Conan of Cimmeria Part 20

"Strip her!" commanded Tananda. The flimsy robe was torn from Diana's body.

"String her up!" said Tananda. Diana's wrists were bound, the rope was thrown over a beam, and the end was pulled taut, so that the girl's arms were extended straight over her head.

Tananda rose, a whip in her hand. "Now," she said with a cruel smile, "we shall see what you know about our dear friend Tuthmes' little schemes. Once more: will you speak?"

Her voice choked with sobs, Diana could only shake her head. The whip wristled and cracked across the Nemedian girl's skin, leaving a red welt diagonally across her back. Diana uttered a piercing shriek.

"What's all this?" said a deep voice. Conan, wearing his coat of mail over his jubbah and girt with his sword, stood in the doorway. Having become intimate with Tananda, he was accustomed to entering her palace unannounced. Tananda had taken lovers before-the murdered Amboola among them-but never one in whose embraces she found such ecstasy, nor one whose relationship with her she flaunted so brazenly. She could not have enough of the giant northerner.

Now, however, she spun about. "Just a northern s.l.u.t, whom Tuthmes was sending me as a gift-no doubt to slip a dagger into my ribs or a potion into my wine," she snapped. "I am trying to learn the truth from her.

If you want to love me, come back later."

"That is not my only reason for coming," he replied, grinning wolfishly. "There is also a little matter of state. What is this folly, to let the blacks into the Inner City to watch Aahmes burn?"

"What folly, Conan? It will show the black dogs I am not to be trifled with. The scoundrel will be tortured in a way that will be remembered for years. Thus perish all foes of our divine dynasty! What objection have you, pray?"

"Just this: if you let a few thousand Kus.h.i.tes into the Inner City and then work up their blood l.u.s.t by the sight of the torture, it won't take much to set off another rising. Your divine dynasty has not given them much cause to love it."

"I do not fear those black sc.u.m!"

"Maybe not. But I have saved your pretty neck from them twice, and the third time my luck might run out. I tried to tell your minister Afari this just now, in his palace, but he said it was your command and he could do naught. I thought you might listen to sense from me, since your people fear you too much to say anything that might displease you."

"I'll do naught of the kind. Now get out of here and leave me to my work-unless you would care to wield the whip yourself."

Conan approached Diana. "Tuthmes has taste," he said. "But the la.s.s has been frightened out of her wits. No tale you got out of her would be worth the hearing. Give her to me, and I'll show you what a little kindness can do."

"You, kind? Ha! Mind your own affairs, Conan, and I will mind mine. You should be posting your guardsmen against tonight's gathering." Tananda spoke sharply to Diana: "Now speak, hussy, d.a.m.n your soul!" The whip hissed as she drew back her arm for another lash.

Moving with the effortless speed of a lion, Conan caught Tananda's wrist and twisted the whip out of her hand.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "You dare to use force on me? I'll have you-I'll-I'll-"

"You'll what?" said Conan calmly. He tossed the whip into a corner, drew his dagger, and cut the rope that bound Diana's wrists. Tananda's servants exchanged uneasy glances.

"Mind your royal dignity, Highness!" grinned Conan, gathering Diana into his arms. "Remember that, with me in command of the guard, you have at least a chance. Without me-well, you know the answer to that. I shall see you at the torture."

He strode toward the door, carrying the Nemedian girl. Screaming with rage, Tananda picked up the discarded whip and hurled it after him. The handle struck his broad back, and the whip fell to the floor.

"Just because she has a fish-belly skin like yours, you prefer her to me!" shrieked Tananda. "You shall rue your insolence!"

With a rumbling laugh, Conan walked out. Tananda sank to the floor, beating the marble with her fists and weeping with frustration.

Moments later, Shubba, driving Tuthmes' chariot back toward his master's house, pa.s.sed Conan's dwelling. He was astonished to see Conan, carrying a naked girl in his arms, entering his front door.

Shubba shook the reins and hastened on his way.

6. Dark Counsel

The first lamps had been lit against the dusk as Tuthmes sat in his chamber with Shubba and with Muru, the tall Kordafan sorcerer. Shubba, glancing uneasily at his master, had finished his tale.

"I see that I did not credit Tananda with her full measure of suspiciousness," said Tuthmes. "A pity to waste so promising an instrument as that Nemedian girl, but not every shaft strikes the b.u.t.t.

The question, however, is: what shall we do next? Has anyone seen Ageera?"

"Nay, my lord," said Shubba. "He vanished after stirring up that riot against Tananda-very prudently, if I may say so. Some say he has left Meroe; some, that he lurks in the temple of Jullah, working divinations by day and night."

"If our divine queen had the wit of a worm," sneered Tuthmes, "she would invade that devil-devil house with a few stout guardsmen and hang the priests to their own rooftree." His two companions started and shifted their eyes uneasily. "I know; you are all terrified of their spells and spooks. Well, let us see. The girl is now useless to us. If Tananda failed to wring our secrets from her, Conan will do so by gentler means, and in his house she will learn naught of interest to us anyway. She must die forthwith. Muru, can you send your demon to Conan's house while he is commanding his guardsmen this evening, to make away with the wench?"

"That I can, master," replied the Kordafan. "Should I not command it to stay there until Conan returns and slay him, too? For I see that you will never be king whilst Conan lives. As long as he holds his present post, he will fight like a devil to protect the queen, his leman, because he so promised to do, regardless of how he and she may quarrel otherwise."

Shubba added: "Even if we got rid of Tananda, Conan would still stand in our way. He might become king himself. He is practically the uncrowned king of Kush now-the queen's confidant and lover. His guardsmen love him, swearing that despite his white skin he is really a black man like themselves inside."

"Good," said Tuthmes. "Let us dispose of the twain at the same time. I shall be watching the torture of Aahmes in the main square, so that none shall say that I had a hand in the slaying."

"Why not set the demon on Tananda, also?" asked Shubba.

"It is not yet time. First, I must align the other n.o.bles behind my claim to the throne, and this will not be easy. Too many of them, as well, fancy themselves as king of Kush. Until my faction grows stronger, my hold on the throne would be as insecure as Tananda's now is. So I am satisfied to wait, meanwhile letting her hang herself by her own excesses."

7. The Fate of a Kingdom

In the main square of the Inner City, Prince Aahmes was tied to a stake in the center. Aahmes was a plump, brown-skinned young man, whose very innocence in matters of politics, it seemed, had enabled Afari to trap him by a false accusation.

Bonfires in the corners of the square and lines of torches illuminated an infernal scene. Between the stake and the royal palace stood a low platform, on which sat Tananda. Around the platform, royal guards were ranked three deep.

The fires shone redly on the long blades of their spears, their shields of elephant hide, and the plumes of their headdresses.

To one side of the square, Conan sat his horse at the head of a company of mounted guardsmen with lances erect. In the distance, lightning rippled through high-piled clouds.

In the center, where Lord Aahmes was tied, more guardsmen kept a s.p.a.ce clear. In the s.p.a.ce, the royal executioner was heating the instruments of his calling over a little forge. The rest of the square was jammed with most of the folk of Merofi, mingled in one vast, indiscriminate throng. The torchlight picked out white eyeb.a.l.l.s and teeth against dark skins. Tuthmes and his servants formed a solid clump in the front row.

Conan looked over the throng with dark foreboding. All had been orderly so far; but who knew what would happen when primitive pa.s.sions were stirred? A nameless anxiety nagged at the back of his mind. As time pa.s.sed, this anxiety became fixed, not on the fate of the headstrong queen, but on the Nemedian girl whom he had left at his house. He had left her with only a single servant, a black woman, because he had needed all his guardsmen to control the gathering in the square.

In the few hours he had known Diana, Conan had become much taken with her. Sweet, gentle, and perhaps even a virgin, she contrasted in every way with the fiery, temptestuous, pa.s.sionate, cruel, sensual Tananda.

Being Tananda's lover was certainly exciting, but after a time Conan thought he might prefer someone less stormy for a change. Knowing Tananda, he would not have put it past her to have sent one of her servants to murder Diana while Conan was otherwise occupied.

In the center of the square, the executioner blew on his little charcoal fire with a bellows. He held up an instrument, which glowed a bright cherry red in the dark. He approached the prisoner. Conan could not hear over the murmur of the crowd, but he knew that the executioner was asking Aahmes for details of his plot The captive shook his head.

It was as though a voice were speaking inside Conan's mind, urging him to return to his house. In the Hyborian lands, Conan had listened to the speculations of priests and philosophers. They had argued over the existence of guardian spirits and over the possibility of direct communication from mind to mind. Being convinced that they were all mad, he had not paid much attention at the time. Now, however, he thought he knew what they were talking about. He tried to dismiss the sensation as mere imagination; but it returned, stronger than ever.

At last Conan told his adjutant: "Mongo, take command until I return."

"Whither go you, Lord Conan?" asked the black.

"To ride through the streets, to be sure no gang of rascals has gathered under cover of darkness. Keep things under control; I shall soon be back."

Conan turned his horse and trotted out of the square. The crowd opened to let him pa.s.s. The sensation in his head was stronger than ever. He clucked his steed to an easy canter and presently drew rein in front of his dwelling. A faint rumble of thunder sounded.

The house was dark, save for a single light in the back. Conan dismounted, tied his horse, and entered, hand on hilt. At that instant he heard a frightful scream, which he recognized as the voice of Diana.

With a sulfurous oath, Conan rushed headlong into the house, tearing out his sword. The scream came from the living room, which was dark save for the stray beams of a single candle that burned in the kitchen.