The pack-camel fled.
'No!' Conan bawled. 'Stop!'
The riding-camel then proved it was not wedded to the role of leader; it followed the sumpter beast. Never mind that camels were the most stupid and unarousably placid of animals; they were aroused. They made off into the night.
Yelling, Conan leaped after them. The rearward camel was frightened anew and speeded its gait. Conan lunged and missed; he fell sprawling in the harder-packed sand at the oasis's edge. The dromedaries lurched away into the darkness; ungainly or no, they showed speed.
As he started to' push himself to his feet Conan heard Isparana's enraged cry - coming at him. He rolled as swiftly as he could impart the sideward motion. Her sword, already descending in a cleaving stroke, dug into the sand where he'd lain. Conan, on his back, hoisted himself on his elbows.
'Damn you, woman!' he snarled, and his sideward-swishing feet knocked both her legs from beneath her.
Then the Cimmerian scrambled up and raced northward to the night, after the camels.
He returned from the darkness on foot, not striding and looking thoroughly disgusted. He led no camels. Isparana stood waiting, glowering from a half-crouch. Her sword was and quiveringly poised for a spitting lunge. 'Now you've done it,' he said. 'You frightened off the camels.'
'Frightened?'
'Aye. I think they're still running.'
'. . . you filthy dog of a THIEF, you've trapped us here! I'll KILL you!' And she lunged in a rustle enveloping jallaba.
Conan had to dive aside. He rolled. When he came up, his sword was out. 'Stop it, woman! We are trapped here, you said. Better there were two of us than one.'
'But you-you . . . my camels! The food! The water!'
'Plenty of water a few steps away,' the Cimmerian minded her equably. 'And I unpacked and left some d-what sort of man do you think I am!' 'What sort —dog! Mangy dog!'
'This is a big oasis and travellers are many, this time year. We'll not starve before someone comes.' 'You-my cam-rotten filthy dog! Viper! How can you stand there and talk so-aarrghh!' And she charged him. Conan appeared to brace to meet her inexpert assault head-on. At the last moment he faded aside, simultaneously ripping his sword out and down to intersect hers. The blades met with a ringing clash and metal scraped along with a shrieking sound. She was on the run, and lunged on unable to stop; her sword was carried out of hand.
The Cimmerian was picking it up when she wheeled to meet him.
'Now stop,' he told her. 'I have no desire to kill you. fill hurt you though, if you don't stay away and leave these mad attacks.' He stood and stared, and she wept, but not in softness and despair; she sobbed in rage and frustration. Conan knew the feeling.
'You are very weary. You've not had enough sleep. I suggest you return to your burnoos and resume your rest. I'll remain across the pool, under that largest palm.'
She stood glaring, quivering in impotence. The energy of anger had to be channelled somewhere; she stamped and beat a fist into her palm. Then realisation: 'You were here. You saw.'
'Saw?' Conan sheathed his sword and transferred hers to his right hand. 'Saw what?'
'Saw . . . saw me . . . you saw me . . . bathe.'
'Oh, that.'
Conan shrugged, yawned, and turned to walk back into the grass and trees. He said no more, and did not glance at her, though he knew she still stared. He entered the oasis and sat at the base of the tree he had stipulated. He kept her sword in his hand. The air was growing cool.
She came, taking a curving path to stay well away from a man who both stole and insulted. Returning to where her burnoos formed a white patch on the grass, she stood a long while. At last she turned to face him across the placid water.
'Who are you?'
'Conan, a Cimmerian. And you?'
'Who sent you?'
'Sent?No one sent me. I was headed for Zamboula, from Khauran. I didn't know about the thing in the pass among those hills. Both my horses fled and I barely escaped with my life.'
'Worse luck for me! Expert at losing valuable animals on the desert, aren't you? You expect me to believe that you survived the Sand-lich, and are not mad?'
'I survived the thing in the gorge, yes. But surely no sane man would have been content with only your camels, once he'd seen you.'
'Save your compliments for the whores you doubtless know best! How came you here ahead of me, then?'
'Good fortune. As I emerged from the gorge, three people on camels were coming off the last of the Dragon Hills. They brought me here. Very kind people.'
'I saw them ahead of me, when I topped the first of those hills . . . but they left you here?'
Conan gestured. 'I was not going their way.'
'But - to allow yourself to be abandoned on the desert, willingly . . .'
'It's a pleasant place. I knew someone would come.'
That struck her silent - for a few seconds. 'Monster! Dog Born of a stinking cur! Grunting swine! You 'knew someone would come'!'
'Aye. The Sand-lich told me how to lay him to rest . . . by killing a man named Hisser Zul, up in ... Arenyi?'
'Arenjun,' she said automatically, in thought.
'Arenjun, yes. You know this Hisser Zul?'
'No.'
'Heard of him?'
'No. Of course not. I've never been to Arenjun. Everyone's heard of it. You belong there, believe me!'
So we are both liars, Isparana, Conan mused; nor will I mention to you the caravan coming from Khawarism . . . nor call you by name. Sleep, Isparana. Conan is weary . . and durst not rest until you do.'
She sat, seeming to fold up. Though he could not see her features, he knew she was staring at him. Her exhaustion and her body's need for rejuvenating sleep overcame all her noughts of him and food and the morrow; she lay back.
After a time she slept, and after a longer time, sitting propped against the tree, so did Conan.
She too was a thief, and quiet; she awoke him with the point of her sword at his eyes.
VIII
Slavers!
'I'll not beg, woman,' Conan said, looking up along the shining blade of Isparana's sword. 'I'd give you something to consider, though.'
'I'm listening,' Isparana said.
'That is a caravan I see beyond you, coming up from the south. A few minutes more and we'll hear their bells. In less than an hour they will be here. Are you sure you can convince them you didn't simply murder me?'
She was wise enough to back two paces before looking southward. A glance was sufficient to assure her he had not invented the approaching caravan.
A nasty smile rearranged her features when she faced the Cimmerian again. 'If those are Zamboulans, dog, they will know and believe me when they hear my story-and you will die slowly, as you deserve.'
'Bloodthirsty wench! And if it's a party of slavers from Khawarizm? What then?'
She blinked. 'Why-they'll not harm a free woman of Zamboula, also of the Empire of Turan!'
'Hm. A woman without goods, animals, protector . . . hm. We could be a pair of runaway slaves. No, they'd not harm you - they'd just add you to their coffers.'
Now Conan's peripheral vision showed him that a party of horsemen had left the caravan and was coming in at the gallop; men to scout the oasis, he assumed.
'Erlik! That - that's unthinkable. But even so - what matters it whether I kill you or no?'
'What will it gain for you, so long as there's the chance I might die slowly, in Zamboula?'
'Revenge! But for you I'd greet them as one of property, with two camels and one laden.' Isparana's face tightened, and her eyes went hard again.
Conan sat gazing up at her. He did not think she would
kill him thus out of hand. Meanwhile, her ankles were out of reach of his feet, his sword and dagger were sheathe and five horsemen were rapidly approaching. He told he of them, suggesting that she hide aught she had of value She spun, as the caravan guards, slowing to a ragged canter, reached the oasis.
'Ho!'
'Ho yourself,' Conan said, and rose while Isparana looked uncertainly from him to the newcomers. Her sword wavered in her hand.
'You two have this oasis all to yourself?' The mount man looked around. 'Where are your animals?'
Conan stepped forward and slipped an arm around Isparana. He had to clench her shoulder, as she sought to J flinch away. 'Stolen, by Erlik!' Conan said. 'My . . . woman and I came down here from Shadizar, up in Zamora. We were to meet her cousin, Arsil of Samara; he's a soldier of the Empire. Well, we waited for days-and when nine mangy desert rats stopped here, we were too kind. They made off with our animals. Two horses and two camels, by Erlik!'
'Thieving swine! And-her cousin . . . still not here, eh?'
Conan tried to dissuade slavers from enslaving thoughts: 'They arrived a few hours later. They hardly paused, but rode after the thieves.'
'Ah.' The man turned to say something to those with him, then paced his horse into the verdure. 'We saw no one.'
'No,' Conan said, 'they all rode north. You will doubtless meet Arsil and his men coming back soon. Carrying bodiless heads, I hope.'
'They left you that?' The horseman indicated the small pack Conan had meant to leave for Isparana.
'Aye. You from Zamboula, Captain?'
'No; Khawarizm.' The man dismounted. His beard, Conan saw, failed to cover several scars. A longtime mercenary then. 'You're not offended by the sight of ... human trade-goods, are you?'
'Your business,' Conan said, 'is yours, and ours is ours.'
'Of course. We will tarry a few hours-then you may join us.'
'We'd best just wait here Conan said easily, 'for Arsil and his Imperial soldiers. Don't you think, Kiliya?'
'Definitely,' Isparana said, swift-mindedly following his lead. 'Arsul will be back soon. Perhaps the captain and I can discuss the possibility of our buying a horse.' She turned a smile on Conan. 'I can await you in Zamboula, my love.'
'I'd not think of your travelling all that way south alone, my love,' Conan said, smiling just as sweetly.
Also smiling, the mercenary stepped forward so that he was on the side of Isparana opposite Conan. 'Perhaps it's your accent, northman,' he said, 'but I note you and, uh, Kiliya do not agree as to her cousin's name. I am also no such fool as to believe that five soldiers of far Samara would ride so far north to meet a mere cousin of one of their number.'
'Unless she's the cousin of the ruler of Samara!' Conan said in an even tone, and he too managed to maintain his smile. 'You can understand that we did not wish to tell you so, Captain. Though your trade is guarding camels and slaves, you must know about such things as state secrets.'
For a moment the mercenary captain looked most unsure. Then, 'Aye . . . and now I'd hear you tell me the name of the ruler down in Samara.'
Conan, who had no idea, held his open expression. 'Tell him, my lady.'
Isparana stared imperiously at the guardsman. 'I am not in the habit of being interrogated.'
'Hisarr Khan rules Samara,' Conan said, hoping that the captain did not know, either.
'Wrong,' the man from Khawarizm said.
'Damn,' Conan said, and stepped away from Isparana with hand on hilt.
'Ha! I know not the name of Samara's ruler - but neither do you!' the captain said. He gestured to his mounted men. 'These look like two escaped slaves to me! Here is where we earn our employer's promised bounty. Take them!'
Conan drew sword with one hand and yanked it away from the man with the other. 'Better use your sword, my lady! And pray for Arsil's return!'
Isparana had never sheathed her sword; the mercenary captain was reaching for his; a rider came at Conan. As he leaned down to hack with the big club he wielded rather than sword, Conan lunged beneath his horse in a headlong dive. He was up on the other side before the mercenary had recovered from his heavy swing. His twisting in the saddle was too late; Conan cupped a hand under the man's foot and tipped him off his horse. At the same time Isparana, noting the captain's attention was on Conan, stabbed him in the left armpit.
With cries of shock and rage, the others spurred forward, and hands clutched for swords rather than slave-taming clubs.
'Get the one on the ground!' Conan yelled, and though the horse from Khawarizm turned three-quarters around, the Cimmerian hung on and dragged himself up into the saddle.
At his words two of the three attackers reined towards Isparana. Conan booted his new mount hard, so that it plunged between her and the charging Khawarizmi. The sword of one was already raised on high for a downward stroke to split the woman; without pausing Conan slashed his belly open from hip to hip. The man cried out in pain at the same time as Isparana sworded the one Conan had tumbled off his horse.
'Get that horse!' Conan yelled, yanking his grunting mount around to drive at the other two from the caravan.
Unfortunately they swerved so that he passed between them. He took a cut high on his left arm while he slashed the other horseman across the face. While he fell back with a hand to his scarlet features, Conan again yanked his horse around. The man who'd cut him was doing the same. And Isparana, somehow, was mounted, with her jallaba open to the navel and hiked to the hips.
'Take him from behind, 'my lady' ' Conan called, looking past the last foe.
The mercenary's eyes went huge. Without glancing back he jerked his horse's head rightward at the same time as he clapped heels to its flanks. The beast bolted. With his
four companions sore wounded or worse, the terrified Khawarizmi fled back to the slaver caravan.
'Five hardly worth their pay,' Conan snarled. 'Just let me snatch up this bit of provisions, 'my love', and we'd best head north, at the gallop!'
Then he looked her way, saw her sword rushing at his face and her contorted features behind, and ducked desperately. The sword missed; Isparana was already kicking her mount into a gallop on a south-westerly course, to avoid the other caravan guards. Conan, meanwhile, had no occasion to know that she would never make it. He not only fell, but bashed his head on the large old palm. For Conan, the sun went out.
Five men, in matched cloaks and spiked helmets sat their horses and watched with disapprovingly set faces while a caravan plodded by on its way north. The five soldiers led two extra horses; the caravan led four, and some two-score shuffling slaves on a single chain attached to the left ankle of each.
'They seem to have lost some guards,' one of the soldiers said. 'I see only six, plus two wounded men and four riderless horses.'
'Good observation, Kambur. Perhaps we'd best ask them if-'
'Arsil! Arsil of Samara!'
Tarim's eyes! Who calls-one of the slaves?'
'Arsil! Conan the Cimmerian needs help!'
As Arsil's eyes isolated the man who'd shouted from the' very end of the line of shackled slaves, a mercenary guard rode at the big man, raising a whip. Arsil's arm leaped out, finger extended at the guard.
'Strike him and die, mercenary! Caravan master: call a halt! Kambur, Sarid-to the end of the slave-cofne, and bring his horses. Be ready to fight, if these swine insist on denying our blue-eyed friend's claim to freedom! After me!' And Arsil's heels kicked, and his horse bolted for the caravan's head. Two of his men followed. Leading the two horses they'd easily captured just north of the Dragon Hills, the other two rode for Conan. He brought up the very rear of the caravan save for two mounted guards.
A few minutes later one Iskul, caravan master, was expostulating. 'He slew two of my guards and sorely wounded two others! He's lucky we didn't kill him!' . 'Lucky?' Arsil's hand loosened his sword in its sheath; Iskul's eyes followed the movement. 'Would you rather be dead or enslaved? Speak up swiftly, citizen of the Empire I serve; I can accommodate you in one of the choices.'
The man from Khawarizm swallowed, took some time to think, and made another attempt. 'Captain, Captain! We are merchants here, acting for other merchants to enrich the same Turanian Empire you serve - too. You have no authority to stop us and demand one of our slaves! As well demand
the other trade goods.'
'Did you steal it, too?'
'Captain -'
'You had ten guards. One man, you say, slew two and wounded two others. We are five, on a mission for the Empire,' Arsil said, stretching fact a bit. 'In my possession is my khan's document empowering me to accost thieves and return their loot - and you know my khan is the King-Emperor's wife's cousin. By Tarim, I believe my writ could be made to apply to you. I will have the Cimmerian, sir. Will you give the order or must we embarrass the Empire of Turan by drawing steel?'
Again Iskul was silent, thinking. And again: 'Look here, Captain, we need not talk so. He's a big strapping fellow, and his price will be excellent! Perhaps you and I could strike a bargain. I am no poor man — '
'Just,' Arsil said, 'about to be a dead one. I do not bribe, fellow.'
'Ah! Demons take you both! He's surely a rebellious type anyhow. Pars! Loose that last one. The dog has a friend.'
'And the woman the bastards captured with me!' Conan yelled, before he took time to consider what a fine slave Isparana would make, who had enabled him to be taken — and then failed to outrun the other mercenaries anyhow.
After a brief confrontation, Iskul bawled a second order. Pars, flanked by two of Arsil's men, dared do no more than open Conan's shackle, then Isparana's. Grinning, the Cimmerian looked up at the soldiers.
'Kambur of Iranistan! My deep thanks. And you even I nought my horses. This,' he said, laying a hand on Isparana's shoulder, which was bared to the sun in punishment, 'is the woman I sought for my master. Those two camels- there, see-are hers. She's going south as you are; here, Isparana, is a fine escort for you - brave men, and my personal friends.'
She glared darkly at him. The Eye of Erlik flashed on her bosom; the false Eye. Conan whirled to Fars, whom he passed with a snarl so animalistic that the Khawarizmi mercenary fell back, wide-eyed. He made no demurrer when Conan took two weapon-belts from his saddle; each bore a sheathed sword and dagger. Conan first strapped on Isparana's, then his own. He looked up with a bright smile as Arsil came cantering to him.
'Arsil my friend, I am indebted to you forever.'
The Conan Chronology Page 24