Conan the Fearless Part 18

He returned the emerald to its hiding place and closed the leathern flap again. If he escaped, the jewel would be useful; until then, a sword, dagger, or even a stick would be of more interest.

Exploration of the chamber in which he found himself took but a few moments. Roughly square, the room extended no more than three armspans in either direction. There stood on one end a ma.s.sive wooden door, bound with strips of rusted iron, judging by touch, securely bolted from without. He found no hinges; therefore, the door opened outward.

He set his bare feet as solidly as was possible upon the damp flagstones, and put his big hands against the rough wood. Using all his strength, the powerful Cimmerian shoved.

The door might as well have been the side of a mountain for all it yielded. He backed away so that only the fingertips of one hand remained in contact with the door. He gathered his energies and jumped, slamming into the wooden barrier with his tensed shoulder, itself seeming no softer than the door when he connected. The door remained firm.

Conan took a deep breath, and his fists knotted unbidden into hammers.

He was truly captured. He wanted to rage and pound upon the door for release, but he held his temper. Such a display would be foolish, and a waste of strength.

Instead, the brawny Cimmerian walked back to the platform upon which he had but recently awakened. He moved easily now in the darkness, as the dimensions of the cell were graven upon his consciousness. He sat upon the platform and leaned back against the wall, to wait.

The time that pa.s.sed while Conan waited was but small, no more than an hour. A cavalcade of footsteps echoed down a hallway outside the Cimmerian's cell; moments after he heard them, the door swung open. He held his pose, eyes slitted against the influx of torchlight that splashed into the small room. At least a dozen torches he saw, held by that many well-armed men. It would be foolish to think of attacking them barehanded.

Lemparius the Senator strode into the cell. "So," he said, "you have finally awakened from your swoon. Good. I thought perhaps I might have struck too hard. Not that it matters, after all-it is not your brain which endears you to me, Conan of wherever." Lemparius smiled. "Is not life strange? I sought to collect you, but you avoided such, dancing away like a flirtatious demi-vierge; now, now, you have come to me on your own. Find you that not amusing?"

Conan said nothing.

"Oh, dear. I hope I have not struck away your voice with my golden club."

Conan glared at him. "So, it was you who sent that pack of cutthroats against me during the windstorm." It was not a question.

"Indeed." Lemparius's smile never faltered.

"You should look to your help-they were ill-chosen fools."

"It matters not, for you are now here, and mine. It is the end which is important, barbar."

Conan nodded. That was true enough. He still breathed, was still sound of wind and limb; this was not yet ended.

"Surely, you wish to know why I have gone to such lengths to obtain your company?" Lemparius raised an eyebrow.

"Not particularly." He would not give his tormentor the satisfaction of seeing him curious.

The senator's smile dwindled slightly. "No? You do not care to know your fate, Conan of Barbaria? To know how you will spend the final moments of your existence?"

Conan measured the distance between himself and the man with a practiced eye. Likely, he could reach him before he was speared by Lemparius's cohort. But the man was devilishly fast; if he could lure Lemparius a step closer, he would have a better chance.

Conan said, "I care only that the stench of my pen increased tenfold by your entrance, dog. Perhaps it is your diet of dung which offends me."

Lemparius's smile disappeared, replaced by a scowl. He made as if to step forward toward Conan. The Cimmerian shifted his weight slightly on the bench, preparing himself to move quickly.

Lemparius stopped, and smiled again. "Ah, am I a halfwit that I would allow myself to be tricked by such a simple ruse? Think again, barbar.

And observe." Lemparius waved his hand. A man came forward, to stand near the senator. Conan had not seen him, previously hidden behind the glare of the torches. The man bore a c.o.c.ked crossbow, and the barbed head of the quarrel was aimed directly at Conan's heart. Lemparius waved again, and a second man, armed like the first, came to stand on the opposite side. The cell was becoming crowded, Conan thought.

"Dalius here, to my left, is master of the arbalest, the finest marksman in all of Corinthia. He can pin a moving b.u.t.terfly to a wall at ten paces. At this range I need merely call 'left' or 'right' and that would be the eye the bolt would skewer, pinning your head to the wall behind you."

Lemparius waited a moment for that to sink in, then nodded to the second crossbowman. "Karlinos came to me from Brythunia, where he was the best with his weapon. While not quite the marksman Dalius is, he is second to none other-your remaining eye would be transfixed by his bolt before the first quarrel fully emerged."

Conan relaxed against the wall. As he did so, he laughed loudly.

That Lemparius had gone to great lengths to capture him alive was apparent. While he knew not what plans the man had for him, he felt certain that death was not among them. Not just yet, anyway.

There came a female voice from behind the ranks of men. "He is the one."

With the voice came a scent of an exotic perfume. The smell and voice triggered the memory of where Conan had known them before-in his room at the inn! It was the woman who had bewitched him. By Crom, what was afoot here?

Lemparius turned slightly toward the sound of the woman's voice; Conan saw his chance. He gambled that the crossbowmen would not fire without a direct order. With hard contractions of his powerful frame Conan lunged. He had no real hope of killing Lemparius barehanded before he was clubbed down, but the satisfaction of landing one blow would be worth the effort. So Conan kicked, and the instep of his bare foot flew between Lemparius's legs and smacked solidly into his groin. The man grunted and went dead-white, all Conan had time to see before he was once again sent to the land of throbbing mists.

"-shall cut his heart out myself!"

"Nay, he is mine now; you have given him to me."

Conan's sight had not yet returned, but his hearing was not lacking. He would have leaped up, save that he realized several things at once. He was no longer on the bench in the stinking cell, but rather on a soft cushion. He might possibly overhear something of use, did they still think him unconscious. And he was bound hand and foot with soft yet tight straps. So the Cimmerian feigned sleep and listened.

"-came you by him?" That was the voice of the woman; Djuvula, the senator had called her.

"Ah, I was . . . approached by a free agent, a scurrilous fellow named Loganaro. He offered to sell me the barbarian for a goodly sum." That from Lemparius. And that name-where had he heard it? Loganaro . . . ah, yes, the fat man he had met in the nameless inn at the opposite foot of the Karpash Mountains.

Djuvula said, "Why should he do this? Of what use could a barbar be to you?" Conan could not see the woman's face, but her voice fairly dripped with anger.

"Why, none, normally; however, Loganaro mentioned that you had some interest in such a man. I sought only to detain him for you. As a favor."

"As a favor. I see. And what might you expect in return for this . . .

favor?"

"Dear Djuvula, let us not speak to each other as merchants, of trading this for that. You owe me nothing for this barbarian lout, not a thing."

There was a pause, in which Conan debated opening his eyes a mere slit.

He decided to do so, but this only afforded him a view of some silken pink cushion, which blocked the speakers from his line of sight. He would have to move, and that might not be wise just yet. He strained against his bonds. but they held firm.

Lemparius continued speaking. "I would have things as they were between us before, dear lady."

"You know such is impossible. I no longer engage in . . . those kinds of relations with ordinary menfolk."

"Ah. but I have changed, Djuvula. I am more than I was."

The woman laughed. "Surely you do not think my mantology so poor that I would not have noted the addition of your . . . change.'"

"Certainly. I meant no such slur upon your powers of divination, dear one. I merely meant that with my enhanced energies, I have a certain .

. . vitality I lacked previously."

Djuvula laughed again. "Not so much as my Prince, I would wager."

"Perhaps. On the other hand, there is something to be said for technique over mere staying power, is there not?" Lemparius's voice grew quieter. "I could keep you satisfied, lady. I know I could, given the chance."

"I have known such men as you have become, Lemparius. l suspect you boast beyond your capabilities."

"A chance, then. Surely, you have nothing to lose in granting me an opportunity to demonstrate my . . . capabilities? Should I fail. you would still have the clutter-muscled boy for your simulacrum. And if-nay, not 'if,' but 'when'-l succeed. why there will be no need of your Prince."