Deftly Conan brought his blade over her head to run through a black-robed man who ran from the building with a dagger in his hand and murder in his eye. The hillman’s multi-hued turban rolled from his head as he fell.
“I was just,” Tamira began again, holding the cloak even more tightly, but she cut off with a squeal as Conan swung her over his shoulder.
“Fool, fool woman,” he muttered, and with a wary eye for other hillmen with more than flight on their minds, he headed for the mountain heights.
Behind him, clangor rose as the Zamoran army topped the rise overlooking the village.
Epilogue
Geaning back against a boulder, Conan allowed himself a real smile for the first time in days. They were at the edge of the mountains, and in their journey they had seen no hillman who was not fleeing. Certainly there had been none interested in attacking outsiders.
“ … And when Tenerses realized how many hillmen he faced,” Fyrdan was saying, “he began shouting for me and his torturer all in one breath.”
“There was little fun where we were, either,” Haral told him. “These old bones cannot take this adventuring any more.”
Jondra and Tamira, still swathed in their borrowed cloaks, huddled close to a small fire with their heads together. They showed more interest in their own talk than that of the men.
“It was hard enough with the Zamorans,” the bony man laughed. “I thought I would have my hide stripped off on the instant. Then that … that sound came.” He shivered and pulled his cloak closer about him. “It turned men’s bowels to water. The hillmen stood for only a moment after that, then broke.”
“That was
Conan,” Eldran said from where he examined the two shaggy horses they had found wandering, saddled but riderless, in the mountains. There had been others that they could not catch. “He slew the beast of fire, and it … screamed.”
“And the Zamoran gained his victory,” Haral said, “and his glory. It will be years before the hill tribes so much as think of uniting again. He will be acclaimed a hero in Shadizar, while the Cimmerian gets nothing.”
“Let Tenerses have his glory,” Conan said. “We have our lives, and the beast is dead. What more can we ask?”
Eldran turned suddenly from the horses. “One more thing,” he said sharply. “A matter of debt. Jondra!”
Jondra stiffened and looked over her shoulder at the tall Brythunian. Tamira rose swiftly, carefully holding the black cloak closed, and moved to Conan’s side.
“I know of no debt I owe you.” The gray-eyed noblewoman’s voice was tight. “But I would speak with you about garments. How long am I to be forced to wear no more than this cloak? Surely you can find me something more.”
“Garments are a part of your debt,” Eldran told her. He ticked off items on his fingers. “One cloak lined with badger fur. One pair of wolf fur leggings. And a good Nemedian dagger. I will not speak of a crack on the head. Since I see no chance of having them returned, I will have payment.”
Jondra sniffed. “I will have their weight in gold sent to you from Shadizar.”
“Shadizar?” Eldran laughed. “I am a Brythunian. What do I care of gold in Shadizar?” Abruptly he leaped, bearing the tall noblewoman to the ground. From his belt he produced long leather thongs like those used to tie leggings. “If you cannot pay me,” he said into her disbelieving face, “then I will have you in payment.”
Conan rose to his feet, one hand going to his sword hilt, but Tamira laid both of her small hands atop his. “Do nothing,” she said softly.
The big Cimmerian frowned down at her. “Do you hate her so?”
Tamira shook her head, smiling. “You would have to be a woman to understand. Her choice is to return to being a wealthy outcast, scorned for her blood, or to be the captive of a man who loves her. And whom she loves, though she cannot bring herself to admit it. It is a choice any woman could make in an instant.”
Conan admitted to himself that Jondra did not seem to be struggling as hard as she might, though she almost made up for it with her tirade. “You Brythunian oaf! Erlik blast your soul! Unhand me! I’ll have your head for this! Derketo shrivel your manhood! I will see you flayed alive! Ouch! My ransom will be more wealth than you’ve ever seen if I am unharmed, Mitra curse you!”
Eldran straightened from her with a grin. She was a neat bundle in the cloak, now, snugly tied from shoulders to ankles with the leather thongs. “I would not take all the wealth of Zamora for you,” he said. “Besides, a slave in Brythunia can have no interest in gold in Shadizar.” He turned his back on her indignant gasp. “You understand, Cimmerian?”
Conan exchanged a glance with Tamira; she nodded. “I have had it explained to me,” he answered. “But now it is time to take my leave.”
“Wiccana watch over you, Cimmerian,” Eldran said. Frydan and Haral echoed the farewell.
Conan swung into the saddle of one of the two horses. “Tamira?” he said, reaching down both hands. As he lifted her up behind him, her cloak became disarrayed, exposing soft curves and satin skin, and she had to press herself to his back to preserve her modesty.
“Be more careful,” she complained.
The big Cimmerian only smiled, and spoke to the others. “Fare you well, and take a pull at the hellhorn for me if you get there before me.”