Conan the Marauder (8 page)

"I am a swordsman, but I can use all hand weapons: ax, lance, mace, dagger. I am a warrior."

"Perhaps you are, as your nation defines such things. Can you fight bare-handed?"

"I have yet to meet my better," he answered. He studied her frankly. He could see little of her except for her face, but that was as lovely as he had ever seen. Her graceful, confident stride told him that her body was as well made.

"You are amusing, slave," she said. "You shall be yet more amusing tonight.'' She turned to the slave master. "Give him means with which to wash and shave. My lord will see him fight first tonight." With that, she went on to examine the rest of the slaves.

Rustuf grinned at Conan. "Already you have attracted attention, although it may be of the wrong kind. You may have the longest night of us all, or the shortest."

In the great tent, Bartatua held revel for the new arrivals. Two allied chiefs had come into the camp that day, bringing their hordes as well as a gaggle of slaves for the pit. He feasted them upon unaccustomed delicacies: imported wines and spices, birds that were not native to the steppe, even fish raised in the ponds of Bukhrosha, brought in by courier, still living in skin bags of water. It was important to his future plans that the austere Kagans of the steppe acquire a taste for the exotic delights of civilization.

"Your reputation for hospitality was not exaggerated, chief of the Ashkuz," said a leather-faced Kagan. His narrow eyes drank in the sight of a dozen Vendhyan women, clad only in elaborate jewels and executing one of the lascivious dances for which their land was famed.

"It is my pleasure to share with my friends all that I have," said Bartatua. "If you see aught that pleases you here, ask it of me and it shall be yours. Do you desire one of these dancers for your stay? Take your pick. They have been selected and trained by my own concubine, whom I took when I slew Kuchlug." It did no harm to remind them that he had slain the great chief bare-handed in the midst of his people. It was the kind of feat that made the reputation of an ambitious man.

"Your generosity is far-famed," said another, younger chieftain. "We are much intrigued by your scheme to take Sogaria. But we are puzzled by your plans for this great crowd of slaves. Would you explain this?"

"Aye," said leather-face, who sat upon Bartatua's other side. "We have always defeated the city folk easily because we ride like the wind across the plain. While they lumber about in their armoured formations, we strike behind them and are gone. It is our swiftness and our incomparable bows that give us mastery. If we must take along these slaves, we shall be slowed to a walking pace and much of our advantage shall be lost."

"Attend me, then, and I shall explain."

The Kagan of the Ashkuz was taller than most of his race, with the long arms and tremendous shoulders of a great bowman. He was of the western Hyrkanians, with green eyes, and auburn hair worked into a number of small plaits. His handsome features had a slightly east-era cast, but his skin was fair beneath its weathering. Tattooed swirls decorated his cheeks, adding to the powerful ferocity of his countenance. Although Bartatua had no more than thirty years and was quite young to be so great a Kagan, his personal force and aura of power were those of a great leader of men. He sipped at his wine as he prepared his explanation.

"Within a few days, we shall begin our campaign. The slaves will not be needed until we commence siege

operations, so they shall not move with the regular army. Instead, they shall be sent forth first, under a small herding force. A few days later, the cavalry squadrons under their leaders shall move out. They shall pass the slaves before the borders of Sogarian territory are reached."

The others nodded, understanding the thrust of his tactics.

"The first stage of operations," Bartatua went on, "shall be much like our accustomed raiding into the territory of the city people. A large number of detached forces shall hit several targets at once. These shall be outlying forts, villages and the like. Our purpose shall be to harry and terrify. It is important at this stage that we do little killing, no more than necessary."

"Why is that?" asked the older chief. It was ancient Hyrkanian custom to massacre all the defeated who were deemed of no value once their goods had been taken.

"Because the people are more useful to us alive at this stage. Once they realize that their homes and garrisons are no longer safe, they will flee, and they will all go in a single direction."

"Straight into Sogaria!" said the younger chief.

"Exactly, my friend," Bartatua said with hearty approval. "We shall herd them like sheep. They will pour into Sogaria until the city bulges like a wineskin, eating up its stores, fighting for space to live, stirring up hatred among the regular inhabitants. Each batch of fleeing peasants shall make our task easier for us."

"Soon even the city folk must see the foolishness of taking in so many useless mouths," said the older chief. "They will close the gates against them."

Bartatua waved his hand in an airy gesture. "Such as

huddle without the walls we can dispose of handily. Some we may press into siege works. By the time we herded the whole countryside into the city, our entire horde will be reunited and we shall have the place surrounded. By then, the marching slaves shall have arrived and we may commence siege operations."

"This is a most sagacious plan," said the older ', "and you may count on my horde for this one." The younger roan vigorously assented as well.

He was deeply satisfied. His plans went much further than the taking of a single city, but he did not wish to burden these simple warrior-chiefs with anything too complex. In any case, he needed a season as sole leader of the united tribes so as to cement his position as over-chief of all the hordes, Ushi-Kagan. Let the tribesmen get a taste of the loot to be had and they would demand that he lead them to further conquests. In the meantime, he would accomplish much more with weapons than he would with talk.

His ambitions spanned a far greater compass than these chiefs, and the others who sat in the tent, could ever comprehend. As a boy, he had listened to the tales of travellers describing distant lands and their great cities. He had gone on raids that probed the borders of those lands, and he had seen how soft, slow and poorly organized the civilized powers were. He wanted nothing less than to conquer them all, and to take all they had as his personal property. He would take great Khitai first, then voluptuous Vendhya, and after that, perhaps Turan and the gleaming kingdoms of the west, then sorcerous Stygia, and the lands south of Stygia, of which he had heard that the people were black and that there were elephants greater than those of Vendhya.

He was confident that nothing could stop his hordes of horse-archers once they were united under a single rule. He had accomplished much by force of personality and native intelligence. Now he had as well the aid and advice of his beautiful, utterly ruthless concubine Lakhme. A great deal of his tactical planning in the taking of Sogaria had been her idea, as had the concept of gaining a stranglehold on the caravan routes between east and west. He meant to have the world eventually but he had grasped instantly the importance of control ling all the goods and virtually all the information passing between the great lands. Thus at will he could either terrify or lull into complacency the kingdoms at both ends of the routes.

He dragged his thoughts back to his tent. Dreams were for the future. For the present, he had yet to firmly cement his alliances with his fellow Kagans.

"Tonight," Bartatua announced, "we have special entertainment. I have selected my most rebellious slaves and prisoners, but only those best skilled in arms. They shall be pitted against one another for our amusement and so that you may see how your enemies are accustomed to fighting."

A great cheer greeted this announcement, and slaves came in bearing chests from which protruded a great variety of weapons. The Vendhyan dancers scampered off amid a shower of coins, and the rich carpets upon which they had been dancing were taken up, revealing the bare ground. Silent anticipation reigned.

"Bring in the first pair," Bartatua ordered.

Two men were led in on chains. One was the hulking brute with whom Conan had spoken when he entered the fighter pen. "This one I know," said Bartatua. "He was the victor in the last combat a few evenings ago But you," he said to the other, "I know not. Who are you, slave?"

"I am Conan of Cimmeria, and I am a warrior, not a slave." He folded his arms across his massive chest and lowered from beneath lowering brows. He was clean-shaven once more, and he had contrived to bathe with a bucket of water and a rough cloth. His skin was now oiled and caught highlights from the torches.

"Say you so? Yet you wear my neck ring, and that makes you my slave."

"No," Conan said, "it makes me your prisoner. There is a great difference." There was nothing subservient in his pose nor in the volcanic glare of his blue eyes.

"This one has a sharp tongue," said a warrior as he drew a dagger. "Let me split it for you, Kagan."

Conan turned his baleful gaze upon the one who had spoken. "You had best dip your dagger in yon bowl of sauce, warrior," he said.

"And wherefore should I do such a thing, slave?" asked the man scornfully.

"Because," said Conan, "if you seek to use it on me, I shall make you eat it." The tent rocked with laughter, and the dagger-bearer would have leaped upon Conan but was checked by a gesture from Bartatua.

"Nay," said the Kagan. "A free man may not fight with a slave as if with an equal. You amuse me, man of Cimmeria, but the time has come to see whether there is more to you than talk.'' He signed to a slave master and the neck rings of the two were unlocked. "The first fight," said Bartatua, "shall be without weapons. Begin."

No sooner had the command been given than the huge easterner burst into motion. With a speed incredible in a man so large, his foot whipped up and around, aimed for Conan's face. The Cimmerian was still facing Bartatua and had not even glanced toward his opponent beside him. Any other man would have died in that

moment, Its neck snapped by the terrible force of this easterner's kick.

Conan's muscles and nerves acted without hesitation and without need for thought. When the callused f hissed through the space where his head had been Conan was three paces away. The easterner's ft assault flowed into his second as if it were a single motion. The instant his kicking foot touched the ground,, his pivot foot lashed out at the Cimmerian's midsection. Conan slapped the foot aside with his open palm am the easterner spun away, out of range.

There was a ferocious cheer for the vicious assault and for Conan's superb recovery. The Cimmerian never let his eyes move from the man opposite him, who now stood with one leg slightly advanced, fists clench before him at waist level. He could see that the eastern was using a highly sophisticated style of unarmed combat and that the man was accustomed to killing unskilled opponents with it.

Conan had no use for highly structured styles, with or without weapons. They taught a man to think in terms of set situations and left him vulnerable to the unexpected. He preferred to rely upon his own strength, speed and reflexes.

"Come, foreigner," taunted the easterner. "Meet your death at the hands of Tsongkha. I have slain hundreds with these hands and feet. Do not fear, I shall not make you suffer."

Conan grinned fiercely. The man had expected his first assault to kill, and now he had to boast to prop his shaken courage.

"I have no intention of suffering," Conan said. "Let us see more of your dance."

Snarling, Tsongkha leaped in. He feinted a kick at Conan's knee but the true attack came from his right hand, which darted toward the Cimmerian's face, fingers spread to spear the eyes from his head.

Swift as was the attack, Conan was swifter. He grabbed the easterner's wrist, stopping the fingers an inch from his eyes. With a mighty wrench, he twisted the arm mound and down, and Tsongkha grimaced as bones snapped and tendons tore. His other hand shot up, the other of the pair aimed to smash Conan's nose, but the Cimmerian batted the hand aside and smashed an elbow into the man's temple.

Tsongkha collapsed upon the ground, and servants had to drag his inert form from the tent. Conan stood relaxed, unwinded. There were cheers for his performance, but not many of those present truly understood t lie intricacies of unarmed combat. Armed almost from birth, the Hyrkanians considered such things to be the sport of boys.

"The next bout with weapons, Kagan," called a chief whose face was covered by a dragon tattoo.

"By all means," said Bartatua. He looked at Conan and graciously waved a hand over the low table before him. It was still covered with food and wine. "Excellent fight, Cimmerian. Here, refresh yourself before your next bout."

"Why?" Conan asked. "Do I look tired?"

Bartatua slapped his thigh in high amusement. "Never have I seen such arrogance! You shall provide us rare sport. What is your favoured weapon?"

"The sword." He eyed the chests of weapons, seeking a blade to his taste.

;"Then you shall fight with the lance!" said Bartatua. The Hyrkanians rocked with laughter at this example of singly humour.

Conan shrugged. "It is all one." He picked up a slender lance of Vendhya. It was about seven feet long and made of tough ash wood. At one end was a ten-inch point, razor-edged. At the other end was a steel ball the size of a child's fist. He had handled spears since earliest youth and was expert in their use, but the lance was far from his favourite weapon. Within the confines of the tent, he would not be able to use it to best advantage.

The next man to be led in was a lean Turanian, tall and saturnine.

"Choose your weapons," said Bartatua. The man looked through the chests and came back with a long tulwar in one hand and a round steel buckler in the other. The buckler was convex, with four bosses on its face, and was about twenty inches in diameter.

"Begin," said Bartatua.