Part 30 (1/2)

Hordo let out a long breath and pulled Conan aside. ”Now what happened out there?” The brigands were breaking up into small knots, discussing the night's events in low voices. Aberius stood alone, watching Conan and Hordo.

”I slew three S'tarra,” Conan said, ”and Imhep-Aton slew two. Or was perhaps himself slain, but I don't believe that.”

Hordo grunted. ”He who sent the man Crato against you? A second sorcerer in this Mitra-forsaken valley is ill news indeed. I must tell her.”

Conan grabbed the one-eyed man's arm. ”Don't. She may well tell Amanar, and I do not think these two have any good will towards each other.

Whatever comes between them may give you the chance to get her away from here.”

”As with the hillmen and the soldiers,” Hordo said slowly, ”you will bring the two to combat while we slip away. But I think me being caught between two sorcerers may be worse than being caught between the others.” He barked a short laugh. ”I tell you again, Cimmerian, if you live, you'll be a general. Mayhap even a king. Men have risen from lower stations to become such.”

”I have no desire to be a king,” Conan laughed. ”I'm a thief. And Imhep-Aton, at least, has no animosity toward you or Karela.” Though the same, he reflected, could hardly be said of himself. ”The keep is too much stirred for me to enter this night. I fear Velita must bear another day of Amanar. Come, let us find a bandage for my side and a flagon of wine.”

Speaking quietly together the two men walked deeper into the bandit camp. Aberius watched them go, tugging at his lower lip in deep thought. Finally he nodded to himself and darted into the night.

Chapter XXIV.

The sun, Conan estimated, stood well past the zenith. It was the day after his fight with the S'tarra, and Karela was once more closeted with Amanar for the entire morning. The bandits slept or drank or gambled, forgetting the ill of the night in the light of the sun. Conan sat cross-legged on the ground, honing his blade as he watched the black keep. To conceal his bandaged wound, he had donned a black tunic that covered him to below the hips. He lay the blade across his knees as a S'tarra approached.

”You are called Conan of Cimmeria?” the creature hissed.

”I am,” Conan replied.

”She who is called Karela asks that you come to her.”

There had been no further attempt to question the bandits about the occurrences in the night. Conan could not see how he might be connected with them now. He rose and sheathed his sword.

”Lead,” he commanded.

The big Cimmerian tensed while pa.s.sing through the gate, but the guards gave him no more than a flicker of their lifeless red eyes. In the donjon the S'tarra led him a way he did not know, to huge doors that Conan realized to his shock were of burnished gold. A great reptilian head was worked in each, surrounded by what appeared to be rays of light. The S'tarra struck a small silver gong hanging from the wall.

Conan's neckhairs stirred at the great doors swung open-with no human agency that he could see. The S'tarra gestured for him to enter.

With a firm tread Conan walked through the open doors; they swung shut almost on his heels with a thump of finality. The ceiling of the great room was a fluted dome, supported by ma.s.sive columns of carved ivory.

Across the mosaic floor Amanar sat on a throne made of golden serpents, while another burnished serpent reared behind it, great ruby eyes regarding all who approached. The mage's robe, too, was gold, seemingly of ten thousand scales that glittered in the light of golden lamps.

Human musicians filed out by a side door as Conan entered. The only other present was Karela, standing beside Amanar's throne and drinking thirstily from a goblet.

She lowered the goblet in surprise at the sight of Conan. ”What are you doing here?” she demanded. The chamber was cool, yet perspiration dampened her face, and her breath came quickly.

”I was told you sent for me,” Conan said. Warily he placed a hand on his sword.

”I never sent for you,” she said.

”I took the liberty,” Amanar said, ”of using your name, Karela, to ensure the man would come.”

”Ensure he'd come?” Puzzled, Karela swung her green eyes from Conan to the mage. ”Why would he not?”

Amanar pursed his lips and touched them with his golden staff. His eyes on Conan seemed amused. ”This night past were five of my S'tarra slain.”

Conan wondered from which direction the S'tarra would come. There could be a score of doors hidden behind those ivory columns.