'What lies have you poured into his ears?' she asked accusingly. She spoke loudly now, for she was sure that listeners stood in the darkness nearby. 'The Ushi-Kagan is too trusting. He sees courage and battle skill in a man and he thinks that these mean the warrior is honourable. You are a traitor!'
She saw that the man was taking her toward a large fire, and she thought of the dagger tucked into her loincloth. No, she thought, the time is not yet. She might still retrieve her situation by smooth words and the Ushi-Kagan's love for her.
'Words will not help you,' Conan said. 'The Ushi-Kagan is not as trusting as you think. When he heard my tale, he wanted proof. He has found it.'
Now she saw that there were many men around the fire. At the centre, near the fire, stood Bartatua. At his feet were three shamans, trussed like calves for branding. Other shamans knelt with their hands tied behind them and terror upon their faces. In the Ushi-Kagan's hand was a shortsword, half of its length glowing blood-red. A wisp of thin smoke drifted from its tip, and the stench of scorched flesh was heavy in the air.
When Bartatua looked at Lakhme, she almost fainted. She knew now that she should have used her dagger when she had the chance. Her nimble mind raced. What lies would divert Bartatua's wrath? It never occurred to her to use the dagger upon herself.
'These amulet-rattling frauds,' Bartatua said to her, 'have been providing us with some rare entertainment. They have spoken freely, with many clever embellishments. They threatened me with the wrath of the gods at first, but a taste of the hot iron loosened their tongues and refreshed their memories. It seems that there have been ceremonies to which I was not invited, but which you attended. Indeed, I understand that you participated with rare zeal.'
'I knew they plotted against you, my lord,' she said. 'I but spied upon them to learn their plans.'
'Yes, spying and secret nocturnal missions are a speciality of yours. Where did you find her, Conan?'
'There is a small gully not far that runs near the City of Mounds. A tribesman on guard there let her pass without challenge.'
'Go and arrest that man,' Bartatua said to a warrior who stood nearby. 'He is a traitor. From him we will learn if there are others.'
'What fate for the woman, Ushi-Kagan?' asked the scar-faced eastern Kagan.
'It can be no ordinary death,' Bartatua said. He glared at Lakhme with an expression of pure stone. 'You could have been the woman of the ruler of the world. Why did you betray my trust?'
She said nothing, but stood with eyes downcast.
'She schemed against you,' said Conan, 'because it is her nature to do so. She could no more act in good faith than could a scorpion turn into a dove. She would
betray Khondemir as well, or any other man. Even now she stands here plotting some way out of this trap that she has prepared for herself.'
'Kill the slut and be done with it, my lord,' advised the Gerul Kagan. 'The sun will rise soon and we have a battle to fight.'
Bartatua's hand closed around his hilt, and he stared at Lakhme for a moment. Then he released the weapon. 'No. After the fighting, when we reconsecrate our place of burial, then she shall die. Then all shall see what happens to one who betrays the trust of the Ushi-Kagan. Take her to her tent and put her under guard. She has no place whence to run, but watch her well lest she slay herself and cheat me of my vengeance.'
Two trusted warriors led Lakhme away. She did not speak and she kept her face lowered. Those who watched thought that she averted her eyes in shame or fear, but they were wrong. She did it to hide her smile. She would be placed under guard, and the guards would be mere men. Men were tools, instruments for her use. She knew that she would not die on this day, and her thoughts turned on the empire that still lay before her.
'To more important things,' said Bartatua when she was gone. 'The Budini and the Gerul will make the first assault at sunrise. That is the feint to the north wall. We shall give the defenders time to align most of their forces against the feint; then the mass of the horde shall make the true assault against the great entrance in the south wall. Conan will be in charge of that assault. Conan, have you anything to say before we go to prepare our forces for the coming battle?'
Conan stood before the assembled chiefs. The shamans still lay moaning upon the ground, but he ignored them. 'I wish that I had time to train the men properly
for this sort of combat, but that is a futile thought. The thing to remember is that the defenders have horses and bows and that they will have no compunction about using them. The Turanians are not bowmen as mighty as your own, but they are adequate. In any case, the range will not be great, and your men wear only light armour. In a massed charge, nearly every shaft will find a man.
'The important thing is to cover the intervening ground as swiftly as possible. The sooner you can come to hand strokes, the better. The enemy has swords, lances and shields, and knows well how to use them. Do not try to fence or to match swordplay. You must rob their forces, three or four men piling atop every defender. Leap over their shields and go for the throat. You will take many casualties in this way, but the alternative is to be massacred without inflicting any casualties yourselves;'
This was a sobering prospect, and it was a grim group of men who began to seek out their followers. 'What shall we do with these, Ushi-Kagan?' asked a warrior who stood guard over the bound shamans.
Bartatua turned back for a moment. 'Those fraudulent traitors? Kill them all. From this day forth, any shaman who sets foot within my camps shall die on the spot.' He turned away and left for his position as the warrior began methodically cutting throats.
Conan signalled Manzur, and the two walked off alone. When they were well out of earshot, Conan said, 'You may speak now, but keep it low.'
'Conan, those are my countrymen in that camp! I care nothing for the Turanians, but the Red Eagles are Sogarians. I cannot stand by and see them slaughtered.'
'Manzur,' Conan said grimly, 'those are dead men.
This great mob of nomads will not let one survive. The Sogarians have trodden upon sacred soil, and even if a few break away and run, the tribesmen will track them down relentlessly and slay them. They will die cleanly in battle. That is the way soldiers should die. The day they took up arms they knew that this time might come.'
'But they guard Ishkala!' Manzur protested.
'You must abide here,' Conan said. 'I shall be first into the City of Mounds. If it is at all possible, I will find your little princess and bring her out. Perhaps in the confusion the two of you may make your escape.'
'No!' said Manzur obstinately. 'I will go down there and die with my countrymen!'
Conan sighed. 'I feared this. Well, there is only one thing I can do.'
Without warning, his great knotted fist flashed out. The heel of his hand cracked into the side of Manzur's head below the edge of his helmet. The youth crumpled to the ground like a sack of oats. The Cimmerian checked his breathing and was satisfied that the lad was merely unconscious. He slung the boy over his shoulder and went in search of a gully where Manzur might wait out the day of battle, securely bound and gagged.
It was growing light as the two guards conducted Lakhme to her tent. She knew how she would manage her escape and decided that the sooner the better was the best policy. She had studied her guards closely. They were ordinary Ashkuz tribesmen, not extraordinary men such as Bartatua and Conan. This would be easy.
As she ducked into the tent, she turned to the two guards. 'Surely you must come inside with me. How
else may you be certain that I will not kill myself?' The two followed her in.
The interior of the tent was small and cramped so that the guards had to stand close to her. 'Is this not more pleasant than going to fight a battle on foot?' she said teasingly. 'And am I not more pleasing company than the blades of your enemies?'
'Silence, woman,' said one. 'We are here to guard you, not to converse with you.'
'But you have not searched me,' she said. 'After all, I mig
ht bear some hidden weapon.' She let her black robe fall to the ground, and the eyes of the men betrayed her effect. Never had they seen the Kagan's woman save in her all-enveloping robes, and now she stood before them attired only in a brief loincloth and low boots.
'Am I not fair?' she asked, stroking her silken flesh. 'I am a Vendhyan pleasure-slave, schooled in the arts of pleasing men. I know all the hundreds of ways to give a man the ultimate pleasure, ways that common soldiers could never hope to experience.' One hand lifted a perfect breast as if offering and pleasuring herself at the same time. The men stood as though hypnotized.
'But you have not finished your search.' She stepped from her boots; then her hands went to one hip as she began to unfasten her loincloth. As the silk fell away, she deftly kept her dagger masked by the cloth. 'There,' she said. 'Now I can conceal nothing. But if you would be sure, you may search me more closely.' She stepped toward them.
Slowly one of the guards put forth a hand to touch her unearthly white flesh. Her dagger flashed out and scratched a red line across his palm. In an instant it
streaked across the face of the other guard, scoring his cheek. She sprang back as the two sought to gather their wits, so swiftly had seduction turned to violence.
'Slut!' said one. He dragged at his sword; then a look of surprise enveloped his face as he found that drawing the weapon required a terrible effort. He tried to say something to his companion, but his tongue would not move.
Lakhme laughed with delight as the men toppled to the ground and lay there gasping. Their backs arched, their eyes started from their sockets, and their stiffened fingers clawed at the empty air.
'Did you really think that you could have me?' she taunted as she stepped across their bodies, flaunting her nakedness at them. 'Common warriors were never born to enjoy the wisest and most beautiful woman in the world, soon to be the most powerful as well. Men like you live only to be sacrificed to my purposes.' She continued to laugh as, with a final drumming of heels on the ground, the two guards died.
Quickly Lakhme resumed her clothing. A glance out the door of the tent told her that no man stood within sight. All were at their stations, preparing for battle. She began to hurry toward the tethered horses.
Conan stood at the fore of the horde that waited in the dry riverbed to the southeast of the necropolis. He did not like the position at all. The men lay on their bellies, packed together like stockfish in a jar, and they were strung out for hundreds of paces. There was much ground to cover between this place and the rampart, and they would be exposed to arrow fire for most of the distance. There was no other way, though. This was the only place in the entire rolling plain where so many
men could escape being seen from the highest of the mounds.
Besides mail shirt and helmet, Conan carried the largest shield he had been able to find. It was less than two feet across, but it was made of fine Vendhyan steel and it might suffice to protect him from arrows until he was past missile range and could use his sword.
There came a sound of shouting from the necropolis. Then there were trumpets braying and drums beating, followed by a pounding of hooves.
'They begin!' cried Bartatua, who stood next to Conan.
'Give them a few more minutes,' said the Cimmerian. He saw his men stir restlessly, inflamed by the sounds of battle.
'No man stands until I give the word!' said Conan. ' 'Each of you shall soon have plenty of opportunity to die. Be not so eager!'
Carefully the Cimmerian gauged the din from the necropolis. When the greater part of the noise had faded away toward the north, he stood and waved his shield overhead.
'' Forward!' he bellowed.
With a howl of bloodlust, the men sprang to their feet and swarmed over the rim of the draw. With his shield ready for the storm of arrows, Conan began to run. But as the sounds of the horde behind him faded away, he turned and was dismayed to see that he was far in front of the Hyrkanians.
'Run, you sons of whores!' he shouted. 'You are nothing but archery targets if you walk!'
Some of the men broke into an awkward shuffle, and Conan realised that most of these men had never run in their lives. Few of them had even walked more than a few-score paces at a time. Their bandy-legged waddle
would have been laughable except that he knew they were now within arrow range.
As they continued their maddeningly slow progress toward the rampart, it seemed that the wall was all but undefended. A lone warrior stood atop the crest, and Conan did not at all like the look of the situation. When the horde was still two hundred long paces from the rampart, the lone soldier raised a silver trumpet and blew a long, snarling blast. Within moments warriors stood shoulder-to-shoulder atop the rampart. Each held a bow raised at a high angle. A dark cloud arced lazily toward the Hyrkanians.
Conan raised his shield and crouched as much of his body behind it as he could. He heard shafts glance from its surface and he heard the shrieks of stricken men. All around him bodies toppled, transfixed by long shafts.
'Faster, curse you!' he shouted. They continued their slow, sullen advance, and Conan sensed the heart going out of them. This was not their kind of warfare. Already he could see men in the garb of many tribes lagging behind. Almost all of the men in front were Ashkuz tribesmen, for it was their ancestral tombs that lay under defilement.
As the attackers drew nearer to the rampart, the archers began training their bows downward. Suddenly behind the line of bowmen there appeared mounted men. From the saddle, these fired over the heads of the standing men, increasing the firepower of the defenders by at least one third.
Conan groaned to see so many of the tribesmen dropping. And they had yet to inflict a single casualty upon the enemy! 'Up on the rampart now!' he shouted. 'Another few paces and they can't use their bows.'
At that moment a thunder of hooves cut across his shouting. From around the east and west comers of the necropolis came two wings of the Red Eagles. This was the kind of fighting for which heavy cavalry was made, and they sliced through the lightly armoured footmen like a spear piercing smoke. Axes and swords fell, and rose bloodied to fall again. Spears thrust, and no thrust failed to bury a sharp steel point in the entrails of a Hyrkanian raider. Each time the spiked head of a mace descended, the flanks of horses were spattered with blood and brains. Here and there a horse was hamstrung and its rider mobbed and slain, but for the most part, the charge was little more than a slaughter of stymied men.
The two lines of horsemen smashed into the great mob of nomads who were trying to force their way into the gateway. Here the butchery was truly terrible, as the horsemen cut back and forth through the footmen like the blade of a scythe harvesting wheat.
Conan cut a man from the saddle and turned to Bartatua, who was wrestling with a warrior he had hauled from his speared horse.
'This is no good!' Conan said as the Ushi-Kagan pulled his bloody dagger from the horseman's body. 'We must fall back and regroup. At this rate, they'll kill us all!'
'Aye,' said Bartatua. An arrow narrowly missed his face and buried itself in the throat of a nearby tribesman. The man went down with a torrent of blood spraying from his lips.
'Fall back!' Bartatua shouted. He signalled to the nearest men, as did Conan. Gradually, all along the line, men began to break away and flee. Many who did so fell upon their faces, arrows in their backs.
Conan backed away, always keeping his shield between himself and the enemy. Once a shaft brushed his
thigh, making a shallow cut. Another nicked his ankle. His skill and his armour saved him from serious injury.
When they were out of arrow range, the men regathered. The Ushi-Kagan surveyed the scene of carnage with dismay and rage. 'How many have we lost?' he demanded.
'Thousands. And I doubt that we slew a hundred of them. Probably not half that many.' Conan surveyed the shattered warriors who sat upon the ground. 'And at least one man in three is wounded, many seriously.'
They were rejoined by the north
ern party. These tribesmen had not suffered as badly, for the feint had not been pressed far within arrow range and the northern wall had been thinly defended. Nor had this horde met with a heavy cavalry charge. After receiving his chief's report, Bartatua led Conan a distance away from the others and spoke with him.
'They knew,' he said. 'They knew that the attack from the north was to be a feint. They were fully prepared to savage my horde, with archers and horsemen waiting below the southern rampart until we were within range. They had their heavy cavalry massed at the eastern and western walls, ready to ride over the rampart and take us in both flanks.' He brooded for a few minutes. 'It was Lakhme. When that witch went into the City of Mounds last night, she told them of my strategy. How long before my Kagans figure that out, Conan? Who will respect a leader who reveals his most important secrets to a foreign slave woman?'
Conan said nothing. When Bartatua wanted advice for the next attack, he would say so.
'And too many of those who died were Ashkuz, my own tribe. They are the strong pillar that upholds my sway. Must I start all over again, building my power among the tribes, reforging the broken alliances that
were built upon their trust in my invincibility?' Conan saw that the most self-confident man he had ever known was beginning to doubt himself. 'Well, Conan, tell me how I may retrieve this sorry situation.'
'For one thing, we do nothing for the rest of the day,' said the Cimmerian. 'Let the men rest and regain heart. Let them also brood upon slain comrades and kinsmen. We shall strike at sunset. That will leave enough light for those who fear to die in the dark.' He looked toward the ramparts, where warriors had descended to finish off the wounded and retrieve arrows from the bodies.
'Their concentrated defence is too much to face,' he continued. 'We will divide into four groups and assault all four sides at once. There will be many slain, but nothing like this morning. The enemy will be spread too thin to concentrate its fire. If your men could just run, their losses would be far fewer, but that is asking the impossible.'
The Conan Chronology Page 465