Conan the Invincible Part 37

"Then he's all right? Good. My tale is a strange one. I awoke in Amanar's keep, feeling as if I had had a monstrous nightmare, to find an earthquake shaking the mountains down, hillmen attacking and the S'tarra gone mad. It was almost as if my nightmare had come true."

"Not quite," Conan murmured. He was thankful she did not remember. At least she was spared that. "Speak on."

"I got a sword," she said, "though not mine. I couldn't find it. I regret losing that greatly, and I hope we find it when we go back. In any case, I fought my way out of the keep, through a break in the wall, but before I could reach the camp that fool sword broke. It wasn't good steel, Conan. I stole a horse then, but hillmen chased me south, away from the valley. I was almost to the caravan route before I lost them."

She shook her head ruefully.

"But that doesn't explain how you ended up here," he said.

"Oh, I was paying so much heed to getting away from the hillmen that I forgot to mind where I was going. I rode right into half a dozen of this slaver's guards, and five minutes later I was tied across my own horse." She tried to manage a self-deprecating laugh, but it sounded strange and forced.

"In that case," Conan said, "any magistrate will free you on proof of ident.i.ty, proof that you aren't actually a slave."

Her voice dropped, and she looked carefully at the women on either side of her to see if they listened. "Be not a fool, Conan! Prove who I am to a magistrate, and he'll send my head to Shadizar to decorate a pike.

Now, Derketo take you, buy me free!"

To his surprise, she suddenly dropped back to her kneeling position. He looked around and found the reason: the approach of a plump man with thin, waxed mustaches and a gold ring in his left ear with a ruby the size of his little fingernail.

"Good morrow," the fellow said, bowing slightly to Conan. "I see you have chosen one of my prettiest. Kneel up, girl. Shoulders back.

Shoulders back, I say." Red-faced and darting angry glances at Conan, Karela shifted to the required position. The plump man beamed as if she were a prime pupil.

"I know not," Conan said slowly.

Karela frowned in his direction, and the slave dealer suddenly ran a thoughtful eye over the Cimmerian's worn and ragged clothes. The plump man opened his mouth, then a second glance at the breadth of Conan's shoulders and the length of his sword made the slaver modify his words.

"In truth, the girl is quite new, and she'll be cheap. I maintain my repu- tation by selling nothing without letting the buyer know everything there is to know. Now, I've had this girl but two days, and already she has tried to escape twice and nearly had a guard's sword once." Conan was watching Karela from the corner of his eye. At this she straightened pridefully, almost into the pose the slave dealer had demanded. "On the other hand, all that was the first day" Karela's cheeks began to color. "A good switching after each, longer and harder each time, and she's been a model since." Her face was bright scarlet.

"But I thought I should tell you the good and the bad."

"I appreciate that," Conan said. "What disposition do you intend to make of her in Sultanapur?" Her green eyes searched his face at that.

"A zenana," the slaver said promptly. "She's too pretty for the work market, too fine for a bordello, not fine enough for Yildiz, neither a singer nor a dancer, though she knows dances she denied knowing. So, a zenana to warm some stout merchant's bed, eh?" He laughed, but Conan did not join in.

"Conan," Karela said in a strangled whisper, "please."

"She knows you," the plump slaver said in surprise. "You'll want to buy her, then?"

"No," Conan said. Karela and the slaver stared at him in consternation.

"Have you been wasting my time?" the slaver demanded. "Do you even have the money for this girl?"

"I do," Conan answered hotly. He reflected that a lie to a slaver was not truly a lie, but now there was no way to let Karela know the entire truth of the matter. "But I swore an oath not to help this woman, not to raise a hand for her."

"No, Conan," Karela moaned. "Conan, no!"

"A strange oath," the slaver said, "but I understand such things.

Still, with those b.r.e.a.s.t.s she'll fetch a fair price in Sultanapur."

"Conan!" Karela's green eyes pleaded, and her voice was a breathy gasp.

"Conan, I release you from your oath."

"Some people," the Cimmerian said, "don't realize that an oath made before G.o.ds is particularly binding. It's even possible the breaking of such an oath is the true reason she finds herself kneeling in your coffle."

"Possibly," the slaver said vaguely, losing interest now that the chance of a sale was gone.

Karela reached out to pluck at Conan's stirrup leather. "You can't do this to me, Conan. Get me out of here. Get me out of here!"

Conan backed his horse away from the naked red-head. "Fare you well, Karela," he said regretfully. "Much do I wish that things could have ended better between us."

As he rode on down the caravan her voice rose behind him. "Derketo take you, you Cimmerian oaf! Come back and buy me! I release you! Conan, I release you! Derketo blast your eyes, Conan! Conan! Conan!"

As her cries and the caravan faded behind him, Conan sighed. Truly he did not like to see her left in chains. If he had had the money, or if there had not been the oath .... Still, he could not entirely suppress a small tinge of satisfaction. Perhaps she would learn that the proper response for a man saving her life was neither to have him pegged out on the ground nor to abandon him to a sorcerer's dungeon without so much as a glimmer of a protest. An he knew Karela, though, no zenana would hold her for long. Half a year or so, and the Red Hawk would be free to soar again.

As for himself, he thought, he was in as fine a position as a man could ask for. Four coppers in his pouch and the whole wide world in front of him. And there were always the haunted treasures of Larsha. With a laugh he kicked his horse into a trot for Shadizar.