Conan the Avenger Part 12

She stiffened and pointed. The sail had reappeared.

"Look, my lord!" she cried. "Yonder is a prize for your ships! A pirate! We have surprised them!"

The yedka was not the only one who spied the corsair. Swift orders were shouted. The crew prepared for battle, while signals were run up to warn the sister vessel to do likewise.

The overseers moved among the benches to check the fetters chaining the rowers. Stacks of arms were readied by the mast, and the ship's soldiery ran to their stations. Archers climbed into the rigging to suitable points of vantage, while groups of burly seamen, armed with grapnels, stood by the gunwales.

Though Conan's sharp eyes could not discern the details of these preparations, he knew that they began as soon as he let his ship be sighted. The pirate ship was long since ready for battle. Despite the heavy odds against the pirate crew, all trusted their barbaric captain implicitly. Men who had sailed with Conan years ago told fantastic tales about former sea fights and the ingenious ways the Cimmerian had turned the tables on his foes. Keen blades were shaken at the distant Turanian ships, while bearded mouths muttered oaths in many tongues.

"Prepare to go about." The sharp voice of their captain cut like steel through the din.

The order was a shock to the crew. Here they were, ready for the attack, with the greatest captain in the world to lead them-and what did this captain do? Prepare to run like a rabbit! Bewildered, they went halfheartedly to their ch.o.r.es. Conan noticed their listlessness and snarled:

"Be swift, you mangy rascals, or I'll have your backs raw under the lash! Do you think I'm fool enough to fight two war galleys, each with twice my strength, on the open sea, when I have a better plan? Do not worry, lubbers, we shall have a feasting of swords, that songs will be written about. Now go to it!"

Fired with new enthusiasm, the men sprang into the rigging. Soon the ship was speeding toward the inner parts of the Zhurazi Archipelago.

Before putting his plan into operation, Conan conferred with the ship's carpenter. The information gleaned, together with his own knowledge of the waters, left him no doubts.

The Zhurazi Archipelago was made up of two large islands surrounded by a great number of smaller isles. The strait between the two main islands was a long, narrow channel, and for this Conan guided his ship.

There was grim expectation in his mien as he viewed the Turanian galleys following astern, their oars laboring with all the power that could be wrung from the slaves.

King Yezdigerd paced the p.o.o.p, armed in silvered Turanian mail and a gold-spired helmet He bore a round, emblazoned shield on his left arm; a long scimitar hung by his side. The cruel and gloomy Turanian monarch was also a fierce and intrepid warrior, who loved to take part in a good fight in person.

"See how the yellow hyenas flee!" he cried. "Will they play games with us? They will lose the wind among the islands, and then our oars will make them easy prey. Faster!"

Meanwhile the admiral conferred in low tones with the "shipmaster, who argued his point with many gestures and head shakings. The admiral, looking doubtful, went back up to the p.o.o.p. He said:

"Your Majesty, these waters are unsounded. We have no charts we can.

trust, and the shipmaster fears we shall ground. I suggest we circle the islands and catch the corsair in open sea."

Yezdigerd's voice swept aside the misgivings of his admiral with a sweeping gesture. His voice was hot with exasperation.

"I told you the rascal will be an easy prey in the lee of the islands.

Let the whips be plied to bring us every ounce of speed. We shall snap our jaws about the pirate soon enough!"

The king seemed to have reason for his expectations. The slender corsair was now barely halfway through the strait, making laborious headway. The Turanians, seeing their victim as good as caught, shouted with glee.

Dismay reigned among the pirate crew. Their progress was slow, and the Hyrkanian ships were closing in with every stroke, like hawks plummeting down upon a dove. Rolf stood silent, with the taciturnity of the northern barbarian, but Arms pleaded with his captain:

"Captain, the Hyrkanians will reach us long before we emerge! We stand no chance. We cannot maneuver in this narrow way, and their rams will splinter us like an eggsh.e.l.l. Could we not warp her ash.o.r.e with the boats? We might put up a fight in the jungle. Tarim! We must do something!"

Conan, his calm unruffled, pointed at the oncoming war galleys. They were indeed a formidable sight. In the lead came the Scimitar with white water boiling up around her bow and her ten-foot bronze ram. She seemed a very angel of doom, descending in swift anger upon the wrongdoer. Close behind followed her sister, only a little less imposing.

"A pretty sight, by Ishtar," said Conan calmly. "Good speed, too. The slave drivers must be plying their whips with vigor. A heavy ship, that foremost one. Three or four times our weight."

His voice changed its tone from light banter to stern efficiency. "What are your soundings now?"

"Five fathoms, captain, and slowly increasing. We have pa.s.sed the throat of the shallows. A wonder we did not sc.r.a.pe our bottom off!"

"Good! I knew we should get through. Now look at our pursuers!"

The Scimitar, bearing down upon her prey at full speed, suddenly stopped dead. A cracking of timbers and snapping of cordage resounded between the islands. Cries of dismay rent the air as the mast snapped off at the base and toppled, shrouding the decks in folds of canvas.

The oars began backing to get her off, but her speed at the time of grounding had been too great. The unseen sandbank held her fast like a clutching octopus.

The other galley was a little more fortunate. Her captain was a man of decision and, when the leading vessel struck, he promptly ordered the oars to back water. But the oars were unevenly applied in the confusion and the galley veered to port toward the sh.o.r.e. She was saved from the cliffs only by another sandbank, into which she plowed deeply. Boats were launched and lines paid out to prepare for the arduous task of warping her afloat.

The throng on the deck of the corsair howled, shook their weapons, and made uncomplimentary gestures at the Turanians. They cheered Conan, and even the pessimistic shipmaster voiced his frank esteem.

"Those galleys will be days in getting afloat," said Artus. "I doubt the bigger one will ever sail again; her bottom must be half stove in.

"So, captain, whither do we sail? Khoraf, where the slavers put in with the fairest women of the South? Rhamdan, where the great caravan road ends?"

Conan's voice was tinged with scorn as he swept the throng with his ice-blue glance. "We have Turanian ships here, my friends. We have not escaped Yezdigerd; we have caught him in a trap! I promised you a feasting of swords. You shall have it." He paused, looking upward. "The wind freshens; we are coming out of lee. Set a course to round the larboard island!"

Eager hands sprang to the lines as all realized the full genius of Conan's planning.

King Yezdigerd paced the p.o.o.p of his shattered flagship in blazing anger. Some of it he vented upon the seaman at the sounding post and the steersman, by having both beheaded forthwith. There was no immediate danger of sinking, for the hull had settled firmly upon the reef. But the hold had quickly filled with water from many sprung seams, indicating that the ship could probably never be saved. And the trick played upon the long by the escaping pirate infuriated his always irascible temper.

"I will hunt that dog to the ends of the earth!" he shouted. "The whole thing smacks of that devil Conan. I'll warrant he is aboard. Will Khogar never get his cursed tub afloat?"

Thus he raged while work progressed on the Khoralian Star. As the long day wore on, the crews slowly coaxed the ship off the sandbank by inches, by tugging and having with the ships' boats. The captain of the Star was deeply preoccupied with directing this work when his attention was drawn by the warning cry of the lookout. The man's voice was shrill with excitement, and his hands waved frantically.

Rounding the point, her yellow sail billowing majestically, came the ship they had expected to be in full flight. Sleek and beautiful she came. Her bulwarks and shrouds were lined with eager corsairs. Faintly, their mocking challenges reached the Turanians' ears, like the cries of faraway demons in h.e.l.l.

Straight for the helpless Khoralim Star she bore like a striking eagle.

She rammed a ship's boat, cutting it in two and sending splinters and bodies flying. Then she shortened her sail, made a quick turn, and in an instant lay board and board with her prey. Grappling hooks bit into Turanian wood, and a rain of arrows preceded the yelling, murderous host that surged over the gunwales.

The Turanians fought bravely. Surprised by their enemy, yet their captain got them into a semblance of order. The corsairs swept the lower deck, littering the planks with corpses. But they were checked by a blast of arrows from the p.o.o.p, where the Turanian soldiery were drawn up behind a bristling hedge of spears. Only a moment they checked their attack. Then they swept on irresistibly, led by their mail-clad barbarian captain, who shattered helmets and severed limbs left and right with an ease that seemed magical.

The Turanians could not stand against these hardened fighters, led by the ferocious Cimmerian. A vicious swipe of Conan's broadsword opened a breach in the spear hedge. The bloodthirsty horde swarmed over the p.o.o.p, scattering the Hyrkanians like chaff.

The captain, knowing that his only chance of saving his ship lay in slaying the pirate leader, sprang to meet Conan. Their blades clashed in a circular dance of steel. But the Turanian could not master the swordcraft of Conan, veteran from a thousand battlefields. The sharp edge of the Turanian's yataghan shaved a raven lock from the Cimmerian's ducking head; then the heavy broadsword smashed into the captain's mailed side. Khogar sank down dying, his rib cage caved in.

The fight went out of the Turanian soldiery as their captain fell.

Cries for quarter were heard. The men flung down their arms in clanking heaps.

Conan surveyed the scene with grim satisfaction. He had lost a score of men, but he had captured the only navigable ship at his enemy's disposal. Several of the pirate crew were already at work striking the fetters from the slaves' ankles. They shouted for joy as they found long-lost friends among them. Others herded the captive Turanians into custody below.

While a prize crew continued the labor of freeing the vessel, the pirate ship cast off. Her decks were jammed, for her own crew was augmented by scores of freed and hastily-armed galley slaves. She headed straight for the bigger prize.

In a tavern in Onagnu, a secret stronghold of the Vilayet pirates, loud voices called for more wine. The cool clear liquid poured into old Arms' cup as the ears of the throng itched for more of his tales. The grizzled shipmaster washed down the draught in thirsty gulps.

Satisfied, he wiped his lips upon the back of his hand and took in the crowd of listeners with a glance.

"Aye, lads, you should have been there! Great and glorious was the fighting as we took the first one. Then we swept down upon Yezdigerd's Scimitar. We must have seemed like very devils out of h.e.l.l to them, but they were ready for us. They severed the lines of our grapnels with swords and axes, until our archers blasted them back from the rail and we warped in to their side by mighty efforts. We laid her board and board, and every man among us was fired with killing l.u.s.t.

"Conan was the first aboard her. The Turanians closed in about him in a circle of swords, but he slashed at them so savagely that they gave way. Then we all came in a rush, and the fighting was fast and furious.

The Turanians were all well-trained and hardened fighters, Yezdigerd's household troops, fighting under the eye of their king. For a moment the outcome was precarious, in spite of the ferocity of Conan, who smashed Turanian mail and arms like rotten wood. They stood in perfect unity, and our attacks recoiled from their ma.s.sed ranks like b.l.o.o.d.y waves from a rock-bound sh.o.r.e.