Part 14 (1/2)

The girl he had outfitted was Yasmina herself! ~

”So your mistress is the Devi?” he growled. ”Why didn't you say so in the first place?”

”Aye, the Devi bids you come. Now hurry!”

With practiced speed, Conan dressed and armed himself. The girl silently opened the door and peered out. Then, with a gesture, she motioned to Conan. The twain slipped noiselessly down the stairs and out into the hot night.

Their route was devious and twisting. Evidently there was truth in the rumors of intrigue that Conan had heard in the tavern, for his guide often cast quick glances over her shoulder. Many times she turned into narrow, cobbled lanes, darker than night itself, as if to shake off pursuers.

Once, in such a lane, a huge dog with glowing eyes and slavering jaws sprang upon them from a doorway. The ripping thrust of the Cimmerian's dagger stretched him lifeless in the gutter. Another time, a knot of ragged men appeared at the end of the street, barring their exit.

Oman's white-toothed smile and slap at the hilt of his sword sent them scurrying. No other disturbance barred their way.

Soon their journey ended. They stood before the high, crenelated wall around the royal palace. Its lofty towers reared narrow pinnacles against the sky; the smell of exotic flowers and fruit from the gardens within reached their nostrils. The girl scanned the surface of the wall. At last she pressed two places on it at the same time. Without a sound, a section swung inward, revealing a dimly-lit corridor.

Enjoining Conan to silence with a finger upon her lips, she led the way. The secret door swung noiselessly to behind him, and he followed her swift step along the corridor, hand on hilt. He was sure that Yasmina meant him no harm, or she would not have chosen this mode of fetching him, but his barbarian instincts kept him on guard.

They went up a stone staircase, then along more dim corridors, until at last the girl stopped before a door and peered through a small hole set at eye's height. She pulled a lever, and the door opened. They entered.

”Wait here, my lord,” she said, ”and I will tell my mistress that you are here.”

She hurried from the room, wispy garments fluttering. Conan shrugged and let his eyes wander round the chamber.

Replete with the riches of an Eastern ruler it was, with silken hangings, golden cups and ornaments, and rich embroidery strewn with precious stones, yet its luxury was tempered by the quality of exquisite taste. That it was a woman's boudoir was evident from the vanity table with its costly Turanian mirror. It was strewn with jars of Jade, gold, and silver, holding ointments and salves prepared by the most skilled cosmeticians of the East. Femininity also showed itself in the splendor of the great bed, with its opaque silken hangings and canopy of gold-worked Shemirish cloth.

Conan nodded in curt appreciation. Though he was a hardened warrior, yet his days as a king had taught him to find pleasure in beautiful surroundings. His thoughts were interrupted by a sound at his back.

Wheeling, he half drew his sword; then he checked himself.

It was Yasmina. When he had first met her, she had been in the first flower of womanhood-hardly twenty as he remembered. Now, thirteen years later, she was a mature woman. The sharp wit that had enabled her to hold the throne still shone from her eyes, but her clinging silken garments revealed that her girlish figure had bloomed into a woman's desirable body. And that body was of such beauty that poets grew famous by describing it; it would have fetched over a thousand talars on the auction block at Sultanapur. Yasmina's beautiful face was suffused with happiness as she stopped three steps from him, arms half opened, murmuring:

”My hill chieftain! You have come back!”

Oman's blood pounded in his temples as he covered the distance between them in one mighty stride and took her in his arms. As her supple body pressed warmly against his, she whispered:

”We shall be undisturbed, my chieftain. I have sent away the guards for the night. The entrance to this room is locked. Love me, my chieftain!

For thirteen years I have longed for the feel of your arms around me. I have not been happy since we parted after the battle in Femesh Valley.

Hold me in your arms, and let this be a night that neither of us shall ever forget!”

In another part of the palace, five men sat in ^ richly furnished room.

Ever and anon they sipped from golden goblets as they listened to the tall, swarthy man.

”Now is the time!” he said. ”Tonight! I have just learned that Yasmina has sent away the score of soldiers who usually guard her chambers. A woman's whim, no doubt, but it will serve us well!”

”My lord Chengir,” one of the others interrupted, ”is it really necessary to slay the Devi? I have fought Turanian squadrons on the border and hewed my way out of hillmen's ambushes, but I like not the thought of striking down a woman in cold blood.”

The tall man smiled. ”Neither do I, Ghemur, but it is necessary for the kingdom of Vendhya. The blood of the realm needs renewal. There must be new conquests to augment our power. The Devi has weakened the fiber of the country by her peaceful rule. We, a race of conquering warriors, now waste our time building dams and roads for the filthy lower castes!

Nay, she must die. Then I, as successor to the throne, will lead the KshatriySs to new conquests. We will carve out a new empire in blood in Khitai, in Uttara Kuru, in Turan. We'll sweep the hillmen from the Himelias in a red flood. The East shall shake and totter to our thunder! Day and night, camel trains laden with spoil shall pour into Ayodhya. Are you with me?”

Four curved swords slid halfway out of their gold-worked sheaths, and the clamor of the generals' a.s.sent was a loud murmur.

The prince waved them to silence. ”Not so loud, sirs.