Bartatua pointed at a large structure in his model. 'Here, the prince's palace. With the city packed with refugees, you should have little trouble in making your way there once you are over the wall. If you can sneak within the premises and find a good point of vantage, you might overhear much that would be of value to me.'
Conan wondered whether the man had the slightest concept of how deadly this mission was. He decided that the Kagan knew, but did not care. Other lives were mere counters in his game of power. Conan was a very small counter indeed.
'Anything else?' Conan asked drily.
'A survey of the defences would not come amiss, as well as an estimate of the number of horses in the stables. I would also like to know the state of morale among the troops and refugees, but that may wait for another night, another mission.'
'Another mission, as you say. Well, Kagan, I should go to prepare myself for this night's work.'
'Do so,' said Bartatua, turning his attention to his model. 'And Conan—' The Cimmerian turned back. 'Yes, Kagan?' 'Fail me not.'
'This is madness, Conan!' said Rustuf. The two men sat in their tent. Fawd was away on a patrol. 'Do not do it,' urged the Kozak. 'Let's you and I take our best horses and be away from here. This siege will drag on for months, and probably nothing will remain but a heap of ashes to loot at the end of it. Come, I have laid by some emergency stores and a bag of dice winnings. Let us go find some sensible army to serve in, where there is no mad leader who wants to wipe out the whole world in order to own it. I want to do my fighting in an army that values the important things: loot and women and good wine.'
'I have laid by some stores as well,' said the Cimmerian, donning a belted tunic he had taken from a prisoner. 'And I may make use of them yet. But it is not my habit to desert a leader under whom I have taken service. Should he play me false, it will be different, but thus far he has dealt fairly and raised me from prisoner to high rank.'
'And now gives you an assignment that is certain death!' the Kozak said.
Conan shrugged. 'What war leader does not send his men into danger? If it were something whimsical or needlessly cruel, I would not hesitate to mount and ride away, but it is not. He needs intelligence of the enemy's condition within the city, and it so happens that he has a man skilled at scaling walls and with a knack for languages. It is a sensible plan. And do not be so sure that it is certain death. I am not easy to kill.'
Rustuf threw up his hands in exasperation. 'There is such a thing as carrying courage and loyalty too far!'
Conan stood at the base of the city wall and reached high into the night over his head. His fingers found purchase in the crack between two courses of great stones, and he began to climb. To one not raised among the rocky slopes of Cimmeria, the wall might have seemed unscaleable. Years spent as a thief in the rich cities had honed his skills to such an extent that an ancient, wind-scoured wall such as this was nearly as climbable as a ladder.
The true trick was in not being seen or heard. He had chosen a dark tunic for this purpose and had further stained his skin with soot. To avoid the likelihood of noise, he was unarmed except for a dagger thrust through his sash in back. His sandals were hung by a lace around his neck as he climbed, and every so often he stopped and listened for sounds from above.
He had spent the evening observing the walls and had chosen a spot where the guards seemed to be fewest and least vigilant. As he had anticipated, there was a place where the wall was high and the nearby terrain was rough and rocky. Because nobody expected a serious attack across such ground, there were only a few sleepy guards atop the battlements, and such attention as they devoted to duty was given over to the far encampment of the enemy.
As he neared the top of the wall, he paused. Just above him was a guard leaning on a spear and talking to a distant comrade. Suddenly, to his right, a swarm of fire arrows arched over the wall and the guards on that sector cried out in alarm. One of them drew back from the battlement, snatching at a burning shaft embedded in his shield.
With a sublime disregard for proper discipline, the guards above Conan left their post and rushed to see what was happening. He had counted on just such unprofessional behaviour from drafted civilian troops. The soldiers would be reserved for the points of likely attack.
The instant the post above him was vacated, Conan was over the parapet in a tiger-like surge of perfectly honed muscles. Once on the wall-walk, he crouched for a moment, getting his bearings. The fire arrows were still causing a commotion to his right. He had instructed several of his men to fire the blazing shafts for a few minutes after he reached the top of the wall. To his immediate left he saw a stair leading down to the streets below, and he darted silently to the top step and descended. Halfway down he paused at the sound of voices from above.
'They've stopped shooting,' said a guard. 'Any fires?' demanded an authoritative voice. 'All out,' reported another voice. 'Shall we raise the alarm, sir?'
'Nay,' said the voice of authority. 'It was just harassing fire. They want to keep us sleepless and wear down our nerves. And just what are you two rogues doing away from your posts? Get back to your places or I'll have you flogged at sunrise for dereliction of duty!' Conan grinned. He knew well the woes of an experienced soldier forced to command untrained louts. He faded into the twisting lanes of the city. There were many people in the streets, most of whom were rolled into blankets and robes, seeking the relief of sleep before the dawn of another monotonous day.
The sound of gushing water drew him. At a corner, a
fountain poured from a shell-shaped pitcher, held by a little goddess, into a marble basin. Hurriedly he washed the soot from his face and limbs.
With his appearance restored, he was able to walk more openly. There was no great risk of attracting attention. The city was packed with people, many of them foreigners from the caravans, and Conan bore not the slightest resemblance to any of the Hyrkanians. With plenty of time before sunrise, he made a leisurely ' progress in the direction of the prince's palace.
The welcome sounds of a tavern drew him and he stooped through the low doorway, brushing aside a silken hanging as he entered the single, spacious room. The patrons were foreigners for the most part, caravaneers from a score of nations. Among them were a small number of city men. In rich Sogaria, even this comparatively humble establishment was luxuriously appointed, displaying walls of fine stone and furniture of exotic woods. Everywhere there were hangings of the intricate embroidery for which the city was famed.
A serving wench placed a platter of bread, fruit and cheese before him, and he ordered a pitcher of wine. It seemed that these foodstuffs were not rationed yet. Joints turned on spits over a charcoal fire, but that was to be expected. The rule in a siege was to slaughter and consume livestock first, the better to save on fodder and grain. Fresh fruit, greens and olives and other perishables went next. Last to be eaten were cheese, dried beans and peas, and the grains, which would last indefinitely if the rats and weevils could be kept from them. On no more evidence than this room around him, Conan could report that the city of Sogaria was confident and of no mind to surrender. The city was also certain that the siege would last no more than a few weeks. Inexperience could explain this surety, but he wondered about it.
A group of young men entered, swaggering in armour they plainly were not accustomed to. They looked about for an empty table and spied the one at which Conan sat. They took seats at the table without asking permission and called for the serving wench.
One of them glowered at Conan. 'You look able-bodied,' the youth said. 'Why are you not in arms for the defence of the city?'
Conan put on the look of a simpleton. 'I stranger. Not speak your tongue well.'
'Shouldn't be allowed,' said another young man. 'Foreigners taking refuge within our walls and not taking part in the fighting.'
'Leave my customer alone,' said the serving wench. ''The difference between him and you is that he is paying for his fare, whereas I must feed you layabout k
naves for free as long as you wear the city's colours.'
'Only fair,' said a young hero, 'since we risk life and limb for you helpless civilians. Bring us your best food and wine.'
'Food, yes,' she said, 'but wine you must pay for. The prince wants you healthy for battle, but he will not pay for your drunken revels. Pay up or drink water.'
'Water!' said a young man with a drooping brown moustache. There was true horror in his voice. 'I had heard that a siege was hell on earth, but I had not imagined anything so ghastly.'
Conan gestured toward his pitcher. 'I share,' he sad.
Instantly the four young men were his close friends.
'I always said that it was a fine policy, protecting the strangers within our gates,' said the one with the moustache.
They helped themselves to the pitcher and agreed that the foreigner was a fine and upstanding man. Conan knew that this joviality would last until the wine ran out. They conversed, paying little attention to him, a mere ignorant foreigner.
'Did you hear?' said one. 'The authorities think that it was Manzur who got that messenger drunk and left the city with his horse and apparel.'
'I always knew he would do something like that,' said another. 'After all his boasting and his poems of war and heroism, as soon as he has a chance at glory, he leaves his post and deserts.'
'I for one do not think he has turned coward,' said the one with the moustache. 'A fool, yes. A coward, no. He probably hatched some scheme to go out and assassinate the Hyrkanian leader all by himself.'
'Aye,' said another. 'Riding alone into enemy lines was not the act of a coward. And for all his boast and bluster and awful verses, Manzur is probably the finest swordsman in the city.'
'Little matter,' said the one who had first spoken. 'Coward or hero, the poor fool is undoubtedly dead by now.'
Conan remembered the prints of muffled hooves and the two men dead from two expert sword blows.
'That stands to reason,' said one. 'I think we should drink to the shade of our dead friend. Is there anything left in that pitcher?'
The one with the moustache peered into the vessel. 'Empty as poor Manzur's head. Foreigner—' But when they looked, Conan had gone from their midst as silently as a wisp of mist.
Outside, he made his way to the palace. There was a chance that people would be up and talking and that he might learn something of interest. This early in the siege, the inhabitants would still be excited and restless. They had yet to learn the deadly tedium of siege warfare.
He crossed a public garden full of refugees from the country, huddled in makeshift tents and shacks, looking forlorn and miserable. Rustuf was right, he thought. If
the siege were to be a long one, these people would suffer terribly. They would soon wish they had stayed la the countryside.
With the eye of an expert, Conan scanned the low wall surrounding the palace. Climbing would be no problem, as his first glance revealed. The stones were large and rounded, not cut flat and polished. There were vines and other growths as well. He saw no guards patrolling the top. That was to be expected. Most of the guards would be defending the city walls now, and would fall back to the palace only if the enemy gained the city.
The plan of the wall was irregular. Over the centuries, new wings of the palace had been built and sections of the wall had been demolished and expanded to accommodate them. The result was a great many angles and corners. He explored until he found an apt cranny, well away from the nearest crowds and gloomy enough to hide a climber from casual observation. With a final look around, he removed his sandals and hung them around his neck.
Swift as a lizard, Conan climbed the wall. Within a few seconds he had gained its crest and lay atop the parapet on his belly, eyes and ears sharp for sign of guards, strolling courtiers, or lovers seeking privacy. All was silent. Crouched low, he ran along the top of the wall, seeking a part of the rambling structure where the city's most important men might be planning their defence.
He passed wings of servants' quarters, stables, guards' barracks and sweet-smelling harem apartments. At last he found a broad, low structure from which poured bright illumination. After the fashion of the eastern lands, it had thick walls and small, high windows, against the blazing heat of the semi-desert surrounding the city. It was from these high windows that the light poured. In the centre of the building's tiled roof there was an opening to admit light and whatever rain might fall. Conan guessed that there would be a pool beneath-the skylight. This had the look of a council chamber, and by the light coming from the windows, it was in ; use.
One side of the structure abutted the wall that Conan was traversing, and he silently stepped onto its tiled roof, moving cautiously lest he disturb a loose tile. He considered going to an edge of the roof and hanging head-down over one of the windows, but the skylight seemed more promising. He edged his way up the gently sloping roof to the rim of the opening and cautiously peered within.
As he had anticipated, there was a rectangular pool in the centre of the room. He could just make out the knees of a line of figures seated along one side of the chamber. They were obviously facing a person or persons seated on the opposite side of the pool. All of the knees were richly dressed in silks except for a few that were armoured. The armour was gold-chased and elaborate. These were important men. Clearly, he had come to the right place. They were apparently wrapping up a lengthy arguement concerning the number of horses within the city walls.
'We wrangle over nothing here, sire,' said a voice ; that seemed to come from behind a pair of the armoured ! knees. 'The question is not the beasts. We can always eat them should they prove too numerous. The problem ' is that we have taken in every two-legged creature within a score of leagues!' There were murmurs of agreement. Thus encouraged, the speaker went on. 'I mean no disrespect, sire, but it is madness to allow so many useless mouths and bellies into a city facing
siege! Not only able-bodied men who can help with the defences, but women, children and foreigners, who have no stake in preserving our city.'
'And on top of that, sire,' said an elderly voice, 'there is no rationing either. Should the siege not be lifted within a single moon, the people shall suffer grievously.'
'Gentlemen,' said a voice from the other side of the pool, 'what would you have me do? I am the sworn protector of my people. Should I deny them the refuge of Sogaria's walls after they have obediently paid their taxes all their lives? Should I cast out the caravaneers who have made this city rich, perhaps thereby leading them to take their goods and beasts to some city other than Sogaria? I wish to keep the reputation of our splendid city stainless so that east and west may know that this is the safest route by which to transport goods. Without the caravans, we will wither and die like a vast grapevine once the single stem has been cut.'
There were ritual murmurs that this was, indeed, wisdom.
'Besides,' continued the man who, Conan guessed, was the prince, 'you worry too much about this siege. Any day now I anticipate word from the mage, Khondemir, that he has reached his destination, and shortly thereafter the savages will be in full pursuit.'
'He has been gone for many days, sire,' said the armoured speaker, 'and we have seen none of his messenger birds. A thousand picked cavalrymen of the Red Eagles away when we most need them! All off chasing into the Steppe of Famine after this supposed City of Mounds. I for one have no faith in this Turanian mountebank, sire.'
'Enough,' barked the prince. 'I have chosen our course, and it is for the rest of you to follow. Now, my treasurer, let us speak of the loans by which the unfortunate landowners and peasants may restore their ravaged homes and farms.'
Conan edged back from the skylight. The foregoing conversation had been enigmatic, but he was certain that it was important. He remembered the consternation of the Kagan and the other Ashkuz when he had mentioned the enemy excursion into the Steppe of Famine. Now he had another location: the City of Mounds, ' whatever that might be.
A few minutes later he
was in the streets of Sogaria v once more. So that was why the Sogarians were taking few of the usual measures common to sieges. Their prince expected some sort of sorcerous aid from Khondemir. He remembered the name from the Turanian message the Kagan had given him to translate. What the connection might be was a mystery, but he had come I here to gather intelligence, not to interpret it. He made for the nearest city wall.
When Conan returned to the camp, the Kagan was , away on one of his ceaseless inspections of the far-flung units of his horde. The sun was up and Conan visited I one of his unit's cookpots for breakfast, then inspected the men at their daily weapons practice. Satisfied that all was in order, he went to his tent to get some long-delayed sleep.
Rustuf woke him in early evening. 'Get up, Conan. The Kagan wants your report.'
Conan sat up and stretched. 'The Kagan will not hear my report for hours. First I will have to sit through a banquet for his allied chiefs while they ignore me. Then I shall render my report after the rest have left. I do not know why he does not just summon me when he is ready to listen.'
'Perhaps,' opined Fawd, 'he desires that your beauty be an ornament to his banquet.' Conan cast a malodorous saddle blanket at the Turanian, who ducked adroitly.
As he had expected, Conan had to endure the lengthy banquet while the Kagan flattered his more-important allies and listened to the reports of his horde leaders and that of the Khitan engineer. The Khitan spoke at some length of how he would construct sidewalls for the ramp, filling the interior with earth and rubble. His assessment of the enemy's firepower at the most auspicious site for the ramp indicated that the construction would cost approximately five hundred slaves per work day. The Kagan decided that this was reasonable attrition.
The horde commanders, whose concept of masonry was limited to a circle of stones around a campfire, were forced to sit through this dry, technical summary. They fought hard to hide their boredom, unaware that the Kagan wanted the siege of Sogaria to be a lesson for them, that they might serve him better in the future conquests they would undertake for him.
The Conan Chronology Page 456