Part 8 (1/2)

”What of the guard in the corridor?”

”He will not see us, and he will not admit anyone else here until he has seen me depart.”

”Well, then?” Conan rose to his feet like a tiger setting out on its hunt.

Parusati hesitated. ”My lord-do I read your mind rightly, that you mean, not to join these devils, but to destroy them?”

Conan grinned wolfishly. ”You might say accidents have a way of happening to those I like not.”

”Then will you promise not to harm me, and if you can to free me?”

”If I can. Now let's not waste more time in chatter. Lead on.”

Parusati drew aside a tapestry on the wall opposite the door and pressed on the arabesqued design. A panel swung inward, revealing a narrow stair that slanted down into lightless depths.

”The masters think their slaves do not know their secrets,” she muttered. ”Come.”

She led the way into the stair, closing the panel after them. Conan found himself in darkness that was almost complete, save for a few gleams of light through holes in the panel. They descended until Conan guessed that they were well beneath the palace and then struck a narrow, level tunnel, which ran away from the foot of the stair.

”A Kshatriya who planned to flee Yanaidar showed me this secret way,”

she said. ”I planned to escape with him. We hid food and weapons here.

He was caught and tortured, but died without betraying me. Here is the sword he hid.” She fumbled in a niche and drew out a blade, which she gave to Conan.

A few moments later they reached an iron-bound door, and Parusati, gesturing for caution, drew Conan to it arid showed him a tiny aperture to peer through. He looked down a wide corridor, flanked on one side by a blank wall in which showed a single ebon door, curiously ornate and heavily bolted, and on the other by a row of cells with barred doors.

The other end of the corridor was not far distant and was closed by another heavy door. Archaic hanging bronze lamps cast a mellow glow.

Before one of the cell doors stood a resplendent Hyrkanian in glittering corselet and plumed helmet, scimitar in hand. Parusati's fingers tightened on Conan's arm.

”Nanaia is in that cell,” she whispered. ”Can you slay the Hyrkanian?

He is a mighty swordsman.”

With a grim smile, Conan tried the balance of the blade she had given him-a long Vendhyan steel, light but well nigh unbreakable. Conan did not stop to explain that he was master alike of the straight blades of the West and the curved blades of the East, of the double-curved Ilbarsi knife and the leaf-shaped broadsword of Shem. He opened the secret door.

As he stepped into the corridor, Conan glimpsed the face of Nanaia staring through the bars behind the Hyrkanian. The hinges creaked, and the guard whirled catlike, lips drawn back in a snarl, and then instantly came to the attack.

Conan met him halfway, and the two women witnessed a play of swords that would have burned the blood of kings. The only sounds were the quick soft shuffle and thud of feet, the slither and rasp of steel, and the breathing of the fighters. The long, light blades flickered lethally in the illusive light, like living things, parts of the men who wielded them.

The hairline balance s.h.i.+fted. The Hyrkanian's lip curled in ferocious recognition of defeat and desperate resolve to take his enemy into death with him. A louder ring of Blades, a flash of steel-and Conan's flickering blade seemed to caress his enemy's neck in pa.s.sing. Then the Hyrkanian was stretched on the floor, his neck half severed. He had died without a cry.

Conan stood over him for an instant, the sword in his hand stained with a thread of crimson. His tunic had been torn open, and his muscular breast rose and fell easily. Only a film of sweat glistening there and on his brow betrayed the strain of his exertions. He tore a bunch of keys from the dead man's girdle, and the grate of steel in the lock seemed to awaken Nanaia from a trance.

”Conan! I had given up hope, but you came. What a fight! Would that I could have struck a blow in it!” The tall girl stepped forth lightly and picked up the Hyrkanian's sword. ”What now?”

”We shan't have a chance if we make a break before dark,” said Conan.

”Nanaia, how soon will another guard come to relieve the man I killed?”

”They change the guard every four hours. His watch had just begun.”