'It has ever been your mission and your emprise, 'sparana,' he said, loudly enough to be heard on the dais. 'Complete it.'
In her Shanki sirwal, tunic, sleeved surcoat—and black cosmetics—Isparana paced the width of the hall to her ruler. Conan saw that the man's outstretched hand trembled. Was his life force caught up in that little bauble? Was he now about to become invincible, unslayable? Conan watched, and the thought came extraneously that only tall women should wear ballooning leggings.
Into the waiting, tremorous hand Isparana placed the Eye of Erlik, and the satrap's fist closed on it. Nothing sorcerous or dramatic occurred, after all this time and horror and the cost in lives. The Khan of Zamboula had his Eye of Erlik. The thief he had hired went to one knee, her head bowed, while he leaned back with a long sigh.
'Up, Isparana, excellent servant,' he said, and she rose.
On the breast of his multi-hued robe of silk lay a medallion, slung on a chain of finely wrought gold. The pendant was a winged square of the same metal, beaten and indited. In its centre was a large ballflower design, with a smaller one decorating each corner. The silver leaves folded in to hold the ball, which was a ruby the size of a hummingbird's eye.
Soon that pendant lay on Isparana's breast, while her khan wore a less ornate one, a sword-shape slung on a strip of hide.
'You have both done well,' Akter Khan said, 'and I am more than pleased. Conan of Cimmeria: Approach.'
Conan moved forward, thinking he had been most clever in handing the amulet to Isparana with the courtly words he'd spoken for both her benefit and the satrap's. He was weaponless. Without his belt's weight he felt both naked and uncomfortable—and most vulnerable, at the mercy of a woman who bore an ugly scar because of him; who but for him would have returned the amulet, alone, two months ago. (Would she? He wondered. The Khawarizmi might have got her, alone—and without him, she would still be slave, doubtless sold up in Arenjun or Shadizar.) The woman's good will had become important to him, in this throneroom of a foreign city. Nor was he certain of it. Reaching her side, he halted. His nod served as an abbreviated bow.
'What part had you,' Akter asked, 'in this emprise that has taken Isparana so many months?'
More aware of the emotionless eyes of the cap-wearer at the khan's side than of Akter's, Conan elected to tell the truth. 'It is in part because of me that so many months have passed, Khan of Zamboula. We began as rivals and enemies, though now she knows that I was a helpless servant of Hisarr Zul.'
All four Zamboulans showed surprise at that open admission, which the Cimmerian had been careful to ameliorate by mentioning his thralldom to Hisarr.
'And Hisarr Zul?'
'He who was driven from Zamboula ten years ago,' Conan said, 'and who on the desert murdered his brother Tosya who thereafter haunted the Dragon Hills as the Sand-lich; who stole the amulet of Akter Khan and the very soul of Conan of Cimmeria… is dead, lord Khan.'
For the first time, the man beside the satrap spoke. 'You slew him?'
'I did, and destroyed him with fire. His manse burned as well.'
'His—knowledge?' Zafra asked, his voice intense. 'His scrolls, his devices?'
'All.' Conan shrugged. 'Burned with him. I would touch none of it.'
'Well done!' Akter Khan exclaimed, and Conan saw his teeth.
He was aware that Zafra's expression had become one of disappointment and some disgust, and Conan knew that the man was not pleased. It was then he realised that this Zafra must be a wizard, despite his lack of years. Aye, he was older than Conan and Isparana as well. But Conan had assumed that mages, to be full of knowledge, must be old men. Now he realised that was ridiculous. One grew old only by having been young, and any master could die so that his apprentice succeeded. Or, the Cimmerian supposed, a man could be as adept and clever at wizardry as Conan was with weapons.
He knew that he was not only in the presence of a mage, but probably the foremost in this vicinity— and a man he had better respect and be wary of.
He was right; Akter introduced Zafra as Wizard of Zamboula, mentioning that the fellow had not been here when Isparana had departed. Isparana inclined her head. Having recognised the medallion he word, she knew the man in the Ferygian cap stood high. Such a change, in the third of a year since she and Karamek had ridden out of this city of her birth! With her little bow, her own pendant moved restlessly on her breast. It was a reminder: Aye, such a change indeed! She would not need to go back to Squatter's Alley now! It had produced her and trained her; now her career as thief and liar and sometime streetgirl was making her wealthy. She glanced at Conan.
'Hisarr Zul said that the Eye is magickal,' he said. 'Zafra has been in magickal contact with it? You knew we approached Zamboula, wizard?'
Zafra's mouth smiled, but it was Akter who spoke. 'Shall the Wizard of Zamboula tell you where the Eye of Erlik has been, Conan of Cimmeria?'
'I shall tell you,' Conan said, though he certainly had not intended to do. 'Isparana and I planned no secrets from the Satrap of the Empire of Turan.'
'You and Isparana have been antagonists, even sought to slay one another. Yet you are now friends.'
'Together,' Conan said, 'we restored your amulet. I had to serve Hisarr Zul, for a time. He had my soul, literally.'
'He had gained that ability!' Zafra said excitedly, and looked immediately unhappy that he had showed emotion.
'Aye. He wanted, yours of course, Khan of Zamboula. I had to gain the amulet, and return it to him. That I did, killing horses and nearly myself to overtake Isparana on the desert. I returned it to Hisarr, who then sought to slay me. I was able to kill him, and—'
'At one time,' Akter Khan said, looking thoughtfully at the foreigner, 'both of you, with the Eye, turned and started back northward.'
Isparana was tight-mouthed as she said, 'We were enslaved, by Khawarizmi. We were able to gain free.'
'But then you came on for Zamboula, whilst the Eye went north.' The satrap nodded at the Cimmerian. 'With this man, I now assume.'
'It is true,' Conan said, before Isparana could speak; he was egregiously uncomfortable, reminding Isparana of this part of their past. 'I had tricked her, or rather Hisarr Zul had, with a duplicate of the Eye.' I should not have brought that up! 'She thought she had the real one.'
'A duplicate!' Akter's hand jerked up to slap over the amulet.
'Calm yourself, my lord,' Zafra said smoothly.
'You wear the true and only Eye of Erlik, for I tracked it here.'
'What became of Hisarr's copy?' the khan demanded, only a bit less intensely.
'Destroyed,' Isparana said. 'Hisarr Zul caused it to melt, to assure himself that Conan had brought him the real one. It is someplace out on the desert. A shame, for Conan has told me the gems and gold were real. It was merely a gaud, of course, without other properties.'
Conan glanced at the sword on the wall, and at the seated scribe he assumed was bodyguard, with a concealed weapon or two. He did not like this conversational area at all. Isparana was reminded of her pain, her scar, and all she needed do to betray Conan utterly was utter a few words.
'Hanuman be praised,' Akter said to Isparana, 'that you were not wearing it at the time.' And had Conan worn a sword, his hand would have eased toward its hilt.
'Yes,' Isparana said, with a glance at the Cimmerian. 'I was fortunate.'
A relieved Conan tried not to show his sigh. Was her fondness, her attachment to him real? Had she really forgiven? Perhaps she planned to blackmail; perhaps she wanted this power over him, the ability to betray, without really wanting him to be harmed. Conan thought swiftly. Since he assumed that Zafra knew already, he felt it wise to speak up before the men on the dais thought they were trapping him.
'The Eye, worn as you saw it when I entered, has also been to Shadizar and Khauran.'
'And Conan,' Isparana said, 'has never made attempt to slay me, and spoke up to free me from the Khawarizmi when he could have left me enslaved.'
So I did, Conan tho
ught. How heroic of me!
Akter had nodded. He glanced at his wizard and smiled as if to say There: we knew that; this man is truthful. The khan sat back, relaxed. Though he assumed the ordeal was over, Conan kept his mental guard up.
'You will dine with me,' Akter Khan said. 'I would hear your adventures.'
'The honour is extreme,' Isparana said, almost gasping, and she bowed her head until her chin was nearly on her breast.
'A warrior of Cimmeria is honored, lord Khan,' Conan said. 'However, the son of Akhimen Khan will be awaiting me at the camel stables in the Bronze Quarter. Have I time to take word to him?'
'Even Akhimen Khan enters this story!' Akter said, and shook his head bemazedly. 'Suppose that I send him word. That same messenger will arrange lodgings for you both at the Royal Turan Inn. That and dinner will be but the first of your rewards from my hands, Conan of Cimmeria. As Zafra has learned, I am a most generous sovran, with those who serve me well. A warrior, eh? Well. We will see that you are both bathed and provided clothing, after which, over dinner, you will tell me of your obviously manifold and multitudinous adventures whilst returning my amulet to me!'
XV
Conan Hero
In the few fabrics Conan was accustomed to, 'white' tended to range from a sort of beige approaching the hue of lambskin parchment to the faintly yellowish colour of cream. He had seen white that was truly so: the colour of milk. He had never cared to spend money for such, even on those few occasions when he could have afforded it. Nor had he worn silk before— or the gift of a regnant monarch.
Thus the garment of Khitan silk provided him by Akter Khan was trebly a new experience for the Cimmerian. He felt most noble looking, nigh regal, in the gleaming, red-broidered white tunic that covered his upper arms and fell past mid-thigh. Nor was he unhappy with the broad and signally lightweight belt of red felt. Though he had admired the short boots of the same red felt worn by Akter Khan, Zafra, and Hafar and though he thought a pair would go handsomely with the belt, he was provided sandals.
Still, he remained Conan; he went out himself to see to the care of his horse in the palace stables, and to place his mail corselet and other clothing with his saddle. Dunestrider ignored that fine new name three times, and turned to peer at his master only when Conan exasperatedly called him 'Chestnut.' So much, he thought, for nobly naming stupid beasts.
He returned to the palace through its rear door— at which he was challenged. He was passed with only a minimum of snarling, and no threats.
Isparana also wore white silk. The sleeveless dress was long and clinging, and Conan was instantly interested and aroused. There was nothing to be done about that; they met as they were being conducted to dine with the satrap.
Present were the same five only: the khan and his mage, the supposed scribe with the wrists and shoulders of a fighter, Isparana, and Conan. They were served by boys whose veins contained some Stygian blood. The repast was superb, if overly delicate and spicy. There was plenty of meat, and Conan did appreciate the fresh fruit. To his liking, too, was Akter Khan's wine.
The scribe or 'scribe' Uruj said nothing at all, which prompted Conan to wonder if the big fellow might be tongueless, or deaf. Zafra said little but sat thoughtfully listening with an air of perception that increased Conan's nervousness as much as the mage's bland snake's eyes. Akter Khan asked many questions and favoured the apricot wine. Conan and Isparana did the talking, a lot of it.
A deal of the wine he had poured down had risen to enfume Conan's head when they had finished their repast and Akter signaled an end to his listening. Both he and Conan were reeling and had gone thick of tongue. The mightily impressed satrap presented the Cimmerian with a fine goblet of gold, and ten coins—Turanian Eagles, more valued and thus impressive than Zamboulan currency. He vowed there would be more for such a hero.
Though he also provided the northern youth with a fine, voluminous cloak of many yards of scarlet, Conan spent the night in the palace. He was in no condition to walk, or ride across town.
He awoke to a headache and a sour and hateful Isparana, and vowed to give up wine for life. Nevertheless he remained pleased with his fortune and taken with himself. Wearing clothing given him by a ruler, he had dined and gotten drunk with a ruler—and this time no little desert chieftain. Nor had he seen evidence that Akter Khan was other than a good fellow.
Akter Khan was busy; a ruler must rule, and decide, and listen to many people he would rather not even see. Munching figs and apricots, the two left the palace in company of Prefect Jhabiz. He took a tourist's route, showing them Zamboula and conducting them eventually to a fine big inn whose sign depicted a golden griffin on a background of scarlet: the Royal Turan. They were more than expected; their arrival had been eagerly anticipated since last evening. The innkeeper did not know why their rooms had been arranged by the Khan himself, and so was most solicitous. Indeed, the wight was regardful to the point of obsequiousness. Conan, more than cheerful, could not but strut. Though he had spent considerable time in inns, he had never been so treated, or stayed in one so fine, or been the object of such attention by other guests. Nor had he to worry about the size of the tap bill he accumulated, or the number of mugs of ale he could afford to consume.
Their room was indeed the best in that best of inns in Zamboula. Excited, exhilarated, calling each other 'my lady' and 'my lord,' the two tarried in that spacious chamber to which they had repaired to change garments.
Downstairs Jhabiz awaited their pleasure for many minutes, and said nothing about it when they at last descended, glowing.
They betook themselves jubilantly down to the Bronze Quarter, which was seedy though hardly a Maul or a Desert. They smelled the camel stables well before they saw them, and heard the groaning beasts ere they reached their quarters. There Conan learned that one of his golden Eagles paid everyone's bill and gained him respectful treatment as well.
'And how did Conan find Akter Khan?' Hajimen asked.
'In better spirits now than when we came, by Crom! And generous, withal. A fine enough fellow, when one has done him a service.'
While Isparana shot the exuberant Conan a look, Hajimen asked, 'Spoke he of my sister?'
'Why… no, Hajimen,' Conan said, in a more subdued voice.
'And is he in mourning for her?'
'Aye,' Isparana said, and when Conan looked at her, he felt her fingers nudge into his back, under cover of his crimson cloak of finery. 'You saw the black band he wore, Conan.'
'Oh, aye,' he said, realizing that she was doing Hajimen a kindness. 'I saw so much that I was about to forget.'
'It is good that the Khan of the Zamboulans mourns a daughter of the Shanki,' Khanson Hajimen said nodding, though he did not smile.
Conan touched the desert man's yellow sleeve. 'He seems no bad man at all, friend and son of a friend,' he said, with Shanki formality. And he thought, Odd, for a ruler! Though I'd make no avowals as to the sweetness of his wizard!
'A captaincy in your Guard?' Zafra echoed, and Akter Khan looked sharply at him. 'Your pardon, my lord,' the wizard said more quietly, 'but shock over-came my restraint, when you speak of giving employment to such a man as this Conan, and housing him in the very palace so nigh you.'
Akter Khan leaned back and fixed the mage with a look both sharp and attentive.
'You serve me well, Zafra. You have my confidence and my ear. Speak. Give me your impression of him, then.'
'He is young, and ambitious, and desirous of—' Zafra broke off. 'Lord Khan, he returned the Eye of Erlik and is obviously a surpassing warrior. A most resourceful young man and more than dangerous with weapons. Most resourceful. Most dangerous. Just as obviously, you think highly of him. Best I do not speak in this matter.'
'Zukli! Bring us wine!' the khan called, without taking his rather troubled gaze off Zafra. 'Speak, Zafra. You have my ear, and my interest. Speak, Wizard of Zamboula, whom the khan trusts. He is resourceful, you said, and young, and ambitious. That is all apparent to any with
eyes, and none of them is a sin. And you were about to add another word, when you broke off. Say it. Speak. It is your feeling that I should not trust this northern youth, Zafra?'
Zafra crushed a tiny fruitfly on his braid-worked green sleeve. 'He is uncivilized, Akter Khan. A barbarian from some far northern land we know nothing of. Who knows what barbarous customs or codes they have? A certain disdain for nobility, I am thinking; even royalty. He left his people. He left seeking; the youth is an opportunist. He is ungoverned, lord Khan, and I think ungovernable. I would trust no such man close to me, regardless of his age. He is… restless. What will ever make such a wight content, relaxed, undesirous of more?'
'Hmm,' The satrap took the wine a Kushite servant brought, and waved the boy away. 'I hear and I see. And Isparana?'
'A thief from Squatter's Alley! Now she has been pardoned and more—she has been elevated, has dined with Akter Khan! A thief, a woman who has stolen and sold her goods and doubtless herself on these very streets! And—faugh! She loves that arrogant Cimmerian.'
'Yes, I believe I saw that…'
'They have served you. Consider: a man has a fine trained bird. He uses it for years, and it hunts for him like no other. Yet one day it comes winging back from the hunt and pecks out his eye. Would he not have been better advised to note the signs of its discontent, and to have considered it a good servant now dangerous, and removed it? Best that Conan and Isparana have no opportunity to chatter about the Eye, or… mis-serve you, lord Khan.'
Blinking, Akter drained his silver goblet and poured more wine. Zafra had not touched his. He leaned closer and spoke with low intensity.
'Consider. Consider the man, and the breed. In Arenjun he fought men of the city Watch, wounded and slew—and escaped. He was never punished, and thus his confidence and disrespect for authority increased. He duped Isparana more than once—and she loves him! What lesson has that taught him? We have only the barbarian's word. How do we know that great mage did not keep his bargain with the barbarian who fetched him back the Eye? In Shadizar, he somehow allied himself with a noblewoman of Khauran. There, he slew a Kothic noble; a nobleman, in the very presence of the queen! And now she too is dead. Conan? In Shadizar once more, he again entered into an encounter with the Watch, and again survived— unwounded, unscathed, unpunished.'
The Conan Chronology Page 47
