Conan and the Manhunters Page 11

  'This looks to be a fair place to abide,' said Conan, who had been expecting a squalid little caravan town like so many he had seen.

  'Aye,' said Ubo. 'I would be happy with the prospect were it not for all these soldiers.'

  On the north side of the plaza, Conan espied a large public building above which flew the banner of the king of Iranistan, and beside it, on a lower pole, a flag with the figures of two scarlet lions upon a black background, facing one another in a rampant pose. Along the whole side of the building fronting upon the square was a broad portico shaded by a tiled roof supported by pillars carved with twining ivy, painted in realistic colours. Around a table on this veranda sat what appeared to be a score of officers in silvered or gilded armour.

  'Let us find a place as far as possible from that lot,' Osman advised.

  'My very thought,' said Conan. They rode around the plaza until they came to a tavern on the side farthest from the officers' headquarters. They hitched their horses and found places at a long table. From a serving woman Conan ordered food and wine for all hands. Upon a nearby platform a number of women danced, whirling through intricate patterns amid many flying veils. They wore bright, voluminous dresses, and their arms clattered with bangles. Their veils and head-scarves framed dark faces and black eyes, noses ablaze

  with jewelled studs connected to elaborate earrings by tiny, -.olden chains.

  'These women wear too many clothes for proper dancing,' one of the bandits groused.

  'Doubtless entertainment more to your taste is available in some of the establishments to be found down the alleys,' Conan said.

  'Aye,' said Auda. 'I saw shrines to the god of harlots before some houses near here.'

  'Perhaps you should call at a bathhouse first,' Layla suggested. 'There are some things to which even the lowest of women should not be subjected.'

  'Aye,' said one-eyed Ubo, twirling the ends of his moustache. 'I should find a barber as well, to help restore me to my accustomed beauty.'

  'That would be beyond the powers of the finest barber,' Chamik told him. 'Perhaps our wizard could help.'

  'By striking everyone blind, all else failing,' said Osman. The table roared with laughter.

  Conan had more serious matters on his mind. He leaned aside to speak to a substantial-looking man seated among companions at a table adjacent.

  'Your pardon, sir, but we are strangers just arrived. Are you a resident of this fine city?'

  'That I am,' the man said. 'I am Ushor the spice merchant, and these are the resident freemen of my guild.' He indicated the others at his table, all of them substantial men, who inclined their heads courteously.

  'Then perhaps you could tell me who all these soldiers are. Is there war here in the border country?'

  'Ah, these are the cavalry of General Katchka, commander of the Army of the North. They are here protecting us from the rebels who have come to infest these lands in recent years.'

  'And do you require protection from these rebels?' Conan asked.

  'Of a certainty! Their defiance is intolerable, and we here are all loyal subjects of the king.' Ushor said this loudly, then he and his companions smiled with infinite cynicism.

  'I understand,' Conan assured him.

  'What does this mean?' Layla asked as their pitchers and platters were delivered.

  'It may mean that we are in luck,' said Conan. 'If this general is just chasing rebels, he will have little interest in a few foreigners. From a king's point of view, a handful of home-grown malcontents is more of a problem than a whole foreign army. These troops are probably reasserting royal authority in a place where it hasn't been seen much lately, and no doubt their general is collecting several years' worth of unpaid taxes.'

  'You are better acquainted with the doings of kings and generals than I would have credited,' she said, picking up a skewer of spicy meat and nibbling daintily.

  'I am not always a bandit,' he explained. 'I have served as an officer in many armies.'

  'I must make enquiries,' Volvolicus said, 'to find whether there are any practitioners of my craft in this place.'

  'Can you not, well...' Osman cast about for words '... can you not feel the presence of another magician?'

  Volvolicus looked at him quizzically. 'Where do you get your ideas of sorcerers' abilities? Of course I cannot feel the presence of such a one. If I were in the midst of a spell, with my wards in place, I might well detect the aura of another mage engaged in his own works nearby, but only then.'

  'Say you so?' Osman said, looking disappointed.

  'What will you do if you find one?' Conan asked.

  'It is always pleasant to converse with a colleague,' said Volvolicus.

  This seemed strange to Conan, for in his experience, wizards were a solitary lot, much given to mutual suspicions and jealousies. If this one was sociable, why did he live deep in the desert with only his daughter for company? In his younger and more impetuous days, the Cimmerian might have asked for an explanation, but time and experience had taught

  him that it was often best to keep his suspicions to himself until more evidence came his way.

  They were allowed to finish their meal in peace, and the serious drinking began. As the pitcher was passed around, a man in officer's garb appeared at their table. He was tall and thin, with a slightly more refined version of the predatory look common to the soldiery.

  'I am Captain Mahac,' the man announced, bowing slightly. 'May I be permitted the honour of addressing the spokesman of this group?' The tongue of Iranistan was closely related to that of Turan, and Conan had no trouble following the man's words.

  'I am the captain of this band,' he stated.

  'My leader, the illustrious General Katchka, would greatly esteem the pleasure of your company at his table, sir.' The formality of the captain's words in no way decreased the deadliness of his manner.

  'I am honoured,' Conan said, standing. Then, to his men: 'Stay out of trouble.'

  'In luck, eh?' Layla said.

  'It is no cause for alarm,' Conan assured her. 'It is natural for a military commander to be suspicious of a band of armed men in his territory. I would think it unusual if he did not summon me sooner or later. It seems that this General Katchka is a man who wastes no time.'

  The Cimmerian strode along behind Captain Mahac. As they crossed the square, the desert wind blew a cooling spray from the fountain in their path. Whoever had designed and placed the fountain, he thought, had done the town a favour beyond reward. No wonder the general had chosen the spot for his headquarters.

  They mounted the stair and found the table full of officers already far gone in drink, but they appeared to be the sort of hard-bitten professionals who were as dangerous and efficient drunk as they were when sober. At the head of the table sat a man who appeared at first glance to be fat, but a closer look revealed that he was as burly as a wine cask, with heavy muscle beneath a deceptive padding of flesh. He wore a sleeveless vest of mail, the flat rings plated with gold and carved with protective charms. He gestured to a stool next to his chair.

  'Be seated, stranger. Have something to drink.' His voice was low and hoarse.

  Conan sat and took a cup of hammered silver, raising it I 'To your Excellency's health.'

  Katchka raised his own cup. 'And yours.' The two drank, then the general went on. 'You and your little band caught my eye as you rode in. I desired to speak with you, but you showed the signs of a long ride and I thought it best to let you refresh yourselves first.' The blast of winy breath was fit to shrivel hair, but his words were clear enough.

  'Your courtesy is deeply appreciated,' Conan said. 'How ' may I be of service?'

  On Conan's other side sat a tall, hatchet-faced man dressed in fine clothes. This one spoke. 'I am the Vizier Akiiba, his majesty's military commissioner for the northern district. The general and I had some discussion concerning your band. I May we know your name?'

  'I am Conan of Cimmeria.'

  'Cimmeria?' Katchka said.
'Where is that?'

  'It is a nation of the far north,' the vizier said, 'beyond even Aquilonia. I have never encountered a man of your nation. How do you come to be so far south?'

  'I am a captain of mercenaries. Wars are few in the north just now. My men and I came looking for a quiet, peaceful spot in which to spend our pay and wait for opportunity to come our way.'

  'May an old soldier observe,' said Katchka, 'that your men display little of the discipline customary among professional soldiers?'

  'They are irregulars,' Conan said.

  'Irregulars. I see,' said the vizier, smiling as if they all shared a joke.

  'So long as you cause no trouble here,' Katchka said,

  'you may stay as long as you like, as far as I am concerned. As for the townsmen, they will make you welcome as long as your money lasts.'

  'I am accustomed to that,' Conan said.

  'I trust you have had no dealings with the rebels in these parts,' said Akhba.

  'Nor even heard of them until this very hour,' Conan assured him. 'I take no interest in other people's wars unless I am hired to. In my experience, rebels rarely have the money 0 pay professional troops.'

  'It is good that you think that way,' said Katchka, refilling Conan's cup. 'Keep thinking thus and you and I shall remain friends.'

  'Who are these rebels?' Conan asked. 'I want nothing to do with their cause, for we crossed the Ilbars only yesterday and ere we saw this town, we saw only villages and sour-raced peasants. But if there is war here, I would know who is fighting whom.'

  'That is wise,' said the vizier. 'Know then that His Serene Majesty, Xarxas the Ninth, has occupied the Phoenix Throne by grace of Lord Mitra for seventeen years.' The court official pronounced these words rollingly, as if this were a formula that prefaced all pronouncements concerning the king. 'Upon his accession, in accordance with the custom laid down six centuries ago by the founder of the Dynasty, Djaris the Supreme, he had all his brothers strangled that there should be no' disputes over the succession and thus peace should reign in the land. This is a harsh law, but a wise and just one. Better that a few supernumerary princes should die than the nation be devastated by civil war.'

  'It is a custom widely practised,' Conan averred, 'although I never ere now visited a nation where it was part of the code of law.'

  'Djaris the Supreme was a man of clear vision,' said the vizier, 'and he maintained that nothing was more superfluous than a superfluity of royalty.'

  'He'll get no disagreement from me,' Conan said.

  'Sometimes a prince gets overlooked,' Katchka said. 'This time, a concubine concealed the fact that she was with child. She whelped the brat in secret and had him raised by her kindred here in the north. Now that the stripling is old enough to ride at their head, his mother's family has proclaimed him the true heir and raised a rebellion.'

  Conan paused with his cup halfway to his lips. 'The son of a concubine? Is he taken seriously?'

  'Perhaps our law differs from those with which you are familiar,' said the vizier. 'To inherit, one must be a son of the former king by a lawful wife or concubine. That is all. All of the royal princes are educated in war and administration, as if each were to be the sole heir. At the king's inevitable death...' He shrugged as if the results were self-evident.

  'Then the winner of the squabble takes all, and the most ruthless inherits the throne,' Conan finished for him. 'Djaris the Supreme again?'

  'Just so,' said Akhba. 'But I must point out that Djaris the Supreme prized cleverness as highly as courage, and the winner most often is the son who can first lay hands upon the royal treasury. There is a good deal of art to this accomplishment.'

  'Aye, it is the loyalty of the soldiers that decides who is to be king,' Conan said. 'And it is not only among we mercenaries that their first loyalty is to their paymaster.'

  'All too true,' the vizier agreed. 'In any case, be warned that there are rebels in this district. The rebellion is petty, and we shall put it down handily. But the land is vast, and the rebellious dogs have many hiding places and strongholds and we must winkle them out of all of them in order to crush this thing. Do not make the mistake of getting involved with them.'

  Conan knew better than to protest friendship or loyalty. He merely shrugged. 'If they be poor, I'll have nothing to do with them.'

  'Very good,' said Katchka. He pushed a tray of honeyed sweets toward the Cimmerian. 'Have some. They are a speciality here.'

  Conan took one and bit into it. It was indeed delicious. Beneath the layer of honey were chopped dates and nuts in a mini pastry shell. He knew that the two were leaving much unsaid about this rebellion, and he knew as well that it -would be far safer to question someone else about these lapses.

  'Who knows?' said the vizier. 'It might well be that we ourselves could use your services.'

  Something in his tone made Conan extremely cautious. 'I have seen His Excellency's-camps outside the town, and his soldiers within. The horses ate splendid and kept in the finest military order. The men have the look of hawks. What use could he have for my little band, much depleted by our last campaign? We do not even know this area.'

  'What is destined to transpire shall transpire,' said Akhba with the air of a man quoting an old proverb. 'We may find more to do up here in the north than chase rebels, and it may be that the services of a specialist are required.'

  'My men are happy spending their pay just now,' Conan said, uncomfortable with the implications.

  'Let them enjoy themselves,' Katchka said. 'Their gold will not last long here, if they spend it the way my riders spend theirs.' The general stroked his moustache. 'You had a comely woman with you when you rode in. Surely she is not a part of your band.'

  'She is my mistress. Among us, men of the rank of captain or higher are permitted to carry one along on campaign.' This could get tricky, should the general wish to claim the woman for himself.

  'You've good taste, if the rest of her matches her face.' His interest, to Conan's relief, seemed slight. 'Who was the older man who rode beside her? He looks more the scholar than the soldier.' The general was crude and unpolished compared with the vizier, but he also seemed shrewd.

  'That man is a wizard named Volvolicus,' Conan said, seeing little advantage in prevarication.

  'A wizard!' said Akhba. 'How comes such a one to ride with ban... that is to say, with mercenaries?'

  Conan was sure that the slip had been deliberate. 'A certain operation during our last hire called for his skills. He chose to stay with us for a little while before he returns home.'

  'You have an interesting band, Cimmerian,' said Akhba. 'Enjoy your stay in Green Water. Be sure, before setting out upon any journeys, to report to us beforehand. This is a province under military government, and one may not travel about freely as in ordinary times.'

  Taking this for dismissal, Conan stood. 'I shall be sure to do so. However, I think that most of my energies will be spent in dragging my tosspots out of taverns and brothels and breaking up their brawls.'

  'See that they do not brawl with my men,' Katchka warned. 'My discipline is severe, but when my men fight with civilians, I always find in their favour unless they stab someone high-born.'

  'I shall impress it upon them,' Conan said. 'A good evening to you, my lords.'

  The Cimmerian walked back across the square amid serving boys who were setting up torches, for the sun was already low and darkness would fall with startling swiftness when the orb dipped below the horizon. Music of drum and harp began to replace that of flute and tambour, and the new dancers were less sedate. The merchants were folding up their awnings and packing away their goods for the evening, when the public bazaar would be devoted wholly to entertainment. The bulk of those visiting the town were desert caravaneers, but Conan saw a sprinkling of merchants from faraway lands: dusky tradesmen of the Black Kingdoms dressed in white robes and bearing long spears of steel; short, pudgy Vendhyans in bright turbans; even a small group of men from far Khitai, with l
ong, plaited hair and robes of colourful silk. Their leader was a white-haired man whose four-inch fingernails were encased in sheaths of jewel-studded gold.

  'Are you all sober enough to hear my words?' Conan asked as he reseated himself at the table.

  'By Set, Chief, we've but had time to take the edge off our thirst,' Ubo protested. 'Give us at least until midnight to grow truly drunk.'

  'Then attend me closely. Our lives may depend upon your behaviour from here on.' Briefly, he sketched the situation, describing General Katchka, Vizier Akhba, and the rebellion in the north, along with the instructions of those redoubtable men.

  'By Asura!' groused Mamos the Khorajan. 'We but wanted a peaceful spot wherein to revel. Have these people no regard for the good of their fellow men?'

  'What is all this about wanting our services?' Osman asked uneasily.

  'That I do not know,' Conan admitted. 'But I intend to do my best to keep us out of their business. On the other hand, it could be suicide to refuse. Then we must decide whether we can run for the. border faster than they can pursue.'

  'These are well-mounted cavalry,' said Auda. 'Those of us on Sagobal's stolen horses might make it, but even that is doubtful, for we have no surplus racers for remounts.'

  'Then we must be very cautious,' Conan stressed. 'Give them no cause for offence, and try not to attract their attention.'

  'We shall be as innocent baby birds, Chief,' Mamos avowed.

  'Aye,' muttered Layla in a low voice. 'Forever lolling about, waiting for somebody else to gather worms and poke them down your gullet.'

  'See that it is so,' said Conan. 'If the soldiers are insolent, smile meekly and put a good face upon it. You cannot win, for they have their general's protection.'

  'Not even if they insult my mother,' said Osman, 'who begat me and then picked the very finest, the softest and most fragrant dung heap in Shagara whereon to abandon me. Even if I hear their lips question her virtue, I shall smile and bow and walk on by.'