'I shall not,' Conan said. 'Greater rewards beckon me elsewhere.'
'Then ride forth with the blessings of the gods, outlander,' said the sergeant.
Conan rode away from the tree and its unnatural fruit, reflecting that this was not the first time that officers charged with enforcement had expressed an interest in seeing him out of their territory. He was quite sure that it would not be the last.
Just past noon, he crossed the border into Aquilonia. Two small forts marked the boundary, since at this point there was no natural feature such as a river or a mountain range to mark it. There had been peace between the nations for some time, and the border officials did no more than note his name and give him a wax tablet stamped with the date and the place of the border crossing. He was supposed to surrender this tablet to royal officers upon
demand and give it back when he should leave the country. Conan accepted this process with the resignation with which he tolerated all such nonsense.
The border territories of Aquilonia were similar to those of Nemedia, but they were far more efficiently policed. The villages were, for the most part, cleaner and better ordered than those on the other side of the border, not that Conan considered this to be a great attraction. His own tastes ran to the colourful and the uproarious. If he had wanted a life that was calm and harmonious, as philosophers had assured him was that most to be desired, he would have stayed at home in Cimmeria. Life there could be brutal and ferocious, but most of the time it was dull. That was why he had left.
The high road was paved with cut stone, but Conan saw that there were gaps where weeds sprouted between the slabs of granite, and in places, pieces of the road had been washed out by storms. Clearly, the king of this place was failing. Conan was not a man of the civilised lands, but in his wanderings he had learned to read such signs. In the forested Cimmerian lowlands, the broken stub of a branch holding in its clefts strands of bristling black hair meant a wild bull grown old, clumsy and decrepit. Likewise, a fine road in such a state of neglect meant a king who was losing his grip.
Even in its deteriorated condition, the fine road brought him within a few days to the juncture of the high road leading to Tarantia. He would have liked to ride north and see the capital city, but instead, he rode south, toward Shamar.
This highway linked the two major cities of Aquilonia, and during the height of the travelling season, it would be thronged. With winter closing in, the traffic had dwindled, and for much of the time Conan could see no other travellers in either direction. The lands nearby were cultivated and had the look of great tales, with broad fields worked by peasants, and in the distance he could descry the fine villas of the wealthy. Standing near each country house was a fortified tower to which the owners could repair in unsettled times.
At intervals along the road stood shrines to the local gods, some of them bearing the remains of offerings: flowers, cakes, and incense. As he passed one of these shrines, Conan heard sounds from a copse of trees behind the structure. There were the growling voices of men, then the sharp, high scream of a woman. Without pausing for thought, he spurred his horse off the road and pounded for the trees.
Just inside the wood, three men looked up from their activity at the Cimmerian's arrival, hard-bitten men in ragged clothing, belted with swords and long daggers. They crouched over a struggling woman who was resisting the removal of her garments. Conan saw a flash of white limbs and grinned at this unexpected liveliness in the midst of his otherwise dull morning.
'Begone, fool,' snarled a man whose rat-trap mouth was framed by thin, drooping black moustaches. His greasy black hair was parted in the centre by a jagged scar. 'You've no call to interfere with our sport.'
'Sport, is it?' Conan said. 'You call three men attacking one woman sport?' He drew his sword and thumbed its edge. 'What I call sport is a three-on-one fight with a man who knows his business. Will you play with me?'
Setting spurs to his horse, Conan charged down upon them. The men looked at one another for an instant, then took to their heels as one man. Three to one was poor odds when the one was mounted and armoured. Laughing, Conan chased them as they scrambled among the trees. He was forced to manoeuvre carefully among the boles, ducking low to avoid limbs. The men reached the edge of the wood ahead of him, and there they scrambled onto their horses. Conan burst from the trees just in time to see three horses' tails presented to him, their riders galloping the mounts for all they were worth.
Hallooing like a hunter with a stag fleeing before him, Conan pounded toward them, his sword cutting great circles in the air around him. To his astonishment, the three horses put on a great burst of speed and the men began to draw away. His own horse was already running at top speed, and it was clear that he would
not catch these three. He reined in and turned, then trotted his mount back to the copse behind the shrine.
He found the woman rearranging her clothing. Her face was a furious red, but her smile was dazzling when he rode up.
'Oh, sir, I cannot begin to thank you. Who knows what my fate might have been had you not arrived as you did?'
'I can guess,' Conan said. 'But you need not fear now. Those were the best-mounted cowards in Aquilonia. They were riding racehorses, else I'd have collected their heads.'
'If they were thieves, why should they not steal the best?' the woman said. 'I would think that men who spend their lives fleeing must prise fleet animals.'
'That makes sense,' Conan agreed. 'How came it about that you fell afoul of them?'
'I was travelling on the highway and stopped at this shrine to rest and make a small offering. When I emerged, they were waiting for me. I think they must have camped in these woods to catch lone travellers. They relieved me of my belongings, then dragged me here to make use of what I had left. I am sure that after that, they would have cut my throat.' She shuddered, then looked up with another smile. 'But you appeared, like a champion out of legend. I shall be grateful to you forever.'
Conan studied her as she spoke, and he liked what he saw. The woman was slender, with long, tapering legs and a willowy waist. Her breasts were high and full. Beneath a mane of somewhat disarrayed chestnut hair, her face was heart-shaped, with generous lips and wide blue eyes.
'Did they get away with your belongings?' Conan asked, forcing his mind back to practical matters.
'Let me see.' She looked around a little clearing. 'I think they tossed them somewhere when they set about to . . . to . . .'
'Rape you,' Conan finished for her. It was a simple enough word, he thought. The woman shouldn't have to fumble for it.
'Yes. Exactly. Here they are! They didn't get away with them.' She stooped and picked up a shawl wrapped around a small bundle. 'Not that there is all that much to steal.'
Conan noted that something within the bundle jingled. He was always alert for such sounds.
'Whither are you bound?' he asked.
'I fare to a town called Sicas,' she said. 'It is not far from here. The road to Sicas branches off this one a few miles to the south.'
'Sicas! That is my destination as well.'
'Say you so?' She lowered her eyes, blushing again. 'Sir, you have already done so much for me, I scarcely feel that I could implore you for another favour, but could you, of your kindness, allow me to travel along with you until we reach the city? I think that now I would be terrified to walk this highway alone.'
'Assuredly,' said Conan, who had had something of the sort on his mind since his first good look at her. 'This is no racehorse, but it is strong and will carry double with no undue strain.'
'Oh, thank you, sir! If you will let me take your hand, I will use your stirrup to mount behind you.'
'No need,' Conan said. He leaned low, grasped her about her slender waist and set her before him on his saddle.
She gasped. 'I have never known a man so strong! And you are not only brave, but generous. I do not know how to express my gratitude.'
'Doubtless we shall think of something,
' he assured her.
At an easy walk, he rode back onto the highway and turned southward.
'You speak with a strange accent,' she said. 'What land do you hail from?'
'Cimmeria,' he said. 'I am Conan, a free warrior.'
'Cimmeria! It is almost a name from legend. I was just a girl when your countrymen sacked Venarium, but I remember the near panic that spread at the news. Aquilonia had been victorious for so long that it seemed unnatural for mere barbarians ...' She clapped a hand across her mouth. 'Oh, forgive me! I did not mean to . . .'
'No matter,' Conan said. 'I've seen enough of civilised places to know that it is a fine thing to be a barbarian. Yes, I was
at Venarium. It was my first real battle, and it was a good one. Those we win are always good ones.' He smiled down at her. The top of her head barely reached his chin. 'Now, how do you happen to be travelling alone, on foot, to a place like Sicas?'
She sighed deeply. ' 'It is not a pretty story. My name is Brita, and my home is in Tarantia. My father was a Master of the Drapers' Guild. Both my parents died in the pestilence that swept the city five years ago. I was left with only my younger sister, Ylla.
'We were left with our house and a small stipend from the guild. I had many offers of marriage, but I had promised our mother on her deathbed that I would not marry until I saw my younger sister grown and wed. The times were hard for a while, yet we scraped by.
'But as she blossomed, Ylla grew wilder. Soon I could not manage her. She spent much time out in the city, in its less savoury quarters, with a string of male companions, each one more disreputable than the last. Finally she came home with a villain named Asdras.' She all but spat at the name. 'He was a handsome enough fellow, but he was a gambler and a thief, although a well-spoken thief. He was the ruined son of a prominent family and seemed to fancy himself some sort of raffish aristocrat, as if he followed his low pursuits only for the amusement.
'He demanded—not asked for, but demanded—my sister's hand in marriage. I banished him from our house, of course. For days there were terrible scenes between my sister and myself. She raged that I was ruining her life, that I sought to drive away the man she loved.' Brita brushed a pair of tears that made twin tracks down her pale cheeks. 'As if a man like Asdras could ever love anyone except himself.' She released yet another deep sigh.
'Well, it could not drag on forever. One day Ylla stormed out, claiming that she would run away with Asdras. I thought it was just another of her childish threats and I awaited her return. She did not come back that night, nor all the next day. I went seeking her, only to find that she had truly run away with the rogue. Some of his friends told me that Asdras had heard that the town of Sicas was a veritable paradise for men like himself, even more wicked
than the lowest quarters of Tarantia. Naturally he had to see for himself, and he took Ylla with him.
'I thought that my heart would break, but I still love my sister, and I must honour my pledge to our mother, so I resolved to fare to this evil city and fetch my sister back. I sold what possessions I could to raise money, and I set out on foot, feeling that a horse would be an extravagance. I have no idea of how long I must search for my sister in Sicas, or of what bribes may be necessary.'
'I think that you had better go back to Tarantia,' Conan said. 'A city like Sicas is no place for a gently bred lass such as you. Go home and wait. I have known many girls like your sister, and a great many men like this Asdras. Sooner or later she'll tire of being a ne'er-do-well's woman and she'll come home. Just give the girl time.' He said this only to comfort the distressed woman. He knew full well that such girls almost always became harlots after they deserted their rogues, or the rogues tired of them. They almost never went home.
'Ah, but I cannot!' Brita raised her tearful face to his. 'I love my sister, and I am certain that her faults are merely those of headstrong youth. If I can bring her back home, I am sure that in time she will settle down and will wed decently.'
Conan had his doubts. It sounded as if the young slut had cut a swath through the dissipated youth of Tarantia and, as such, would make an unlikely match for some plodding guildsman. He forbore to express these thoughts.
Stifling her tears, Brita spoke again. 'I scarcely know how to ask this, since you have been so kind. But when we reach Sicas, could you help me search for my sister?' At his frown, she added hastily: 'Oh, I know it is presumptuous of me, but I am so desperate! I have a little money, and I can pay you for your trouble.'
The last thing Conan wanted was to be a woman's protector while he was in the city, and neither did he want to take from her what was undoubtedly a pitiful sum of money. Nor did he wish to dash her hopes, so he equivocated as best he could.
'Well, I've a task to perform in Sicas, and I've already accepted the hire, so that must come first. But when we arrive, I'll see what may be done. I'll see you settled there and perhaps talk to a few officials.'
She beamed. 'Oh, thank you!' She cast her arms around his neck and kissed his slightly bristled cheek. He had not shaved in several days.
Now it was Conan who sighed. He had always thought it foolish to take in wounded birds. At least, he thought, this time he had taken in a pretty one.
A tiny wayside market stood at the junction of the high road with the side road to Sicas. Conan questioned a seller of clothes about their route while Brita went to a fruit-seller's booth. She had pointed out, practically, that the produce here would certainly be cheaper than in the town.
'Aye, that is the road to Sicas,' said the clothier. 'And if I were you, I'd ride straight on to Shamar. Sicas is a wicked place.'
'I like wicked places,' Conan told him.
'So do I, within reason. But Sicas is more than just wicked.'
'What makes it so bad?' Conan asked.
'I could spend all day telling you, but since you're going there anyway, you'll find out all too soon. Good luck to you.'
Conan remounted and soon Brita rejoined him, her shawl now bulging with fresh fruits. He lifted her to the saddle before him and began to ride down the side road toward Sicas. Brita's eyes sparkled and she seemed exhilarated.
'What has changed your mood?' he asked.
'I spoke to some vendors back there,' she reported. 'They said that two people went toward Sicas a few days ago, riding from the direction of Tarantia. They match exactly the description of Asdras and Ylla.''
'Well, that's something, anyway,' Conan grumbled. He had few hopes for the success of the woman's mission.
In the late afternoon they stopped on a hilltop overlooking Sicas. The view was serene for a town with such an odious reputation. Its shape was triangular, with the two rivers joining at the
apex. The base of the triangle was a wall built across the peninsula of land formed by the converging rivers. A moat had been dug at the foot of the wall, linking the River Fury on the east with the Ossar on the west. A stone bridge built on arches crossed the Fury just north of the wall. In the distance, on the other side of the Ossar, Conan could just make out a cluster of structures. This must be the silver mine, he thought.
'No sense waiting,' he said, heading the horse down the hill.
III
The City of Rogues
The stone bridge rang hollowly beneath the horse's steel-shod hooves as Conan rode across, Brita propped on the saddle before him. On the far side of the bridge the road turned right and ran a quarter-mile to the single gate in the town's wall. They stopped at the gate and were looked over by a singularly scruffy guard. The man wore a dingy cuirass and a dented helmet, and he leaned on a halberd that appeared to be at least a hundred years old.
'Who're you?' the man demanded.
'Conan of Cimmeria and Brita of Tarantia,' Conan answered. 'We come to Sicas on legitimate business.'
'D'you think anybody cares? All sorts of fools ride into this town. Some of them leave by way of this gate, but most of them leave by way of the river, floating.' Even from the height of his saddle, Conan could smel
l the sour wine on the man's breath.
'That being the case,' the Cimmerian said, 'you'll not mind standing aside to let us pass.'
'The fee's two silver marks,' the guard said sullenly.
'A mark for the town and a mark for you, eh?' Conan said.
'What's it to you? A man must make a living.'
'I will pay him,' Brita offered quietly. 'We do not want trouble with the authorities.'
'No, you'll not,' Conan grumbled. He reached into his pouch and withdrew four marks of silver, which he tossed to the guard. 'Now we've paid. Let us pass.'
The man stood aside and bowed with exaggerated courtesy. 'Welcome to our fair city, strangers. You'll pay gold to get out again.'
They passed beneath the lintel and into the town. 'This town is living up to its reputation already,' Conan muttered.
'It is just the sort of place to attract Asdras,' Brita assured him.
A single wide street led from the gate into the heart of the town. All of the side streets were narrow and twisted. They had not passed the length of two blocks when they came upon a violent commotion.
'Draw!' shouted a voice. Instinctively, Conan gripped the throat of his sheath and pressed his thumb against the hilt of his sword, loosening it from the slight grip of the scabbard. But the shout was not for him. Three young men dressed in red leather lad a fourth backed against a wall. The man at bay was a black-bearded, scar-faced fellow with a cast in one eye. He snatched forth a straight backsword with a half-basket hilt. The three drew Khorajan sabres. These weapons had long, curving blades and handles long enough to grip with both hands.
'Cowards!' shouted the black-bearded man. He slashed at one of the youths, who jumped back, laughing. Another stepped in and slashed the lone man's exposed side. The man gasped and t lapped a hand to the wound, whirling to face this assailant. As ho did, he exposed his back to the third, who slashed him obliquely from shoulder to hip.
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