Part 49 (2/2)
”I'm against your dishonoring Conan. Yakoub-”
”Yakoub dishonored my sister! He dishonored my family!”
”Are you willing to fight him hand to hand?”
Bora measured Yakoub's suppleness, the grace of movement, the easy grip on the sword. ”No. He'd cut me to pieces.”
”Then stand back and let Conan settle matters. Yakoub is the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of High Captain Khadjar. His being out here may mean that Conan's commander is a traitor. Conan's honor is caught up in this too. If Yakoub won't run, he has to be killed in a fair fight.”
”And if Conan is killed-?”
”Then I'll face Yakoub. Either swear to keep your sling on your belt, or I'll slice it apart with my dagger now.”
Bora would have cursed, if he'd known words adequate for his rage. At last he spat. ”Keep it, you Bossonian trull-!”
The slap aimed at Bora never landed. Conan and Yakoub sprang toward each other, and the dawn light blazed from their uplifted swords.
Afterward Bora confessed that he had thought of using his sling to save Conan, as well as avenging his own family's honor. He could not believe that the Cimmerian would be fit to meet a strong opponent blade to blade, not after the night's fighting.
He did not realize that Conan also knew the limits of his strength. The Cimmerian's leap into sword's reach was his last. For the rest of the fight, he moved as little as possible, weaving an invisible armor of darting steel around himself. Yakoub was fresher and just as swift if lacking the Cimmerian's reach. He might have won, had he been allowed a clear line of attack for a single moment.
The deadly dance of Conan's blade denied him that moment.
At some time in the fight, Illyana came down to watch. After a few moments, she turned away, yawning as if she found this battle to the death no more interesting than swine-mating.
Sitting down, she opened the bags and garbed herself. Bora knew a moment's regret at seeing that fair body at last concealed. Raihna was still next to naked, but her face made Bora doubt whom she thought the enemy, Yakoub or himself.
Bora was as surprised as Yakoub by the ending of the fight. He had expected Conan to stand until Yakoub wearied himself. Instead Conan suddenly left an opening that even Bora could recognize, for Yakoub to launch a deadly stroke.
Neither Bora nor Yakoub recognized Conan's intent. The first either knew of it was when Conan dropped under Yakoub's blade. It still came close to splitting his head; hanks of blood-stiffened black hair flew.
Now Conan was inside Yakoub's guard. Knee rammed into groin, head b.u.t.ted chin, and hand gripped swordarm. Yakoub flew backward, to land disarmed and half-stunned. He rolled, trying to draw a dagger. Conan brought a Toot down on his wrist and lowered his sword until its point rested against the other's throat.
”Yakoub, I know you owed a debt to your men. I owe one to your father.
Go back to him and urge him to go where he need not pretend you are dead.”
”That will mean giving up his Captaincy,” Yakoub said. ”You ask much of both of us.”
”Why not?” Conan asked. Sweat ran down him, in spite of the morning chill. For the first time, Bora noticed that the Cimmerian's left shoulder bore a fresh wound.
Yakoub seemed to be pondering the question. What he would have answered was never to be known. As Conan stepped back, green fire of a familiar hue surrounded Yakoub. His body convulsed, arching into a bow. His mouth opened in a soundless scream and his hands scrabbled in the dirt.
Then he fell back, as limp as if every bone in his body had been crushed to powder. Blood trickled briefly from his gaping mouth, then ceased.
Bora turned, not knowing what he would see but certain it would be something fearful.
Instead he saw Illyana sitting on a blanket, as regally as if it had been a throne. One arm was raised, and the Jewel-ring on it glowed softly.
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