Conan the Avenger Part 14

The girl he had outfitted was Yasmina herself! ~

"So your mistress is the Devi?" he growled. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"Aye, the Devi bids you come. Now hurry!"

With practiced speed, Conan dressed and armed himself. The girl silently opened the door and peered out. Then, with a gesture, she motioned to Conan. The twain slipped noiselessly down the stairs and out into the hot night.

Their route was devious and twisting. Evidently there was truth in the rumors of intrigue that Conan had heard in the tavern, for his guide often cast quick glances over her shoulder. Many times she turned into narrow, cobbled lanes, darker than night itself, as if to shake off pursuers.

Once, in such a lane, a huge dog with glowing eyes and slavering jaws sprang upon them from a doorway. The ripping thrust of the Cimmerian's dagger stretched him lifeless in the gutter. Another time, a knot of ragged men appeared at the end of the street, barring their exit.

Oman's white-toothed smile and slap at the hilt of his sword sent them scurrying. No other disturbance barred their way.

Soon their journey ended. They stood before the high, crenelated wall around the royal palace. Its lofty towers reared narrow pinnacles against the sky; the smell of exotic flowers and fruit from the gardens within reached their nostrils. The girl scanned the surface of the wall. At last she pressed two places on it at the same time. Without a sound, a section swung inward, revealing a dimly-lit corridor.

Enjoining Conan to silence with a finger upon her lips, she led the way. The secret door swung noiselessly to behind him, and he followed her swift step along the corridor, hand on hilt. He was sure that Yasmina meant him no harm, or she would not have chosen this mode of fetching him, but his barbarian instincts kept him on guard.

They went up a stone staircase, then along more dim corridors, until at last the girl stopped before a door and peered through a small hole set at eye's height. She pulled a lever, and the door opened. They entered.

"Wait here, my lord," she said, "and I will tell my mistress that you are here."

She hurried from the room, wispy garments fluttering. Conan shrugged and let his eyes wander round the chamber.

Replete with the riches of an Eastern ruler it was, with silken hangings, golden cups and ornaments, and rich embroidery strewn with precious stones, yet its luxury was tempered by the quality of exquisite taste. That it was a woman's boudoir was evident from the vanity table with its costly Turanian mirror. It was strewn with jars of Jade, gold, and silver, holding ointments and salves prepared by the most skilled cosmeticians of the East. Femininity also showed itself in the splendor of the great bed, with its opaque silken hangings and canopy of gold-worked Shemirish cloth.

Conan nodded in curt appreciation. Though he was a hardened warrior, yet his days as a king had taught him to find pleasure in beautiful surroundings. His thoughts were interrupted by a sound at his back.

Wheeling, he half drew his sword; then he checked himself.

It was Yasmina. When he had first met her, she had been in the first flower of womanhood-hardly twenty as he remembered. Now, thirteen years later, she was a mature woman. The sharp wit that had enabled her to hold the throne still shone from her eyes, but her clinging silken garments revealed that her girlish figure had bloomed into a woman's desirable body. And that body was of such beauty that poets grew famous by describing it; it would have fetched over a thousand talars on the auction block at Sultanapur. Yasmina's beautiful face was suffused with happiness as she stopped three steps from him, arms half opened, murmuring:

"My hill chieftain! You have come back!"

Oman's blood pounded in his temples as he covered the distance between them in one mighty stride and took her in his arms. As her supple body pressed warmly against his, she whispered:

"We shall be undisturbed, my chieftain. I have sent away the guards for the night. The entrance to this room is locked. Love me, my chieftain!

For thirteen years I have longed for the feel of your arms around me. I have not been happy since we parted after the battle in Femesh Valley.

Hold me in your arms, and let this be a night that neither of us shall ever forget!"

In another part of the palace, five men sat in ^ richly furnished room.

Ever and anon they sipped from golden goblets as they listened to the tall, swarthy man.

"Now is the time!" he said. "Tonight! I have just learned that Yasmina has sent away the score of soldiers who usually guard her chambers. A woman's whim, no doubt, but it will serve us well!"

"My lord Chengir," one of the others interrupted, "is it really necessary to slay the Devi? I have fought Turanian squadrons on the border and hewed my way out of hillmen's ambushes, but I like not the thought of striking down a woman in cold blood."

The tall man smiled. "Neither do I, Ghemur, but it is necessary for the kingdom of Vendhya. The blood of the realm needs renewal. There must be new conquests to augment our power. The Devi has weakened the fiber of the country by her peaceful rule. We, a race of conquering warriors, now waste our time building dams and roads for the filthy lower castes!

Nay, she must die. Then I, as successor to the throne, will lead the KshatriySs to new conquests. We will carve out a new empire in blood in Khitai, in Uttara Kuru, in Turan. We'll sweep the hillmen from the Himelias in a red flood. The East shall shake and totter to our thunder! Day and night, camel trains laden with spoil shall pour into Ayodhya. Are you with me?"

Four curved swords slid halfway out of their gold-worked sheaths, and the clamor of the generals' a.s.sent was a loud murmur.

The prince waved them to silence. "Not so loud, sirs.

Remember that nearly all are loyal to Yasmina. Few have our foresight.

Should we attempt an open revolt, the troops and the people would tear us to pieces. But should she die by secret a.s.sa.s.sination... Of course I, as her cousin and heir, would diligently search for the malefactors.

Perhaps we could execute a couple of scapegoats-after cutting out their tongues. After a suitable time of mourning, I shall gather my army and strike to the north and to the east. My name will be lauded in history with our great conquerors of old!"

His voice rang high with excitement and his eyes shone. With an imperious gesture, he rose. "Arm yourselves, gentlemen. Don your masks.

We go to Yasmina's chambers by a secret pa.s.sage. Our duty to the kingdom will be performed within the hour!"

Five black-masked n.o.bles filed out of the room on their way to cut the throat of a defenseless woman.

The faint light of the stars sifted into the queen's bedchamber, as Conan awoke for the second time that night. His sharp ears caught a soft, almost inaudible sound. Any ordinary man would have muttered sleepily, attributed the disturbance to rats or bad dreams, turned over, and gone back to sleep.

Not so Conan! Instantly wide awake, he investigated. His animal instincts were on edge. As his right hand sought the hilt of his sword and drew it noiselessly from its s.h.a.green scabbard, his left parted the hangings to get a view of the room. Yasmina lay sleeping, a faint smile on her beautiful lips.

It needed not the glint of steel in the hands of five dark figures, faintly outlined in the starlight, to tell Conan that here was deadly danger. Masked men did not nightly invade their queen's chamber with kindly intentions. Catlike, he crouched on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, sword in hand, rage in his heart.

The a.s.sa.s.sins stole closer, readying their daggers for the strokes that would seat a new ruler on the throne of Vendhya. One was already plucking at the hangings of the royal bed.

Conan went into action with blurring speed. Like a maddened tiger he sprang. The nearest man was down, disemboweled, before the others recovered from their shock. His sword flashed quick as a striking cobra. With a crash, the helmet and head of another were cloven to the chin. Conan kicked the corpse against the others, breaking their charge, while parrying a cut against his legs by one who had dodged the human missile. With a terrific backhanded swipe, he smote the sword arm from the man's body. The limb fell jerking to the floor, while the a.s.sa.s.sin sank down in a heap.

Conan stormed against the remaining two. With flas.h.i.+ng sabers, they fought for their lives under the maddened onslaught of the naked Cimmerian. Red fury blazed in Oman's eyes as he rained mighty strokes upon their frantic parries, circling them to keep them from getting on opposite sides of him.

"Murder a woman sleeping in her bed, will you?" he snarled. "Cowards!

Jackals! Any treacherous Stygian is a fair fighter compared to you! But no blood shall be spilt tonight but yours, curs!"

Conan's blade flickered like a shaft of deadly light. A terrific slash sh.o.r.e off the head of one of his masked adversaries, with the ferocity of the Cimmerian's attack backed the single one remaining against the wall. Their swift blows and parries shaped a glittering, ever-changing pattern of steel in the starlight.

Yasmina, now fully awake, stood beside her bed, watching with bated breath. Suddenly she cried out in terror, as Conan slipped in the blood on the floor and fell across one of the corpses.

The Vendhyan a.s.sailant sprang forward, unholy glee in his black eyes.

He raised his sword. Conan struggled to rise. Suddenly, the mouth of his foe flew open. He teetered, dropping his sword, and fell with a choking gurgle. Behind was revealed the naked, supple form of Yasmina.

Between the shoulders of the dead Kshatriya protruded the hilt of the dagger she had driven home in the nick of time to save her lover.

Conan slashed himself free from the entangling folds of a mantle and rose. From head to foot he was covered with blood, but his blue eyes blazed with their old unquenchable fire.

"Lucky for me you were quick with your sticker, girl! But for you, I should have kept these gentlemen company in h.e.l.l by now. Crom, but it was a good fight!"

Her first reply was one of feminine anxiety. "You bleed, my chieftain!

Come with me to the bathroom, and we will dress your wounds."

"It's theirs, all but a couple of scratches," grunted Conan, wiping the blood off with the turban cloth of. one of the dead a.s.sa.s.sins. "Small price to pay to thwart these scoundrels."

"I praise the G.o.ds you were with me, or they would have succeeded." The Devi's voice was vibrant with emotion. "Never have I dreamed that a.s.sa.s.sination threatened me! The people deem my rule just, and I have the backing of the army and most of the n.o.bility. Maybe Yezdigerd of Turan has sent emissaries as masked murderers to my chambers."

"Yezdigerd won't bother you again," muttered the Cimmerian. "He's dead.

I slew him on his own s.h.i.+p. Unmask them!"

The Devi tore the mask from the face of the man she had knifed, then recoiled in amazement and horror. "Chengir! My own cousin! Oh, treachery, black treachery and power madness! Heads shall roll for this tomorrow!"