his matchless man-hunters to track them to their fate, here or wherever else the treasure might be hidden.
He mounted his fiery horse and rode back toward Shahpur, his men following behind.
'What do you think of the young pretender, Conan?' Volvolicus asked.
'The lad has spirit,' said the Cimmerian, 'but he is tool young yet to be fairly judged. It is good that he does not let his older kin control him as they would like, but such wilfulness in a youth can easily turn to cruelty.' He shrugged. 'He may become a strong king, but he has the makings of a tyrant as well. It's naught to me, for I do not plan to keep him for my sovereign. Not that there is any great danger of that in any case. The kingdoms of the world are littered with the hones of pretenders, most of them nothing but imposters put forth by conniving relatives.'
'You think the boy has little chance of winning the Phoenix Throne?'
'Next to none,' Conan said. They sat in the hot tent, conversing by the light of a single candle while the other men snored the night away. 'This fort is scarcely strong enough for a robber-baron to set up in to plunder his neighbours, Eldris's soldiers seem devoted, but that could be because up here in the borderland, they consider the true Iranistanis to be foreigners. I suspect that Xarxas is a- weakling or he is distracted by a war elsewhere on his borders or within his kingdom, else he'd long ago have put down this little insurrection. He's left Katchka up here to fight a war with few men and much territory to cover, then further hampered him by not letting him invade this little island for fear of offending Turan. It is no wonder the swine was looking for a cheap, quick way to end the trouble here and sought to hire my services as assassin.'
'I see what you mean,' Volvolicus said. 'But I still do not understand what you intend to do about it. If I were back in my home, I could employ my powers to rescue my daughter from Green Water. As it is, the time and distance factors are too great. By the time I made the journey and returned here, it could be too late. How long will she be safe in the hands of those villains?'
'Not for a minute,' Conan replied. 'But she told me that she was proof against the unwanted attentions of any man. Is this true?'
'Her small powers give her unwarranted confidence,' the mage replied. 'She is safe enough from the pawing of most men, but here she is not dealing with men of the ordinary
sort. A man with an army at his beck can accomplish what he will.'
'You lack your books and instruments,' Conan said. 'But surely you have some small enchantments at your command that require no elaborate preparations?'
'Some, yes. Have you a plan?'
'Aye. Listen to me, and tell me what you think.' The two men spoke on late into the night.
The next day, Captain Hosta took them along on patrol with his own men. They rode to the river to watch for signs of intrusion. Each of Conan's men wore a sleeveless surcoat with the figure of the dragon worked upon it.
'Do you see much action on these patrols?' Conan asked.
'Nay, curse it!' Hosta said. 'We are in strength sufficient only to spot the enemy and run back with our report. I long for a good fight.'
Conan smiled. This was working out better than he had hoped. 'How would you like a little skirmish with a certain small force of cavalry near here?'
'How small?' Hosta asked suspiciously.
'With my men reinforcing you, the odds will be on our side. I will bait them, then you may ride in and catch the lot.'
'You have but just joined us,' the man said doubtfully. 'It is soon to allow you to plan an action against the enemy.'
'If you do not like my plan, you can ride away and leave us to die,' Conan said. 'Come now; the risk is little and you have said you long for action.'
Hosta glared at him, then nodded. 'Agreed.' -
'Good,' said Conan, scanning the grassy land near the river. 'Now we need just one more thing.'
'What is that?'
Conan pointed to a flock being driven to pasture by a man with a crooked staff. 'One of those sheep.'
The bandits rode single file through the draw, its stony sides forty feet high, the way narrow. As they rode, a man spied upon them from the rim, then ran off to the south. The Cimmerian's keen eyes caught the flicker of movement and knew it for what it was.
'Be ready,' he said quietly. Down the line of riders there was a faint click of swords being loosened in their sheaths, of hows being taken from cases of oiled leather.
Abruptly, the draw widened until they were in an oval enclosure perhaps two hundred feet wide, its sides still sheer. When all the riders were within the oval, they saw men run to the rim overlooking them, bows in hand. With a thunder of hooves, a file of horsemen galloped into the oval and spread out until they drew rein, facing the bandits in a broad crescent. One man rode a little forward.
'Greetings, my Mends!' Captain Mahac crowed. 'How good to see your lovely faces again. You were not on the island for long. Did you lose your nerve?' He stared at them with an eager, bloodthirsty look.
Conan rode forward. 'It was not much of a task,' he said. 'I accomplished what I had agreed to do last night and we rode thither forthwith.' He pulled up knee-to-knee with the Iranistani officer and grinned into his face. 'I believe I now have business with the mighty General Katchka, and his esteemed friend, the distinguished Vizier Akhba.'
Mahac's cruel face was nonplussed. 'Truly? You have slain the pretender? Let me see.'
Conan took a bloodstained bag of homespun cloth from his saddlebag. 'I give this to General Katchka and no other.'
Mahac smiled again. 'A splendid feat! You are an extraordinary warrior. Now, be so good as to let me confirm your kill. Show me the head.'
'Did you bring the woman, Layla?' Conan asked.
'She is with His Excellency, enjoying the finest of hospitality, and she will be released to your care upon delivery of the usurper's head. Now show me!' The last words came out in a shrill scream.
Conan shrugged. 'Oh, very well.' He opened the bag and held it before Mahac. 'Here, look.'
The officer stared down into the bag. Staring back up at him was the foul-smelling, woolly head of a white sheep. He made a strangled sound and grasped his sword-hilt. 'Kill them!' Then a sound made him look up. Riders rode wildly along the rim, whooping and pushing his archers off to tumble onto the canyon floor- and lie there unmoving. At the same time, a bellowing squadron of armoured men stormed in from behind the bandits, swords out. In an instant, all was a confusion of struggling, slashing, slaying men.
Conan smashed Mahac alongside the jaw with his bagged sheep's head. The man reeled in his saddle but still managed to draw his sword and hew at the Cimmerian. The blow was clumsy and ill-timed and Conan managed to duck it even as he drew his own sword. For ten heartbeats, the two swords licked out and chimed musically together as the horses circle
d one another and the men sought each other's life. Finally, Conan spurred his mount against Mahac's, bowling the smaller animal over and throwing its rider to the ground.
The Cimmerian flung himself from the saddle, landing upon the fallen man as he tried to rise. Mahac managed a single curse, then Conan drew his dirk and sheathed it in the captain's throat. Mahac fell back gurgling, blood spraying from the gash, spurting from his mouth and nostrils. He thrashed for several seconds, drumming his spurs on the sandy ground, then lay still.
A great quiet had fallen over the canyon, broken only by the shuffling of horses with the smell of fresh-spilled blood in their nostrils and the occasional moan of a wounded man. Coming after the brief but furious clash of arms, it was like a dead silence. Captain Hosta rode up to the Cimmerian, smiling happily.
'All of them slain,' he said, 'and I have only three wounded. There is nothing like the advantage of surprise in warfare.' He wiped blood from his long, curved sword. 'Your rogues did not fare so well, but they were fighting regulars.'
Conan saw that he was down to five men besides the wizard and himself: pot-bellied Chamik, one-eyed Ubo, Auda the desert man, the unregenerate Osman, and the evil and seemingly unkillable Mamos. Already they were looting the bodies of the slain.
'I have an errand to perform, and the scholar will go with me,' Conan said. 'The rest of my men will ride back with you.'
Hosta shrugged. 'As you wish. You have earned the right to do as you will. We shall cut off the right hands of all these traitors. His Majesty will be most pleased with the trophies I shall bring him.'
Conan led his horse to where his men were efficiently stripping the bodies of valuables. 'Gather 'round,' he said. They joined him, stuffing coins, rings and jewels into their sashes and boot tops.
'Volvolicus and I go now to Green Water to fetch the woman back.' He spoke in a low voice, so that only they could hear. 'Tonight, when all are asleep save for the sentries, I want you all to desert. Ride across the bight of the old river channel into Turan and ride north-west toward our hideout. Stop at the first village and abide there until we come to join you.'
Conan and the Manhunters Page 15
