Conan The Valiant Part 17

The Cimmerian swung lithely from his saddle and strode to the head of the horses. As he took the reins, he felt a hand on the hilt of his sword.

The reins flew from Conan's hands as he whirled. One hand seized the sword hilt and the intruder's hand, imprisoning it as if a boulder had fallen upon it. The other hand paused only long enough to clench into a fist. Then it crashed into a beardless jaw. The intruder flew backward to spread-eagle himself on the stones.

Conan glared down at him. "Learn to keep your hands off other men's swords, my young friend. The next lesson may cost more than a sore jaw."

Only then did the Cimmerian notice that Fairbeard and the rest were watching him with catlike attention. He almost drew his sword. Then Fairbeard laughed.

"Well done, my friend. It will be worth Lord Achmai's while to speak with you."

"That's as may be," Conan said. "Now, what test shall I set him, to be sure it's worth my speaking with him?"

Again the sky outside held only stars. The men gathered in the Great Hall had better light. Torches blazed in iron sconces along the walls, and lamps filled with scented oil glowed on the high table.

Lord Achmai grinned at Conan and arranged his oily black beard with a beringed hand.

"You should have come to me at once, after your old master's death.

You'd have been high in my service long since."

"I had to see the widow and her sister safe to their kin," Conan replied. His fingers were making short work of a fat quail, slow-roasted and stuffed with succulent fruit and herbs. "My oath would have bound me, if common sense had not."

"Ah yes. You Cimmerians put much stock in your oaths, when you bother to take them."

Conan knew a chill along his spine. To be recognized as a Cimmerian was not a common experience. Was Achmai playing with him again?

"Will you tell me that I was mistaken, in calling you Cimmerian?" the man added. "If that blood shames you-"

"Ha! I know my forefathers and kin as well as you do."

Probably better, in truth. The innkeeper said that Achmai's family had been lords for five generations. Perhaps they had, if one counted lordship of another's kitchen or stables.

"Doubtless. It is only that one seldom sees a man of your coloring who is not a Cimmerian. And one sees few Cimmerians in Turan."

"Most of us have the sense to stay at home, where we need not listen to insults," Conan growled, with a grim smile to set Achmai at ease.

"Well, if you have the greater sense to come to me, when you have no more duty to your ladies, there will be a place for you. Likewise for your comrade.

"As for Dessa, whom you sought--you need seek no further."

Once more Conan contemplated the serving girls, clad only in nearly transparent trousers with bells on wrists and ankles. Once more he saw none who could be the Dessa Ma.s.souf had described.

Then a drum began a swift, insistent beat, and a girl danced into the room. She wore only a short robe of transparent red silk, and that cut so that it flew out like wings as she whirled. Otherwise she wore only bells, not just at wrists and ankles but at her throat, in her ears, and on a silver chain at her waist. The torchlight played on her oiled skin, sometimes wreathing her in light, sometimes revealing her more clearly.

Back and forth across the room she wove a path of tinkling bells, light, and lush beauty. Conan had seen fairer women, but never one so likely to make a man forget them.

Her path wove closer to the high table. Closer still-and Achmai's arm shot out like a javelin. The beringed fingers s.n.a.t.c.hed the robe from Dessa's shoulders, waving it like a trophy.

The men cheered. Dessa grinned and executed a somersault that slapped her feet down on either side of Conan's plate. Then she leaped up, flowed down, and flung her arms around Conan.

Two perfumed b.r.e.a.s.t.s enveloped his face, but his ears were free to hear the roars of laughter. He also caught a glimpse of Illyana. Again he could see only her eyes, but they told him clearly enough that she was in a cold rage. The Cimmerian contemplated what might happen if that rage turned hot.

Conan wondered if it would have been wiser to come here openly, invoking Mishrak's name to gain Dessa's release. Most likely, disguise had been the best course. Achmai had gold from somewhere far beyond this province, perhaps beyond Turan. He would not enjoy having Mishrak learn where, and he had two-score well-trained and well-armed men to guard his secrets.

Dessa turned a back somersault off the table, landing on the piled rugs, flaming scarlet and orange with threads of gold woven into their swirling patterns.

Almost as easily as if she'd risen to her feet, she stood on her hands, waved a foot at the drummer, and began once more to sway to his beat.

As Dessa's gleaming body blazed against the rugs, Conan felt as if he sat between two blazing hearths.

A strangled cry burst from Illyana. She leaped up from the table, knocking her plate to the floor. She clutched her wine cup as she fled, but dropped it as she vanished out the door of the Hall. The guards were too bedazzled by Dessa to stop her.

"What means this?" Achmai said. His voice was even, but his hand was close to his sword hilt. "Is your companion so young he cannot bear the sight of a woman?"

"Or would he prefer the sight of a man?" shouted someone. "No doubt Pahlos could oblige him-"

"Oh, bite your tongue out and your cods off," snarled someone else, likely enough Pahlos.

"Silence!" Achmai roared. His eyes drifted back to Conan.

"Oh, you will find little to complain of in my companion," Conan said.

"Perhaps the flux he had last year is returning. We shall doubtless learn soon enough. If you have any potions-"

"Oh, we know how to ease the flux," Achmai said. His smile did not reach his eyes. "We also know how to cure liars and fools."

"You will not need those cures tonight," Conan said, with an ease he did not altogether feel. Erlik take the woman, what is she planning? Or have the wits to plan deserted her now, of all times?

"I hope not," Achmai said. "Dessa has given us all too much pleasure, to have the evening end in a quarrel."

Dessa had indeed given pleasure. Conan began to doubt that returning the girl to her betrothed was going to be half as simple as he'd expected.

Dessa knew the power her dancing gave her over men. Knew it and savored it like fine wine. Conan could not imagine her putting all that behind her to settle down as the wife of a clerk and the mother of a pack of squalling brats.

Well, that was Ma.s.souf's problem. Conan had his own, a well-formed one named Illyana. Where had that magic-wielding wench taken herself, and how long would it take before Achmai sent his men in search of her?

At least Dessa was still dancing. If Achmai ordered his men out of the hall before she stopped, he'd have a mutiny on his hands!

Dessa's dancing now grew slower, as her strength at last began to flag.

She knelt, swaying her torso back and forth until it was almost level and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose almost straight up. Her belly rippled, her arms curved and recurved, her bells made wicked music, and the light gleamed still brighter as sweat joined the oil on her skin.

At last she found the strength to execute a final somersault. She landed on her back, feet resting on the high table. Achmai pushed a cup of wine between them. The long toes curled, then gripped. Slowly, without spilling a drop, Dessa rocked back on her haunches. Still more slowly, using her hands only for_ balance, she brought the cup to her lips. Silence as thick as a fog on the Vilayet Sea filled the room.

Then the silence shattered, as the door guards sprang aside and Illyana returned.

She returned with the glamour upon her, so that she seemed as she had when first Conan saw it. He was proof against the surprise that stunned every man in the room.

He was not proof against the sensuality wafting like perfume from Illyana's magical image. No woman he had ever bedded had so heated his blood. He gulped wine, and found it odd that the wine did not boil in his throat!

All this, with Illyana only standing in the doorway. To be sure, she was clad only in a gilded loinguard and a silver ring about her red hair, from which flowed a long red veil. Firm young b.r.e.a.s.t.s with rouged nipples, a faintly curved belly, legs that seemed to go on without end-all lay bare to the eye, all glowed with oil or magic or both.

"You rogue!" Achmai growled. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing, for it was some moments before he could say more. Then he added, "Were you traveling with that?"