Conan the Marauder (11 page)

As a mere despised foreigner, Conan knew that his neighbours were not inclined to socialize with him. He was not unaccustomed to such social rejection, and he used the opportunity to observe more closely these people among whom he had fallen.

He saw immediately that those of a certain dress or cast of features tended to sit close together and draw away from those of another sort. Whatever unity they shared was the result of Bartatua's will. He saw much evidence of differing customs as well. A plate of steaming meat would be fallen upon with gusto by one group, while another group would turn away from the same food with disgust. Some men were heavily tattooed; others did not practice the custom

Against one wall sat a band of men who drew his special attention. Their hair was long and upbraided, and their faces were shaven or plucked clean of beard. Their clothes were bizarre collections of rags, finery and even, he was amazed to note, of some elements of women's dress. They were draped about with animal bones and amulets, and many carried drums, flutes and rattles.

Conan did not need to question his neighbours in order to identify these odd persons. They had to be shamans: medicine men and sorcerers, practitioners of the tribesmen's primitive religions. The place where they sat was not that of most-favoured guests, and that came as no surprise either. Conan had encountered few nations wherein priests and kings were not fierce rivals for power and influence.

As the banquet drew to a close, a servant came to Conan and said in a low voice, "The Kagan bids you stay after the others have left, lord."

Soon men arose and walked out, many of them unsteady. Some had to be carried. Drunkenness was the abiding vice of the steppe warriors, and the sight made

Conan more determined than ever to keep a clear head while he was among them. Soon the last of the guests were gone, leaving only Conan and Bartatua.

"Come, Cimmerian," the Kagan said. "Sit with me."

Conan sat upon a cushion facing the chief and took a bowl of the wine proffered by his host. His eye caught a hint of movement from behind Bartatua's low dais. There was someone on the far side of the silken curtain that screened off Bartatua's sleeping quarters.

"That you are a good fighter I saw last night. Today you have shown that you are a capable officer as well. This is good, but these are the abilities of the hands and the will. The abilities of the mind are also valuable to me, and since you are now my follower, I expect you to put what is in your head at my disposal as well."

"I understand, Kagan," Conan said. "What would you have of me?"

"You have travelled widely in the west?" the Kagan asked.

"I have visited all the western nations, and many of those to the far south. I have sailed upon the Western Sea and upon the Vilayet. From boyhood I have been a wanderer, and never can I stay in one place more than a season or two before I yearn to see new lands."

"Good. I shall wish to hear much about those lands. Most of the information I have of them I must glean from traders. These men know all the mysteries of buying and selling, which kings levy the most oppressive taxes, and which officials are the most amenable to bribery. This is useful information, but when I wish to know how armies are organized, how forts are garrisoned, whether commands are given for merit or for birth, they rarely know aught of value. You have some idea now of how my hordes fight. Where in the western lands would they be the most effective?"

Conan thought for a while, drawing in his mind a map of the world he knew. Few men of his day had gravelled more extensively. "The nations west of the Vilayet and north of the Styx are for the most part pastoral lands: Koth, Shem, Corinthia, Ophir and the lesser kingdoms. Zamora, Brythunia and Nemedia are likewise lands with few rivers and broad plains. In those lands your style of warfare will serve you well. Beyond Nemedia and Ophir, though, are Aquilonia, Poitain, Zingara, Argos and other lands that are cut up by broad rivers and are often mountainous, with many deep valleys. They are populous, with a great many towns, each with its fort or castle. I think you would not fare so easily there."

"And south of the Styx?" asked Bartatua.

"First, there is Stygia. No king in his right mind would have anything to do with that land. It is the home of wizards and priest-kings who can call upon the ancient serpent god, Set. South of Stygia lie the black lands. These are countries where your hordes would be all but useless."

"Are the black men so fierce?" Bartatua demanded.

"Fierce enough, but they are few in number, and men are not the true enemy in those places. The land itself is ferocious, with squalling, chaotic jungles so thick that often it is necessary to cut your way through the growth with heavy knives. The rain is incessant and anything made of cloth or leather rots quickly. But worst of all is pestilence. Men die in droves and horses die even more swiftly. If you pressed your hordes into those lands, within six moons you would have half of your men and none of your horses. The only way to subdue those countries is with armies of native troops."

"These things are good to know in advance," said the Kagan. "It shall be some time before I seek west-

ward conquests, but that eventuality shall come. And when I do reach the western lands, I shall have foot armies of soldiers pressed from the conquered lands. From Khitai I shall have the cleverest siege engineers in the world, with their machines and stratagems. Should I wish to take the black nations, I shall by that time have armies so huge that the loss of half to disease shall be of no consequence."

Conan sipped at his wine. "I take it, then, that you intend to conquer the entire world."

"That is what I will do " the Kagan said simply.

Conan studied his face and saw no madman's gleam in his eyes. To Bartatua, his destiny as master of the world was as natural as the daily ascent of the sun above the steppe.

"I was born into a chaotic world," the Kagan said, "a world in which all mankind was divided into an absurd number of peoples and kingdoms, bickering with one another wastefully, and ruled often by fools whose only qualification was birth, as if kingship were a quality one could achieve by breeding, like swiftness in horses or fatness in cattle."

"I have never seen much sense in aristocracy of birth," Conan said truthfully. "Among my people, all are equal and all men are warriors. Clan leaders bear the family name, but leadership in war goes to the most-proven warrior, whether chieftain or cowherd."

"It is much the same among us. So you can see that I am offended by this senseless situation. As there is one Everlasting Sky above the earth, there should be only one supreme king upon it. My destiny is to become that king. Those who help me to realize my destiny shall be great lords. My first step was to unite the steppe tribes. This was a formidable task. You have seen how fractious and feuding they are. Some eat horseflesh, and

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.