Conan the Rogue

by John Maddox Roberts

  For the first moments of the fight, the Cimmerian concentrated on defence, analysing his enemy, and plotting his own strategy. He found himself enjoying this. It had been far too long since he had felt himself fully tried in single combat with a worthy opponent. He lived for mortal combat, and now the fierce joy of it began to suffuse him, and this was his true edge. Ermak was a cold, hard, professional warrior, but Conan was a barbarian.

  After his fierce initial attack, Ermak shifted to a more calculating strategy. His armour was heavy, and he knew better than to tire himself too quickly. Now Conan began his assault. Twice his blade rang from the other's casque, but without real force. The basket hilt of the other's sword prevented an attack to the hand, and the man guarded his sword arm well.

  The half-armour ended partway down the thigh. Conan launched a flurry of high attacks, drawing Ermak's guard upward, then abruptly slashed low, gashing the man's leg just above the knee. Ermak did not waste time in seeing how badly he was hurt, but instantly took advantage of the low position of Conan's sword to slash at his opponent's face. The Cimmerian avoided the attack only by leaping backward, and only a man of his extraordinary swiftness could have accomplished the adroit move.

  Ermak pressed the onslaught, forcing the Cimmerian to give ground, for once momentum has been lost in a fight, it is hard to regain. But the gang lord's leading leg was weakening from its wound, his high boot filling with blood.

  'Damn you, barbarian!' he growled. 'Why?' Conan did not answer. Instead, he lowered his sword slightly. Ermak exploited the opening and thrust at the Cimmerian's throat. Conan parried the blade, not with his sword this time, but with the massive bracelet on his left wrist. He let the blade slide high past his left shoulder while he lunged with his whole body behind his weapon. His point caught Ermak just beneath the cheekbone. It passed upward through the rear of the eye socket, through the brain, and halted at the back of the skull. Conan needed a forceful wrench to free the blade. Ermak continued to stand for a few seconds, then toppled as stiffly as would a falling tree, the clash of his armour ringing loudly on the marble floor.

  'That is how a warrior should die,' said Conan, cleaning his sword on a wall hanging. 'On his feet and facing his enemy.' He re-sheathed the weapon and went to inspect Xanthus and the Reeve. The features of the miser were twisted and empurpled, Bombas's fat beringed fingers buried in the flesh of his scrawny neck.

  'So those soft hands were good for something after all,' Conan said.

  He left the headquarters and walked out into the Square. It was carpeted with bodies, and citizens stood around surveying the carnage. An eerie silence reigned. He walked the length of the great plaza, noting in passing that Maxio lay dead, clutching his belly, his look of perpetual anger still upon his countenance.

  He made a leisurely progress back to the inn. It seemed that there would be no rush after all. He went to the stable and claimed his horse. As he mounted in the courtyard, the innkeeper came up to him.

  'What has happened?' the man asked.

  'I think that this will be a quiet town now,' the Cimmerian answered.

  He rode out into the street and contemplated which way to turn. He 'could ride southward through the Pit to the river gate and cross the river, there to dig up the substantial loot he had buried. But that would be weighty burden to carry and guard. He had a well-stuffed purse, and the treasure was safe where it lay. It was never a bad idea to have such a cache against hard times. He might someday need to raise a force of fighting men, and the cache would make a useful first payment for their services. He turned toward the landward gate.

  He ignored the gate guard, who sat outside his booth, despondently gazing at the ground, undoubtedly contemplating a return to the begging bowl. It was a fine day, and the Cimmerian nudged his horse to a brisk canter.

  Before he had ridden far, he passed a royal force riding the other way. It was a hundred strong, and at its head rode a royal official. Just behind him rode a royal executioner. Conan doubted that they would have much to do when they reached Sicas.

  At the juncture with the high road, he encountered four armoured men, grim of mien and glowering at him. He recognized Nevus and three of the mercenaries he had met riding into Sicas a few days before.

  'I see that a few of you escaped with your lives,' Conan commented.

  'Aye,' said one. 'We waited here to see if Ermak would join us.'

  'He will not join you,' Conan informed him. 'Ermak is dead.'

  'Only you could have slain him,' said Nevus. 'That means it is our task to avenge him.' The four began to ready their weapons. Conan did not touch his own.

  'It was a fair fight. There is nothing to avenge.'

  'You spoiled one of the softest berths I ever had,' said another. 'We should slay you for that.'

  'Then I'll ask you the old mercenary's question,' Conan said. 'Who's the paymaster?'

  The four looked at one another for a while. Then, one by one, they put away their weapons. 'Aye,' said Nevus. 'What's the sense of fighting without pay?'

  'Good,' Conan said. 'Let us all be friends.' He looked at the bulging purse each man wore at his belt. 'I see that each of you came away from Sicas with a full purse. So did I. Listen to me. I have been conversing with travellers. Numedides totters on his throne, and the barons are breaking away from him. There will be war soon, and the recruiters will be all over Tarantia. Let us go there and spend our money. By the time we've drunk and wenched and gamed it all away, we'll have a pick of good fighting positions.'

  'Aye' cheered the four. They wheeled their mounts and took up the royal high road toward Tarantia. After they had ridden for a while, Nevus turned to Conan.

  'Cimmerian,' he asked, 'back there in Sicas... how did you do it?'

  Conan thought for a while, then turned to his new companion with a hard grin. 'That was a town of rogues, my friend, and I am the greatest rogue of all!'

  Nevus shook his head in admiration. 'That you are, Conan of Cimmeria!'

  Table of Contents

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  II

  III

  IV

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