Part 6 (1/2)

”No,” said Mazdak distractedly. ”I must go to put down the sedition.

But how can I leave her to wander the streets naked?”

Conan said: ”Why not throw in your lot with the Anakim, who will be as glad to get rid of this mad king as are the Asgalunim? With Imbalayo and Othbaal dead, you're the only general alive in Asgalun. Become leader of the revolt, put down the crazy Akhirom, and set some feeble cousin or nephew in his place. Then you'll be the real ruler of Pelishtia!”

Mazdak, listening like a man in a dream, gave a sudden shout of laughter. ”Done!” he cried. ”To horse! Take Rufia to my house, then join the Hyrkanians in battle. Tomorrow I shall rule Pelishtia, and you may ask of me what you will. Farewell for now!”

Off went the Hyrkanian with a swirl of his cloak. Conan turned to Rufia. ”Get some clothes, wench.”

”Who are you? I heard Imbalayo call you Amra...”

”Don't say that name in Shem! I am Conan, a Cimmerian.”

”Conan? I heard you spoken of when I was intimate with the king. Do not take me to Mazdak's house!”

”Why not? He'll be the real ruler of Pelishtia.”

”I know that cold snake too well. Take me with you instead! Let's loot this house and flee the city. With all this uproar, n.o.body will stop us.”

Conan grinned. ”You tempt me, Rufia, but it's worth too much to me right now to keep on Mazdak's good side. Besides, I told him I would deliver you, and I like to keep my word. Now get into a garment or I'll drag you as you are.”

”Well,” said Rufia in a temporizing tone, but then stopped.

A gurgling sound came from the sprawled body of Zeriti. As Conan watched with his hair standing up in horror, the witch slowly rose to a sitting position, despite a wound that any fighter would have said would be instantly fatal. She struggled to her feet and stood, swaying, regarding Conan and Rufia. A little blood ran down from the wounds in her back and chest. When she spoke, it was in a voice choked with blood.

”It takes-more than-a sword-thrust-to kill-a daughter of Set.” She reeled towards the door. In the doorway she turned back to gasp: ”The Asgalunim-will be interested to know-that Amra and his woman-are in their city.”

Conan stood irresolutely, knowing that for his own safety he ought to rush upon the witch and hew her in pieces, but restrained by his rude barbarian's chivalry from attacking a woman.

”Why bother us?” he burst out. ”You can have your mad king back!”

Zeriti shook her head. ”I know-what Mazdak plans. And ere I quit this body-for good-I will have-my revenge-on this drab.”

”Then-” growled Conan, s.n.a.t.c.hing up Imbalayo's scimitar and starting towards the witch. But Zeriti made a gesture and spoke a word. A line of flame appeared across the floor between Conan and the doorway, extending from wall to wall. Conan recoiled, throwing up a hand to shade his face from the fierce heat. Then Zeriti was gone.

”After her!” cried Rufia. ”The fire is but one of her illusions.”

”But if she can't be killed-”

”Nevertheless, heads do not tell secrets when sundered from their bodies.”

Grimly, Conan rushed for the exit, leaping across the line of flame.

There was an instant of heat, and then the flames vanished as he pa.s.sed through them.

”Wait here!” he barked at Rufia, and ran after Zeriti.

But when he reached the street, there was no witch to be seen. He ran to the nearest alley and looked up it, then to the alley in the opposite direction. Still there was no sign of her.

In seconds he was back in Zeriti's house. ”You were right the first time,” he grunted at Rufia. ”Let's grab what we can and go.”

In the great Square of Adonis, the tossing torches blazed on a swirl of straining figures, screaming horses, and las.h.i.+ng blades. Men fought hand-to-hand: Kus.h.i.+tes and Shemites, gasping, cursing, and dying. Like madmen the Asgalunim grappled the black warriors, dragging them from their saddles, slas.h.i.+ng the girths of the frenzied horses. Rusty pikes clanged against lances. Fire burst out here and there, mounting into the skies until the shepherds on the Libnun Hills gaped in wonder. From the suburbs poured a torrent of figures converging on the great square.

Hundreds of still shapes, in mail or striped robes, lay under the trampling hooves, and over them the living screamed and hacked.