Conan and the Manhunters

by John Maddox Roberts

  'My liege!' called Captain Hosta. 'What shall I do with this one?' He pointed to a circle of horsemen who held

  lances lowered at Berytus of Aquilonia. 'He took no part in the fighting, and he is not Turanian.'

  'Is he one of yours?' Idris asked.

  'He is the hired dog of Sagobal,' said Layla, reining up. 'He led his pack of jackals to attack my father's house and he has dogged our trail since we seized the treasure.'

  'Kill him, then,' Idris said.

  'Wait!' Berytus shouted. 'I claim right of vengeance!'

  'Vengeance for what, dog?' Conan said contemptuously. 'I never sought a fight with you. It was you who accepted Sagobal's pay to track me down. I slew your men because they hunted me, and no man can do that and live!'

  'You think I care about them? I want vengeance for Venarium!'

  'Venarium?' Idris said. 'I have heard that name. Was it not a great battle in the far north, many years ago?'

  'Not so many years,' Berytus said bitterly. 'The king of Aquilonia founded a colony upon land north of the Bossonian marshes and my kin were among the settlers. The wild tribesmen of the Cimmerian hills fell upon us and wrought a great slaughter. All my family were slain.'

  'Your king planted his colony on the ancestral lands of our clans!' Conan said. 'It was our right to throw the trespassers out. It was my first battle. Though I had seen only fifteen winters, I slew many—Aquilonians, Bossonians and Gundermen. But it was battle, not ambush or treacherous assault. No man can claim vengeance for defeat in a fair and open fight.'

  'I was a boy as well,' Berytus said. 'And when the fighting was over, I was sold as a slave.'

  'That is a lie!' Conan shouted. 'Cimmerians do not keep slaves, nor do they sell prisoners to traders. When the slaying was over, we went back to our hills and took naught with us but our dead and wounded.'

  'All was not over with the fighting,' Berytus said. 'For months after the battle, slavers rode through the countryside, rounding up refugees and driving them to the slave markets. Most were women and children, for few men escaped death

  at the hands of the black-haired wolves from the north. I toiled as a slave, but I had too much spirit to work the land. I earned my freedom as a pit-fighter, and ever since, I have made my way as a fighting-man and hunter. And never have I ceased to thirst for vengeance upon the Cimmerians. I was quick to take Sagobal's offer when I learned that the leader of the bandits was one such. I have hunted many men in my time, but never a member of that accursed race.'

  'Aye, and you hunted me to your sore cost.'

  'This is foolish, this talk of old battles and vengeance,' Layla said. 'Slay him.'

  'No!' Conan said. 'He is an evil jackal who hunts down fleeing slaves and desperate men, but I'll not say he lacks courage. And he has some justice in his claim. Draw your steel, Aquilonian. You and I shall fight Venarium all over again.'

  'This is insane!' Layla said. 'You have already won!'

  'This is extraordinary!' exclaimed Idris.

  'Aye,' said Eltis. 'Perhaps they will slay one another. That will save us a chest of gold.'

  The rebels drew back in a wide semicircle facing the pond. Within this cleared space the two northerners drew their swords and cast away their sheaths. Then they circled one another slowly, each seeking an advantage before hazarding a blow. They were well matched in size and weight. Berytus was somewhat bulkier, Conan a bit longer of arm and leg. Except for the Aquilonian's steel cap and the plating on his hands and forearms, neither was armoured.

  The two feinted a few times, feeling each other out. Then Berytus shuffled in, his feet flat, sending a flurry of cuts at the Cimmerian's head and body. Conan was forced to give ground, defending himself without opportunity to counter-attack. The man-hunter wielded his broad, curved sword in a quick series of short, powerful chops, keeping his armoured forearms close to his body. Conan recognized the style. It had been perfected in the fighting-pits and was ideal for combat within confined quarters.

  Conan jumped back a pace and sent a flurry of blows toward the head of his opponent, forcing the man to cease his own attack. Berytus fended the blows with his sword or batted them aside with his hand-plates.

  Simultaneously, the two men sprang apart. Both were breathing heavily and sweating profusely. They had taken one another's measure, and the next exchange would be the final one. The spectators maintained utter silence as the two deadly combatants paused. Berytus was tense, every muscle coiled. Conan was almost relaxed.

  Then the two sprang together and the blows rained too fast for those watching to follow. Steel rang on steel in a continuous clatter that sounded like all the armourers in a workshop hammering at once. They advanced and retreated until they were in the pond, fighting in water almost to their knees. The clashing of steel silenced for long seconds as the two hilts locked and the men pushed at one another, muscles straining, the breath wheezing from their lungs as from a cracked bellows.

  Then there was a convulsive spasm of flesh and steel. Conan's sword twisted down, the plated hand of Berytus flashed out. There were meaty smacks of metal on flesh. Then Conan staggered back, blood streaming from four long, parallel furrows in his face where the spikes over Berytus's knuckles had ripped the skin bone-deep.

  The Aquilonian lurched forward, trying to follow up the terrible blow with more of the same, but his arms and his feet would not obey his will. Conan had released the hilt of his sword, and the blade remained thrust through the Aquilonian's body, the cross-guard tight against his belly, two feet of bloody steel protruding from his back.

  'Curse you for a Cimmerian swine,' Berytus said. Then he toppled and splashed his full length into the bloody water. Conan walked over to the corpse and tore his sword free. He dipped the shining steel into the water to cleanse it of blood and flesh.

  'Crom,' Conan said, 'but that one was a worthy enemy!

  Had he not been an evil, murdering hyena, I would send him off with a fine funeral.'

  'Splendid!' Idris cried. Eltis looked less pleased, for now he was out a chest of gold.

  For the rest of the day, the rebels toiled to bring up the treasure. Men dived into the blood-fouled water and secured ropes to the chests; then the ropes were snubbed to saddle pommels and the heavy treasure was dragged ashore. Other men waded out with leather bags of silver upon their shoulders.

  'It is even greater than the woman described,' Idris said, full of elation. 'With such treasure at my disposal, all of northern Iranistan will flock to my cause. I will drive the usurper from the throne!' His men cheered lustily.

  'Conan,' Idris continued, 'you have been of good service to me, although I would not truly care to see you within my borders again. Choose a chest and take it. It is yours.'

  Conan selected a chest, and hoisted it to his shoulder and carried it to the place where his horse was picketed. Ubo had ridden out and rounded up the beast after the fight with Berytus. Now the bandit sat on the ground, disconsolate.

  'So we have a single chest and the rebels have everything else. What is the good of that?'

  'We could have nothing,' Conan said. The blood had dried on his face, but his cheek looked as if a tiger had swiped a paw across it. 'Have you ever stolen as much as lies in this chest?'

  'Nay, not in my whole career.'

  'Then do not complain. The world is full of gold, and a man of spirit can help himself to it.'

  An hour later the treasure was packed up and the rebels were gone, riding back toward Iranistan. They had taken their own dead, but the man-hunters and Torgut Khan's troopers lay where they had fallen. Jackals and hyenas prowled the heights, and even a rare desert lion made an appearance. The air was thick with vultures.

  'Let us go,' Conan said. The two strapped their chest to a trooper's horse that Idris had allowed them and they mounted. They rode to the other side of the lake, where Layla was speaking with a new arrival.

  'I rejoice to see you alive, Volvolicus,' Conan said. 'Ordinarily I do not like wizards, but you have
been a faithful companion, even though you were carrying out your own scheme with that accursed temple and all those foreign mages. Is the thing dead?'

  'It never dies,' replied the wizard, who had no horse, yet had arrived dressed in spotless white robes. Conan was not inclined to ask him how he had accomplished the feat. 'But it will not try to be reborn for another thousand years, or perhaps ten thousand, or a hundred thousand.'

  'Then I'll not concern myself further,' said the Cimmerian. 'You were one of our band. The gold is not as much as we took, but you are welcome to your share of it.'

  The wizard shook his head. 'I need no gold. I have been elevated to the First Rank, and such a one need never concern himself with worldly matters.'

  'Farewell to you then,' Conan said and turned to Layla. 'You were more than capable in the doings of these past days. Will you ride on with us?'

  She smiled. 'Nay, this has been a glorious adventure, but I stay with my father. He has much yet to teach me and I think your wild life would pall on me before long. Goodbye, Cimmerian.'

  'Farewell to you both then.' Conan saluted, wheeled his mount and trotted away, followed closely by Ubo, who led their packhorse.

  The two men rode for a number of hours until they were out of the hills and upon the edge of the great desert, laced with its caravan trails linking the rare water holes.

  'Where to now, Chief?' Ubo asked.

  Conan pointed a finger due west. 'Over there lies a city called Zamboula. It is a wicked place, and it welcomes men with gold and does not ask how they got it. If the water holes are full, we can be there in ten or twelve days.'

  Ubo scratched his chin. 'That sounds a congenial place. This chest of gold holds a year's income for a good-sized town. In such a city as you describe, it might last us for a month or more! And then we can round up another band of robbers, for wicked cities are always full of men who want gold and know better than to toil for it.'

  'Aye,' Conan said. 'To Zamboula!' Laughing, the two men rode away from the hills of Turan. Behind them, the vultures circled.

  Table of Contents

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