Conan the Rogue

by John Maddox Roberts

  The three faltered, and the tall one frowned. 'I thought you said you fought only for business,' he muttered.

  'Now it is business,' Conan answered. 'Well, don't stand there all day. My food is getting cold.' Still they did nothing, clearly uneasy at the barbarian's seeming lack of concern. 'Will you laugh as you did when you murdered that man the other day? I hope so. It is always good to die laughing.'

  With a muttered curse, the bearded one grasped his hilt. Too swiftly for the eye to follow, Conan snatched out his dirk and snapped its edge against the man's wrist. The arm came up for the expected vertical draw, but the blade did not follow, nor did lie hand, which remained where it was, gripping the hilt.

  The tall one showed creditable speed, leaping back to give himself both time and distance as he drew, but Conan denied him the latter, springing past the now one-handed man and slamming the dirk upward beneath the tall one's chin, the point piercing the brain in an instant.

  The short one had gone dead white, but his blade was clear of its scabbard. With his free hand, the Cimmerian gripped the man's wrist as he jerked his own blade free of the tall one. The short one's eyes widened with horror as he felt his arm held as immovable as if fixed in a vice. He had only an instant for reflection before the dagger crunched through his ribs, piercing the light mail armour he wore beneath his clothing.

  Conan released the dirk and stepped back, his eyes wary. The tall one had dropped to the pave like a man beheaded. The short one tottered for a moment, still gripping his sword in one hand as with the other he plucked ineffectually at the hilt protruding from his side. Then the blade clattered to the stone and the man tottered and fell. The third gripped his severed wrist, glaring hate at the Cimmerian.

  'Go find a leech with a searing iron and you might yet live,' Conan said in disgust. 'None of you was truly worth killing.'

  The bearded man showed more fight than Conan would have given him credit for. With his left hand, he drew his sword straight up and wheeled around to his left, thrusting to his rear, trying to skewer Conan with his point. It was a tricky move, difficult even for an unhurt master swordsman, which the man was not. Conan simply stepped forward and turned along with the man, as if the two were dancing. He reached over the man's shoulder with one hand and gripped his chin. With the other he gripped the back of his opponent's head and twisted violently. The neck bones sheared audibly and the man dropped by the other two.

  Before proceeding, Conan looked around. It was foolish t assume that just because he had slain his immediate enemies, there would be none of their friends nearby. The crowd was dead'. silent, and no man made a hostile move. Conan nodded grimly, stooped and wrenched his dirk free of the bearded one's corpses He wiped the weapon on the man's red-leather doublet and re-sheathed it, then strolled back toward the wineshop.

  Delia tried to stammer a greeting when he resumed his seat, but she could not get the words out. He took the cover from his plate and began to eat, pleased to note that the food was still warm.

  'I knew you were strong,' Delia stammered at last, 'when you hauled me up on the pedestal yesterday. I knew you were mad when you so easily accepted the challenge of those three killers. But I never thought any man could be so fast!'

  Conan brooded into his cup of hot, spiced wine. 'A man of war who treads the world's roads alone, as I do, must be quick. Rarely do I have a trusted comrade to watch my back, or to fight by my side. Long ago I learned to strike swiftly and without scruple. I trouble no man without cause, but one who attacks me had best resolve to die.'

  'And yet you would have spared the man you unhanded,' she said.

  'He was no longer dangerous, alone and one-handed as he was. Considering that he was no warrior, he showed some heart at the end. I do not make such an offer twice.'

  'Uh-oh,' Delia said, 'here comes Ermak. What does he want?'

  'To talk to me,' Conan said, tearing open a loaf of bread.

  The man in half-armour stopped at the table, his left hand resting easily upon the pommel of his basket-hilted sword. He did not bow or make any formal greeting, but only regarded Conan steadily with chill, grey eyes, the eyes of a professional killer.

  'That was a remarkable show, Cimmerian,' he said.

  Conan shrugged. 'It would have been remarkable had made me draw my sword.'

  The man smiled grimly. 'Aye, it was not a fight. Rather, it was an extermination of vermin. Even so, only a real warrior could have done it so handily. My man Nevus told me of you. Are you seeking work? If so, there is a place for you in my band.'

  'I am employed just now,' Conan answered. 'But that may change.'

  'Then seek me out if it does. I am easy to find.' He turned to Delia. 'Where is Maxio hiding these days?'

  She tilted her head back and lowered her lids as if she were looking down her nose at him. 'My man's whereabouts are his own concern. If he wants me to tell you, he will inform me so.'

  'Good day to you both, then,' said Ermak.

  Delia shivered slightly as she stared at his retreating figure. 'That one is no armoured fool with a sword he does not know how to use.'

  'I can see that clearly enough,' Conan said.

  She smiled ruefully. 'Aye, you hardly need me to tell you such a thing. A man like you knows another warrior when he sees him.'

  'There is one thing you can tell me,' Conan said.

  She gave him what was intended to be a coy look. 'And what might that be?'

  'Do you not worry about what your man Maxio will think when he finds out you have been seen so much in my company?'

  'I am neither his wife nor his slave,' she said haughtily. 'He cannot tell me where to go nor whom to see. I am my own woman.'

  'I wonder that Bombas has not sent his henchmen to call upon me,' Conan commented.

  She snorted contempt. 'What have you done to cause him any distress? He fears you, because he fears everyone. And he is unsure of why you are here. Be careful that he does not come to believe you a royal spy, sent to investigate him.'

  Conan emptied his cup and set it on the table. 'I had not thought of that. To kill an investigator would merely bring another

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  one in his place. Should he suspect that I spy for the king, he will just offer me a bribe.'

  'And if he does that?'

  'Why, I will accept, of course!'

  Delia laughed raucously again and then rose. 'I must be on my way now. If you want to find me, I am usually here in the Square at this time of day. But should you want to see me privately,' she placed her hands on the table and leaned forward, letting her gown gape open, 'I am to be found in the Street of the Woodcarvers. My apartment is just above the Sign of the Sunburst. If I am alone, there will be a white cloth hanging from the window just over the sign.' She straightened, then added, 'White is easy to see at night.' With that, she turned and left him.

  Conan was amused at the brazen invitation, but he had learned to be cautious. He would not take up her offer until he had had a look at this Maxio. He had a suspicion that the man was about to ', discard his woman and that she was looking about for a replacement. If so, all would be well. If not, there could be trouble.

  He rose and left the wineshop. As he crossed the Square, a squad of bored-looking public slaves trundled their wheelbarrow toward the three inert bodies that lay in a widening pool of blood. The slaves carried buckets and bore mops over their shoulders. Nobody came toward him from the Reeve's headquarters, so – Conan assumed that he was free from official interference for the present.

  He left the Square by way of an alley between the temple and the wall surrounding the house of Xanthus. He was not at all surprised when someone hissed at him from a gate in the wall around the rich man's house.

  'You, outlander! Warrior! Come here.' The speaker was an elderly slave in old-fashioned livery.

  'What do you want?' Conan asked.

  The slave leaned out and looked up and down the alley, presumably to ascertain whether anyone was watching. He turn
ed back to Conan. 'Come in here. My master craves converse with you.'

  It seemed to the Cimmerian that never before had so many people invited him to confer in such a short time. At least this old slave did not try to persuade him with weapons. He ducked beneath the low lintel and entered a courtyard that must at one time have been fine, but now the remains of wilted plants stood in overgrown planters and the wind blew dry leaves over the cracked pavement. Pulped fruit dropped by ornamental olive trees made footing slippery.

  The slave closed and barred the gate. 'Come this way,' he said. Conan followed the shuffling old man through a door in the rear of the house. It opened into a kitchen in which a pair of slave women toiled over a stove. They did not look up as he passed. The slave led him up a flight of stairs and down a hallway and into a spacious room lined with shelves bearing books and scrolls. A fire crackled on a stone hearth.

  'Abide here a while,' the slave said. 'My master will be along presently.'

  The slave left through a panelled door. Conan strolled to a floor-length window that opened upon a small balcony overlooking the Square; it was no more than fifty paces from where he had slain the red-clad murderers. Anyone who might have stood here, he thought, would have had an excellent view of the proceedings.

  'Greetings, swordsman,' said a voice behind him. The Cimmerian turned to see an elderly man swathed in thick woollen garments. A mantle of rare white fur draped his shoulders, and atop that lay a chain of massive gold, studded with huge gems. His face was thin and ravaged by time, but his voice had strength.

  Conan nodded curtly. 'Sir. What would you have of me?'

  The old man crossed to the window and gazed out upon the slaves busily plying their mops. The bodies were gone.

  'I was in my study when my man-slave told me there was about to be an amusing show in the Square. In the past, the rogues of the town slew each other in the alleys of the Pit, and at night. Now they fight pitched battles in the Square in broad daylight. I have come to treasure these little shows. My pleasures have been few of late. I witnessed your slaying of those three fellows in red leather. That was prettily done. Ingas's men are accounted dangerous in this town.'

  'I am good at my work,' Conan said laconically.

  'It is that very thing I wish to speak of. Will you work tor me and kill some rogues who need killing?'

  Conan suppressed a smile. The man's direct, businesslike manner was refreshing: no offer of dinner or even of a cup of wine, ' no long, tedious story, just an offer of pay for service.

  'What is your offer?' he asked.

  'This was once a fine city, with myself as its leading citizen. Now it is a lawless place, dominated by the scum and sweepings of this and all the neighbouring lands. It needs a thorough cleansing, and I think you are just the man to do it.'

  'One man?' Conan asked. 'To subdue a town full of outlaws?'

  'I will pay generously. You may hire such bravos as you wish. Killers work cheap in this city. But it should not be necessary to exterminate the lot. A few leaders are causing all the trouble, slay the wolves, and the leaderless dogs will be easy to deal with.'

  'I have heard,' the Cimmerian said, 'that it was you yourself who brought Ermak to town.'

  'And what if I did? The miners' guild stirred up trouble and required putting down. Then the rogue would not leave town when I ordered him to.'

  'Since this is a royal burgh,' Conan said, 'why did you not appeal to the Crown for help with the miners? Or for expelling the mercenaries?' Conan watched the man's face closely, but the old features displayed only overweening pride and self-confidence.

  'My dealings with his majesty, King Numedides, are my own affair, nothing that a barbarian sell sword need concern himself with.'

  'As you will,' Conan said. 'I can do the job for you. I will want twenty thousand golden marks of Aquilonia. Half now.'

  To his astonishment, the ancient head nodded. 'Done.' Xanthus tugged on a cord and moments later the old servitor appeared. The master whispered in the slave's ear and gave him a massive key. Then he turned back to Conan.

  'You will have your money presently. You need not render me reports of your progress. When the task is done, come to me for the balance of your pay. I think this concludes our business.'

  'Not quite,' Conan said. He had walked to the window again and stood with his back to Xanthus, staring across the Square toward the Reeve's headquarters. 'Will you speak to the King's Reeve and see that he gives me no trouble or interference?' A small looking glass hung on the wall next to the window, and in it he saw the old man wince slightly, his arrogant composure slipping for the first time.

  'You are to stay clear of him. I do not want him brought into this matter in any way, and I cannot intercede with him for you.'

  'I thought you were the richest man in Sicas,' Conan said, 'and he is a bribe-taker.'

  'Then bribe him yourself if he troubles you!' Xanthus spat. 'By Mitra, I am paying you enough to pass a few bribes! Matters old and ill lie between us, and I'll have nothing to do with Bombas. Now get to your work, swordsman. I expect to hear good things of you in the near future.' With that, the old man whirled and stalked out amid floating robes. Conan smiled coldly toward the fur-clad back.

  Minutes later, the old butler tottered in, bowed beneath the weight of a leather sack as long as Conan's forearm and as thick as two of those arms held together. The gold coins the sack held were stuffed in so tightly that they did not even clink. Without a word, the Cimmerian picked up the bag and left the house.

  With a light heart and a springy stride, Conan sought out the Street of the Woodcarvers. In one hand he clutched the weighty bag as lightly as another man would have held a pillow stuffed with down. He was careful not to give indication of the thing's true weight, for then the practised eyes of the town's numerous thieves would have discerned that he carried gold.

  He saw the Sign of the Sunburst, its gilded rays shining brilliantly in the midday sunlight, but he did not seek Delia. Instead he went to a joiner's shop and bought a stout wooden casket well mounted with thick iron straps. This he carried to the Street of Locksmiths and purchased the strongest padlock he could find to fit the coffer's hasp.

  He bore the coffer, with the bag now safely inside it, upon his shoulder as he returned to the inn. There he added to it most of the money he had received from Casperus. Already he had acquired more money than he could readily carry with him, and he had yet to accomplish a single one of his tasks. He knew that he could not leave his bounty unwatched at the inn, but the strongbox would do until he could cache his new wealth. He all but whistled as he turned the key in the lock. No sooner had he withdrawn the key than the door opened and Brita entered.

  'Still no luck, eh?' he said, noting her downcast look.

  'None. Oh, a few people have seen girls answering Vila's description, but who knows if this was her indeed. I myself have seen a score of small, yellow-haired girls her age here.' She sat on the room's single chair, knees together and hands clasped upon them. Once again she was the demure, well-bred girl she had at first seemed. Now Conan was not so sure. He knew himself to be less than astute when it came to women, but he was no fool.

  Dropping the key into his pouch, he lifted the coffer by its side handles and deposited it upon the foot of his bed. He made the effort seem easy, but the great muscles sprang into prominence along his arms as he did it, earning him an admiring look from Brita. He stretched himself upon the bed, his feet crossed at the ankles atop the coffer, his fingers laced behind his tousled, black-haired head as he leaned back against a pile of cushions.

  'Well, I have had a very good day indeed,' he said with satisfaction.

  She smiled. 'I rejoice to hear it. Tell me all about it.'

  Briefly, he did so. A look of unmistakable jealousy crossed her face when he told her of his luncheon with Delia, followed by a look of horror when he related the challenge by Ingas's three killers. Her hand flew to her open mouth when he told her how he had slain the three. The
n he related his summons from the house of Xanthus.

  'And you did this just to attract that man's notice?' she gasped, her eyes round with incredulity.

  'I would have had to deal with them anyway. They were determined to call me out. Better the three of them before me in daylight than behind me in the dark. I was sure to be seen from the house of Xanthus and the temple both. It was just a question of who would summon me first. Xanthus was quicker.' Then he told her of his interview with the old man.

  'But surely,' she said when he finished, 'you do not truly intend to kill or chase out every villain in this hideous town all by yourself?'

  'We shall see how it falls out,' he said non-committally. 'What troubles me more is the old bandit's readiness to pay. I demanded half on account, expecting him to laugh in my face and offer perhaps one fifth, which I would have accepted. Instead, he agreed upon the half without a word of protest.'

  'Then he is desperate,' she said.

  Conan shook his head. 'No, it is not that. He is said to be the richest man in Sicas, but the only servants I saw were an old valet of all work and two slatternly women to cook and clean. He has what was once a fine courtyard, yet he has not even a gardener to keep it in order. His house is splendid, but he must have inherited that. Otherwise, the only things splendid about him are his clothes and his jewels, upon which he does not stint. No, the man is a miser as tight-fisted as any I have ever seen. Yet he handed me ten thousand gold marks without demur.'

  'Why would he do such a thing?' she asked.

  He grinned without mirth. 'Because he expects to get his money back. He is wrong. I will spend my wealth, or gamble it away, or give it away, or just throw it away, but no man takes

  back what he has paid me when I have rendered him good service.'

  'And will you do as he wants?' she asked uncomfortably.

  'I took his money, did I not?' he said indignantly. Then, smiling, 'Of course, all may not fall out exactly as he thinks. But that often happens when one rogue tries to outwit another. I do confess, though, that I wonder what lies between him and the King's Reeve. Bombas is in every man's purse, so why not in that of the man with the biggest purse in Sicas?'