'I told you, we have arrangements with all the gang leaders here. They are well paid to leave us alone.'
'Apparently one of them thinks he is not paid well enough,' Conan said.
'Which one?' she demanded.
'Ingas.'
'Him! I settled with him just last week, and he has raised his bloody extortionate rates three times this year! I detest that robber! Well, if there is any more to this than mere talk, I know just I low to deal with a man who refuses to stay bought. I had hoped in avoid such trouble, but other hard men have crossed me to their regret.'
'This temple is a maze, and it is hard to get from one place in another quickly,' Conan said. 'I think you should give me a room on the same floor as the girl, so I can keep a closer eye on her.'
'I think not,' Oppia said. 'I want no one on that floor save her. The... the evil spirits are especially strong near her, and you would not be able to sleep. You might even come to harm.'
'As you will,' he answered. 'But I feel that I cannot guard her properly where I am. I go now to see what I can learn in the I'll,'
'See that you do not stay absent for long,' she ordered. 'You me away from the temple too much. When you are not here, you are of little use as a guard... or for any other use I might have for you.'
'Be assured, you are always in my thoughts. You'll not regret vim hired me.' He turned and left the temple, descending the steps to the pave below.
The broad, monument-studded Square was almost devoid of people at this late hour, but there was a lively commerce beneath the colonnaded portico, where the ladies of the evening plied their indolent trade. Sconce-held torches provided light by which the women paraded their wares and lesser merchants peddled the roods that always seemed to go with such traffic: drink, trifling small items, medications and potions guaranteed to restore flagging powers. A few dancers postured and pirouetted for tossed coins. Fortune-tellers offered their services to the gullible.
Feeling in need of a little diversion before getting down to the deadly serious business of the night, the Cimmerian ambled across the Square toward the colonnade to watch the human parade. As he neared, he saw a familiar form standing on the steps of the portico talking with a pair of gaily dressed women, their overused features disguised by heavy cosmetics and flattered by the soft, flickering torchlight. It was Nevus, his acquaintance from Ermak's troop. The man smiled when he saw the Cimmerian approach.
'Conan! Come join me. These two ladies would very much like companionship for the night. I confess that I have reached an age at which two women present a challenge that two swordsmen would not. Join us.'
'I regret to tell you that I have business to attend to this night,' Conan said. 'Another time, perhaps. But I would speak wit! you.'
Nevus turned to his companions. 'I will return presently, my lovelies. Seek no lesser company in the meanwhile.' He left amid soft laughter from the women.
'I thank you,' Conan said as the two stepped into a shaded alcove provided with a stone bench where citizens could take refuge from the sun in the broiling days of summer. 'Tell me, Nevus, where do Ingas's men disport themselves of an evening?'
The soldier gaped. 'You want to stay well clear of that place! The red-birds harbour little love for you since you slew three of them just a few paces from this spot. I wish I could have seen that. Ermak spoke highly of the feat, and he is a man sparing of his praise.'
'Nevertheless,' Conan said, 'I wish to call on them.'
'It is upon your head, then,' said Nevus. 'Most nights they keep to a dive called the Skull. It is in the Pit.'
Conan nodded. 'I've seen the sign. Tell me, Nevus, what do you know of your leader's dealings with Xanthus? I heard a rumour that he raided the miners' village for Xanthus and took away the women and children.'
The man would not meet his eyes. 'I know little of that. It was before I came here and joined the band. The others will not, I'm sure of it.'
'Little wonder,' Conan said. 'It is not worthy of a warrior to do so. That is work for slavers.'
'Well, I had nothing to do with it!' Nevus insisted. rejoice to hear it,' Conan said. 'Thank you for your aid.' he turned to leave when Nevus spoke.
'Conan. You should not go down to the Skull alone. Do you want me to go along?'
'No, but I thank you for the offer. Nevus, you seem to be an honourable warrior. I advise you to break your connection with Ermak and leave this town. Things are about to get very bad in here.'
'I do not know what you mean, Cimmerian. Bad times are when a warrior prospers best. And when I take service with a man, I stay by his side until he is dead or fails in his side of the bargain. Ermak has not yet failed to pay his men on time.' It was a mercenary's highest commendation, and there was no arguing with it.
'Farewell, then, Nevus.' The Cimmerian turned to leave.
'Good luck at the Skull,' said the mercenary.
'And good luck to you with those women,' Conan said.
You'll need it more than I.'
He wandered down the dark streets into the lower town. He recalled that in his explorations, he had passed a sign shaped like a human skull, curiously wrought from strips of blackened iron, it was but a few streets' distance from the Wyvern, and as Conan approached it, he saw that lights burned in the eye sockets of the strange sign, providing the only illumination to be had on the street. Sacks of copper had been added to the flames, for they burned ominously green.
Unlike the Wyvern, which was below street level, the Skull stood higher than the street, and Conan ascended a short flight of steps to its porch, beneath the skull sign. The door was closed against the chill of the night, and he grasped the massive bronze handle to pull it open.
Within, it was a far smaller establishment than the other, with only a scattering of tables. Besides a few women, all of ii inhabitants were men dressed in red leather. At his entrance, stared at him as if seeing an apparition. There were about a do; of them, and as soon as they were over their astonishment, they began to rise from their tables, snatching at their long swords.
'Hold!' barked a stern voice from the rear of the room.
Conan ignored them all as he crossed from the door to the bar. He displayed a slight unsteadiness as he moved, as though he were well into drink. He leaned on the bar and snapped his fingers at the woman behind it.
'Wine!' the Cimmerian called. It was delivered and he drank. His ears told him that no one drew near. With his tankard half emptied, he turned and leaned back with his elbows on the bar. Every eye in the room glared at him. At the rear, a man sat alone at a table. He was older than the others, with a clean-shaven face and a dissipated mien, but he bore the unmistakable stamp of the Poitainian nobility. He dressed in red leathers, like his men, but his were elaborately tailored, and richly embroidered with silver and gold wire. The left breast was embroidered with the crest of a high family of Poitain, but the emblem was slashed with the jagged, horizontal bar that signified the bearer had been disinherited. The man seemed to wear the symbol as a sort of defiance.
'You are a bold one to beard us in our very den,' said the man whom Conan knew could only be Ingas.
'A brave hunter beards lions,' Conan sneered. 'It is not necessary to beard jackals.' There was another stirring among the thugs, and another calming gesture from their leader.
'Who are you, Cimmerian?' Ingas demanded. 'Who has hired you to defy me? Who has paid you to slay my men?'
'I work for none of your rivals,' Conan said. 'As for those three fools, it was they who set upon me. They behaved insolently from the time I arrived in this town. Finally they challenged me in public as I sat at dinner. That I do not tolerate.'
'Aye,' Ingas said. 'They acted on their own, not upon my orders, wherefore I have let the matter rest and have not sent my men for your head. I might have let it stand at that, but now you have come to my own territory to cast your defiance in my teeth, mill that do not tolerate!'
'Am I to tremble at the threats of a Poitainian outcast?' Conan
demanded, deliberately slurring his words. All the while, he kept Ins eyes upon the two men standing closest to Ingas. Both of them wore somewhat older than the rest of the gang. One was a tall man whose nose had been cut almost in half at some time in the past. The other was a squat, barrel-shaped lump of muscle, with huge hands.
Ingas sat back, smiling. 'No, you are not going to provoke me inst yet. Even a drunken Cimmerian would not come here like this without a reason. Someone has hired you to do this, foreigner. Which one? Ermak? Lisip? That fat scoundrel Bombas? Do their men await without?' Nervously, his men eyed the door, fingering their hilts.
Conan snorted. 'You are a coward, just as I thought.' He rained his tankard and slammed it down on the bar. 'I'll pay you and your effeminate red-birds no more heed. Farewell, I came here expecting a good fight, but you have disappointed me.'
Weaving slightly, he left the Skull. Once outside, he lost his drunken walk and began to head for the high street. From behind, lie heard the door of the Skull open and shut again. Now he resumed his slight stagger, which he continued affecting as he made his way back toward the new town. He was careful not to overdo it, as Ingas's men would grow suspicious were it an obvious ploy. He kept to the middle of the street.
Conan was certain that the killers would not attack him in the lower city. Ingas was now convinced that he was working for a rival. The men he had sent to follow the Cimmerian would be miller orders to find out where he was going before they were to kill him.
When he reached the Square, he stopped by a fountain and splashed water in his face, as if trying to clear the wine fumes limn his head. As he did so, he scanned the plaza. All was now deserted, the ladies gone from their portico. From a sconce along the front of the portico he took a low-guttering torch and carried it across the pave. He did not go to the temple. Instead, he went to the theatre.
At the top of the steps he passed between the massive pillars. Ignoring the large main-entrance doors, he went to a small, shuttered window to one side, where admissions to the performance would be sold. With a powerful wrench of his hands, he snapped the shutter's latch and opened it. Thrusting the torch ahead of him, he passed inside.
From an entrance hall he passed into the main floor of the theatre, where ranks of benches faced the stage. Above was a balcony where the more fashionable members of the audience could sit in comfort, aloof from the common rabble. The sides of the auditorium were lined with the sumptuous private boxes of the wealthy.
Walking slowly so that his followers would have no difficulty, Conan ascended the steps to the stage. At its rear was a stack of ladders for the use of the stage-hands. He appropriated one and carried it up the many steps to the catwalk above. Gazing down over the rail, he could just make out two stealthy forms crossing the stage, following the light of his torch. When he could hear their feet upon the steps, he crossed the catwalk, then went up the final stairs to the cupola. He moved out onto the roof and carried the ladder to the parapet. He did not need the ladder to cross to the temple roof, but he used it anyway, leaving it in place in case the men following him lacked his head for heights. He walked to the centre of the temple roof and halted just before his own window. Then he stood there, waiting.
He did not need to wait long. The two stalkers emerged from the cupola and scanned their surroundings. Conan heard them conferring in low whispers. The moonlight leached away all colour, but he could see that one was tall and lean, the other squat and barrel-shaped. This was what he had expected. By now, Ingas knew better than to send his inexperienced young thugs.
One of them saw the ladder and pointed to it. Almost tiptoeing, they went to the parapet and surveyed the roof beyond. Conan withdrew into the deep shadows against the wall beside his window. After a brief consultation, the men crossed the ladder, stepping gingerly, clearly nervous about the drop below. They then turned and squinted over the temple roof.
Conan stepped from the shadows. 'Are you looking for me?'
Two long Khorajan sabres slithered from their scabbards. 'What sort of chase have you been leading us, barbarian?' said die squat one. 'First the theatre, now the temple. Surely the fraud this woman have not hired you to trouble our master?'
By way of answer, Conan drew his own sword. 'No, but I have other uses for you.'
'You do not seem so drunk as you were but a little time past,' said the saturnine man, his voice heavy with the accent of Poitain's mountain province.
'Why have you followed me?' Conan asked.
'Our master decided that you had troubled him more than enough, even to insulting him to his face. He wishes you dead, foreigner, but he wants to know which of his enemies hired you.'
'That is a matter he will just have to wonder about,' Conan said, 'since the two of you will not be reporting back to him.'
'Enough of this,' said the taller, coming toward Conan in the Hat-footed glide of an experienced swordsman.
Abruptly, Conan shouted: 'Villains! What is your business here?' The two killers were disconcerted for a moment. The shorter man rushed in, swinging his sword horizontally. The Cimmerian blocked neatly with his own blade, then fended off an oblique cut from the taller man. He swung two blows in return, making them wide and forceful but a little slow, so that the attackers would be able to block them. He wanted to ensure plenty l loud sword-clashing.
When he was sure that everyone was awake within, the Cimmerian began to fight seriously. These two were not as inexpert as the three he had fought in the Square, and it would be folly to play with them further. In the dark, on the uncertain surface of
the roof, the two were having a difficult time of it in just keeping out of each other's way, but that would not last much longer.
Conan manoeuvred the shorter man between himself and the taller, then lowered his guard, inviting a high cut. The man seized the opening, making a swipe at the exposed neck. The Cimmerian ducked and felt the other's sword tick slightly on the top of his steel cap. As he ducked, he straightened his sword arm, running the man through his barrel chest. Drawing his blade free, Conan simultaneously placed a foot against the man's body and shoved him backward, sending him stumbling into the taller man. That one fell back a step, his arms flying wide in an attempt to retain his balance.
The Cimmerian vaulted across the squat man's body, bringing his sword down in a terrible slash against the exposed shoulder. The man was wearing a lightweight shirt of mail beneath his red-leather doublet, but it availed him little against Conan's sword, which crunched through flesh, bone, and mail indifferently.
Even as the man fell, Conan rushed to the parapet and grabbed up the ladder that spanned the alley between the temple and the theatre. He carried it across the temple roof and placed it just in front of his window, slanting against the wall below the window above.
'What's happening out there?' called a voice. A light flickered in his own room, and he could make out a number of forms crowding through the door. The voice belonged to Oppia.
'Come look,' Conan said. 'They came for her, just as I told you they would.'
With the aid of an acolyte, Oppia climbed out through the window. Several acolytes followed her, bearing lamps and torches. She stooped low and examined the two bodies, then straightened and faced Conan.
'Ingas! He shall pay for this! How did this come about?'
'I went to the Pit, as I said earlier I would. There I spoke with some contacts I have made here in the city. I learned from them that the kidnapping attempt would probably come tonight, so I rushed back and waited for them. I knew it would be far easier for them to reach her room by the rooftops than by coming up through the temple. They would have to come right here to my window, so I awaited within. As soon as they set up their ladder, I challenged them.'
She studied the bodies. 'How did they expect to get through the bars?'
Mentally, Conan cursed himself. He should have thought of this and brought a crowbar or other tools to scatter around. Thinking fast, he pointed at the corpse of the squat man.
'That one was said to be the strongest man in Sicas. Look at I he size of those hands. He must have planned to wrench the bronze bars from their settings bare-handed.'
'No doubt,' she said. Then she turned to the wide-eyed acolytes and pointed at the burly young men who had been guarding the doors. 'Take this carrion down to the river. See that you dispose of it before daylight.' They began to drag the corpses toward the window. 'No, you idiots! I don't want my floors bloodied. Just toss them to the alley below and collect them there.' Obediently, the men dragged the corpses to the parapet, lifted them over it and dropped them. A second later came a sickening duo of thuds.
'What is happening?' asked a male voice. Andolla climbed through the window.
'Ingas has reneged on his bargain with us, my husband,' Oppia reported. 'He sent two of his men to steal back Amata and return her to her father. This Cimmerian warrior, whose services I have engaged, has already earned his keep. He slew the kidnappers before they could reach her window.''
The priest glanced at Conan. 'Oh, good. Ingas, eh? I shall prepare a mighty spell for him. He shall regret this.'
'As you will, my husband,' she murmured.
Conan studied the man. It was the first opportunity he had had lo examine Andolla at close range. He was a tall man of middle years and dignified bearing, even standing upon the uncertain noting of the temple roof. Like his well-modulated voice, his
bearing carried the unmistakable stamp of theatricality, as if he were not a priest, but rather, an actor playing the role of a priest.
'Has this petty altercation drawn any notice?' he asked.
'The Square is as quiet as usual for this time of night,' Conan reported. 'If the guards at the Reeve's headquarters noticed anything, they've been careful not to show any interest.'
'Well, then,' Andolla said, 'I must return to my thaumaturgical labours. See to this, my dear.'
'I already have, husband,' Oppia said through delicately gritted teeth. She turned to a pair of whey-faced girls who stood by. 'Fetch mops and buckets and clean this up,' she ordered, pointing to the broad pool of blood that glinted black in the moonlight. In addition, two broad smears of blood made a trail, marking where the bodies had been dragged to the parapet. 'When that is done, go to the alley and wash down the bricks. I want no trace of this night's happenings visible when the sun rises in the morning.' The girls clapped their hands and bowed in ritual obeisance. They followed Andolla through the window, and soon Conan and Oppia were alone upon the temple roof.
Conan the Rogue Page 19