Part 37 (1/2)

”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 s.h.i.+fted 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.