Part 34 (1/2)

Chabano looked eloquently at his warriors, and they retreated with similar speed in the opposite direction. The chief, the G.o.d-Man, and the spy were alone in the jungle.

”My thanks to both of you,” Chabano said. ”A chief's thanks is worth much, and it will be worth more the longer I rule.” He cast a sharp look at Wobeku. ”Although had you been as swift some time ago as you were today, you would not be here.”

Ryku asked that this be explained; Chabano acceded to the request with a mildness that amazed the fugitive warrior. But then, even a Paramount Chief did not stand upon rank with a G.o.d-Man who seemed to have made himself a full Speaker upon his own whim.

Or was it that becoming a G.o.d-Man was easier than the tribes had been led to believe? That would have been a cheering thought, had Wobeku wished to follow in Ryku's footsteps.

As his ambition was to be high among the Kwanyi when they ruled all this land, he was not so cheered. Fumble-fingered G.o.d-Men would not be of much use to the Kwanyi in the face of Dobanpu's Spirit-Speaking.

Dobanpu's mastery was no tale, and the vengeance he would wreak on Wobeku would be no light one!

TWELVE.

The Ichiribu and the Kwanyi took time to gird themselves for battle.

This did not entirely arise because of each of their new allies, although those played a part.

Wobeku found that while the warriors kept their distance, few doubted him. He had, after all, saved Chabano, the Paramount Chief whom all had followed for twelve years. Even those who followed Chabano out of fear more than from love knew that the Kwanyi would be doomed without him.

The man who saved him had placed the tribe greatly in his debt.

Ryku was also regarded with some grat.i.tude, but likewise with more than a little fear. He also had saved Chabano, and moreover, had cast down the greatest of the G.o.d-Men. In so doing, however, he had made himself a yet greater G.o.d-Man.

It was as well for Ryku that he did not go among the warriors more often than when Chabano summoned him. He remained, nine days out of ten, in seclusion on Thunder Mountain, putting the Speakers, the Silent Brothers, and the servants and slaves in as much order as his powers and the time allowed. Had he come to the villages too often, someone might have served him as Wobeku had served one of the Speakers-which would have saved the Kwanyi a deal of trouble in days to come, but they were only a tribe of stout fighters, not seers who could foretell the future.

Conan had a busy time among the Ichiribu, for all that most of them thought him favored by the G.o.ds, if not in truth sent by them.

The Kwanyi had been invincible on land since Chabano had taught them the art of fighting in a line, with the tall s.h.i.+eld and the great spear that a man could thrust as well as throw. It was not to be expected that the Ichiribu could learn that art, even from the Cimmerian, well enough and soon enough to face their foes in full array.

So Conan set about teaching them how to use their old weapons in new ways. They had a fair number of archers and slingers, who could gall and torment the flanks of the Kwanyi ranks. Their fis.h.i.+ng tridents were not despicable weapons against the Kwanyi spear, either, if they could contrive to fight two warriors against one.

Valeria also taught them how to fight from their canoes with more skill than before. What she did not know about the handling of small boats, it was probably not given to men-or women-to know. Even the most seasoned fishermen of the Ichiribu soon said loudly that Conan's s.h.i.+eld-woman and vowed lover was worth almost as much as the Cimmerian himself.

”We must be the ants, and the Kwanyi the warthog,” Conan said, until even Seyganko wearied of hearing it for all that he knew it was true.

”They are a bigger warthog than we can be. Fight them tusk to tusk, and we are doomed. Sting them a thousand times, and the doom will be theirs.”

The skill the Ichiribu showed in learning what he taught left Conan in good heart. He would have been still more confident had the matter of marching through the tunnels not remained dangling in the wind.

Dobanpu agreed that if the spirits allowed, this would be a cunning and deadly trick, that of making warriors sprout from the ground. He would not say more, other than that he waited for a sign from the spirits.

He continued to demur, and Conan's temper grew short. ”Is it the spirits who've turned mute?” he asked Emwaya one morning. ”Or is it your father?”

”If I knew the answer to that, it would still not help us,” the girl replied. ”No man can force the spirits, and my father is almost as difficult to make speak when he chooses to be silent.”

”If he chooses to be silent for too long, he may be choosing the end of his folk,” Valeria snapped. Both the visitors could see that Emwaya herself was uneasy at her father's reluctance to speak. Neither doubted that she told the truth.

”He knows this also,” Emwaya said, and withdrew with as much dignity as she could contrive,

”Wizards!” Conan said. He made the word sound like a particularly foul obscenity. Then he looked at the sky. The sun shone, although through a haze that promised rain for later in the day.

The rainy season drew closer with each sunrise, and Conan was of a mind to leave the tribes of the Lake of Death to their own devices if Dobanpu did not speak before the downpour began in earnest. The rivers would run high then, and the rain would make pursuit difficult.