Conan the Indomitable Part 1

Robert Jordan.

Conan.

The Indomitable.

One.

A man-high cairn marks the desolate juncture where the lands of Brythunia, Corinthia and Zamora come together. Centuries of wind and rain and snow and sun have worked their hot and cold hands and weathered claws over the pillar, smoothing it into little more than a soft-featured mound of stone rising from the barren ground. The mountain upon which the cairn squats is most always covered with snow, continually subjected to harsh storms, and it draws few visitors intent on seeing a geographical marker of such plain visage.

Upon the narrow s...o...b..und path that pa.s.ses the cairn walked a man and a woman. Arguing.

"There were horses," the woman said, "but naturally, it never occurred to you to fetch a pair."

The speaker of these words was named Elas.h.i.+, a beautiful young woman born of the Khauranian desert.

While lush of breast, she had the supple muscles and carriage developed by one familiar with hard work, and her legs were firm and slim from much walking. She wore a heavy cloak over a woolen s.h.i.+rt and long woolen skirt against the cold, and her feet were encased in high boots. A short, curved sword dangled from a strap at her left hip.

"Most of the horses were either dead or about to be," her companion said, his voice dry. "Riding a dead horse makes for slow going."

The man was also young, but certainly fully grown. He stood tall and wide-shouldered, with thickly muscled arms and a deep, heavy chest. Clean-shaven, he wore his black hair in a square-cut mane, and his blue eyes seemed to flash with a deep inner fire. Conan his name was, begotten of the fierce barbarian mountain people from the cold lands of Cimmeria far to the north. He too wore a woolen s.h.i.+rt and woolen pants under a winter's cloak and was shod in heavy boots, and the sheathed sword he carried was long and straight, of ancient blued iron, its edges sharped like razors.

"A lot you know," Elas.h.i.+ continued. "I sometimes wonder what, if anything, you are good for, you great barbarian lout!"

Conan shook his head. Since meeting Elas.h.i.+ at the temple of the Suddah Oblates, his life had certainly been less than dull. They had taken up with a beautiful zombie woman, fought a necromancer's blind priests and undead minions, and nearly been skewered a dozen times along the way. He and Elas.h.i.+ had shared sleeping robes for much of the time, but despite that, she continued to harangue him at every opportunity. It seemed that she never tired of extolling his faults, real or imagined.

Conan said, "I heard no complaints last night as the fire dwindled." He grinned widely at her.

After a few seconds, and seemingly against her will, Elas.h.i.+ returned Conan's grin. "Well, I suppose you do ometimes rise to certain occasions." She was silent for half a dozen steps and then said, "But we would have more energy for such alliances had we horses to ride."

"I noticed no lack of energy onmy part," Conan said. "And as long as we are wis.h.i.+ng for that which we do not have, why not wish for a kingdom and servants? Or perhaps a palace of gold?"

"Oh, you, you-barbarian lout!"

He grinned again as she fell silent. After the death of Neg the Malefic, the necromancer whom Conanhad slain, the young Cimmerian and Elas.h.i.+ had agreed to travel together until their paths parted. Conan intended to visit the wicked city of Shadizar, in Zamora, to ply the trade of thief, while Elas.h.i.+'s plans would take her farther south, to her native Khauran. From inquiries along the way thus far, Conan had learned that the route would not be direct; the best road detoured into Corinthia for perhaps several days' journey before looping southeast into Zamora again. Even as he recalled this, the path upon which they trod turned to the west and began to angle down the mountain.

Perhaps there was a village or town ahead in which he could practice his thievery and obtain enough silver for two horses, thereby putting an end to Elas.h.i.+'s constant carping. He certainly hoped it would be so.

Snow lay thick upon the land save for the path, where it had been trodden down. It was winter but clear, the blue skies sharp, the air cold and clean. Conan much enjoyed such places; towns offered much, but the air inside a city stank of odors unknown in the mountains. A man had to balance these things, of course. Meat and wine and l.u.s.ty companions were more apt to be found in civilization than along a snow-covered trail in the middle of nowhere. While Conan's G.o.d Crom lived inside a mountain, he had never ordained that men were supposed to do the same.

From ahead on the trail there came a noise.

It was a small thing, the sound, and ears less sharp than Conan's would have dismissed it as perhaps a breeze-inspired shrub's rustling or a small rock dislodged by some tiny animal. The big Cimmerian stopped, and listened intently.

"What are you-?"

Conan waved Elas.h.i.+ to silence. When he spoke, his voice was a deep whisper. "Someone waits just ahead, around that large boulder."

Elas.h.i.+ glanced at the house-sized rock Conan had just indicated. "I see no sign of anyone," she said, matching his whisper.

"There was a noise," Conan insisted.

"I heard nothing. And I am a woman of the desert, do not forget."

How could he forget? She reminded him of it at least once daily. "Perhaps you need desert sand for your ears to work properly. I heard a cough."

That earned him a glare that, had it been a blade, would have left him in small and b.l.o.o.d.y chunks upon the snowy ground. "Listen, you barbarian oaf-"

"No more time for games," he cut her off. He drew his sword. "I sense that we are in danger."

Elas.h.i.+ nodded. Despite her verbal abuse of her companion, she had been with him long enough to understand that his senses were indeed sharper than those of ordinary men. She drew her own sword.

"What should we do?"

"You circle behind the rock while I proceed along the trail to draw their attention. That way, you can take them unaware while they watch me." "I willnot !" she said, her whisper increasing in volume. "Just because I am a woman, you seek to s.h.i.+eld me from risks! Never forget that I am firstborn."

Conan stared at her, amazed, as if she had suddenly sprouted wings and was preparing to leap up and fly into the heavens. He was young, and he supposed that he would learn more with age, but for the moment he did not think it possible that he would ever understand the motivations of women. Perhaps no man could. "Very well," he said. "Youproceed down the trail whileI circle behind the rock... and whoever it is that awaits there."

"Better," she said. But after a moment of triumph, her grin faded and she looked nervously at Conan.

"You would actually send me along the trail into the jaws of possible death?" Her stare was incredulous and her voice quavered. She acted as if he had spat on her.

Conan shook his head and glanced around at the mountains. Was there some demon hiding out there, sent to bedevil him? And what did Elas.h.i.+ want from him? Disagree with her and she argued. Agree with her and she argued even more. Crom! He felt the heat of anger rise within him.

Fighting to keep his voice level, he said, "All right. What isyour suggestion?"

"Keep your voice down," she ordered.

Conan's anger increased as he stared helplessly at her. She was beautiful, to be sure, but maddening!

"You proceed down the path and draw the attention of whoever or whatever is there," she said. "I shall circle around the rock and get behind them. That way, I may take them unaware."

Conan stared, unable to speak in his frustrated rage.

"Isn't that a better plan than the one you had?" she asked sweetly. Warm goat b.u.t.ter would not have dissolved in her mouth, he thought. Surely, surely I have offended some G.o.d and this is my punishment.

He stood silent for a moment, then stalked off without another word. Whatever was on the other side of that boulder had better not be intent on causing him grief.

When he rounded the shelter of the rock, Conan found himself facing trouble. Five men stood before him; short, muscular, and swarthy, each held a dagger-tipped pike. They wore cracked and sweat-stained leather armor and gauntlets, and heavy boots. Behind these five a single being sat astride a tall black stallion. This creature wore a heavy riding cape, woolen s.h.i.+rt, and leather breeches, and held in a gauntleted hand a thin sword across the front of the horse's saddle.

Conan was somewhat puzzled about this last figure.

At first glance, it seemed a man from its dress and manner; on closer examination, the beardless face was definitely female, this self-evident not merely from its smoothness of complexion but from its shape and the bearer's use of cosmetics. The lips were rouged, the eyebrows partially plucked, and the area around the eyes darkened with a bluish hue. The reddish-brown hair was shorter than Conan's own, and cut feathery on the ends. Additionally, the creature's s.h.i.+rt front jutted out in twin peaks that certainly seemed womanly... but the crotch of the tight leather breeches revealed a bulge than seemed most definitely male.

Conan's examination of the horsed figure was interrupted by its speech. "Stand and deliver!" it said. The voice added to his confusion. It was deep, that of a strong man. Coming from those ruby lips, it soundedmost odd indeed.

"Stand and deliver what?" Conan asked. "Are you blind, that I appear to be some fat merchant laden with gold or wares? What you see is all I own, and that is little enough."

"I will have your sword," the figure said.

At that moment Elas.h.i.+ appeared behind the six, clambering up the rock so that she was above them.

Conan swung the sword back and forth to limber his shoulder, then gripped the handle with both hands and aimed the point at the throat of the nearest pikeman, a techinque he had learned from the swordmaster of the Suddah Oblates. "I think not," he said.

The pikeman swallowed dryly.

"Do not be a fool," the horse rider said. "We are six to your one. Give us your sword and live. Refuse and die."

"I find it somewhat strange that you seem willing to lose at least some of your men to collect a sword.

Such an exchange is bad business. I think that perhaps there is something else on your mind."

The man-woman laughed, a deep, throaty sound. "Wise, for a savage."

On the boulder, Elas.h.i.+ had put her sword down and was lifting a head-sized rock.

The leader of the bandits leaned forward on the horse. The creak of the saddle leather was loud in the otherwise quiet clearing. "Very well. Then we shall have to obtain that which we wish the hard way. Take him!"

Elas.h.i.+ chose this precise instant to hurl the rock she held. Now the desert woman was not much of a swordswoman, true, and she talked too much for Oman's taste, but apparently the throwing of rocks could be numbered among her skills: the large stone smacked into the head of one of the pikemen, felling him like a poleaxed pig. The sound of the rock striking the skull was much like that of a melon when smashed with a heavy board. That worthy would trouble no one else in this world.

Startled, the pikemen turned to espy this new threat. The rider's mount s.h.i.+ed at the sudden movements, backing itself almost to the boulder. Before the rider could turn, Elas.h.i.+, sword in hand, leaped upon him-or her-screaming.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Conan darted forward, swift for a man so large, and swung the ancient blue-iron blade. The stroke met flesh, cleaving muscle and bone, toppling a second pikeman into a fall that would ultimately end in the Gray Lands-and likely Gehanna.

Elas.h.i.+ and the rider fell from the horse. Conan had time to see the mysterious bandit leader leap up and twist about sharply; the movement spun Elas.h.i.+ away as a terrier tosses a rat. She hit the ground and rolled up, sword held ready.

No matter. Her distraction had accomplished its purpose. Conan swung his sword back and forth, chopping at the disorganized pikemen, who were at quarters too close to use their weapons effectively.

Blue iron met pike wood and sheared it, continuing on to carve b.l.o.o.d.y canyons through leather armor.

Conan's mighty arms drove the weapon he bore, gutting one man, removing another's head, driving allbefore the Cimmerian whirlwind. Before they could gather their wits, four of the five pikemen were down, one by Elas.h.i.+'s stone, the others by courtesy of Conan's blade.

The fifth pikeman deemed it wise to change occupations at that moment, to that of a fleet-footed messenger; he ran, dropping his pike to attain yet more speed. For an instant Conan considered retrieving one of the fallen pikes to use as a spear against the fleeing man, but decided that dealing with the leader was more important. As he turned, however, the rider managed to recapture the horse.

Flinging itself onto the saddle, the leader of the bandits spurred the animal, which bolted straight at Conan.

The Cimmerian dodged, swiping at the rider, but the figure leaned away from the sword's arc and Conan cut nothing more than air. The force of the slash spun the young Cimmerian off balance. In a heartbeat, horse and rider were past, moving too swiftly for Conan to recover in time to give chase.

Conan watched the retreating figures of pike-man and rider. Came the rider's call: "I'll have your sword yet, barbarian!"

Conan, shook his head. Why would anyone be willing to risk death for a sword of uncertain worth? In fact, while the blued-iron weapon was of good quality and quite serviceable, it had no intrinsic value. The handle was plain and leather-wrapped, not bejeweled or carved ivory, and the guard was merely a single bar of thick bra.s.s. The strange bandit leader must be mad.

Elas.h.i.+ approached, brus.h.i.+ng dirt from her cloak.

"Are you injured?" Conan asked.

"Nay." She finished her cloak dusting and looked at Conan askance. "You let two of them escape."

He could not suppress a surprised grunt. "You never mentioned that you desert dwellers drank blood."

"Little point in leaving a job half accomplished," she said. "I suppose there's nothing to be done for it. Let us examine the corpses."

"Examine them? Why?"

She regarded him as she might a simpleminded child. "And you intend to become a thief? For valuables, of course."

Conan nodded at this. For once she had a point. But even as he rifled the spa.r.s.e purses of the fallen bandits, the question of why they had attacked continued to plague him. And the man-woman's retreating threat to have his sword-what was that all about?

Well, he would pay it no more mind. It was finished and done with, and like as not, he had seen the last of that odd personage.

Two.

Although the purses of the slain mountain bandits yielded only a few coppers, Conan was not the least averse to collecting the coins and sharing them equally with Elas.h.i.+. Certainly the bandits had no further need for money where they were bound. As the Cimmerian and the desert woman made their way down the mountain road, they saw in the distance a small village; thanks to the bandits, they could now buy food and a room for the night. Only a few days past, Conan had carried two silver coins, the last of his profit from the pelt of a dire-wolf he had slain. Unfortunately, as he had raced through the halls of the necromancer's castle, he had somehow dislodged the silver from his purse. After the aggravation of the bandit's attack, providing supper and shelter was the least the dead men could do.

As evening sought to claim the day, stormy purple and gray clouds gathered on the horizon. The wind grew colder, carrying in its chilly teeth the promise of snow. Conan knew the signs: a blizzard was building. It would be most uncomfortable to be caught out in the open in the coming weather. The village lay less than an hour ahead by his reckoning, and the two of them should arrive there at about the time the storm did. If they hurried.

The village was like a dozen others Conan had Seen in his travels. Perhaps a score of structures, most of them small houses of stone with sod roofing, sprawled along the sides of the road, now somewhat wider than it had been in the mountains. The largest of the buildings was, naturally, the village inn. The wordless sign over the doorway bore merely a carved picture of a sheep, doubtless detailing the mainstay of local industry. The building was also of stone, weathered and in disrepair, with oiled but torn lambskin over the windows, showing a fitful yellow glow from within.

As Conan and Elas.h.i.+ approached the inn, the snow began to flurry about them. In a moment the swirling winds had the powdery whiteness dancing thickly in the evening air. The combination of snow and gathering darkness quickly reduced visibility to a few spans.

"Not a very appealing place," Elas.h.i.+ observed.

"Our choices are somewhat limited," Conan said.

"True."

He swung the heavy wooden door inward and took in the interior of the inn. The ceiling was low, hardly an arm's length taller than Conan himself, and the central room into which they stared was occupied by perhaps twenty people, most of them men. They sat at rude tables or stood near the large fireplace within which a fat log burned brightly. An archway at the end of the room led, Conan surmised, to sleeping rooms and storage for food and drink.

Stepping into the room, Conan shut the door behind Elas.h.i.+, never taking his gaze from the occupants.

Most of them were obviously locals: dark-complected, older men dressed in shepherd garb. There were a few women who matched the men in age and clothes, also likely local folk.

At the far end of the communal eating and drinking room sat a thin man dressed as though for summer in thigh-length trousers and a short tunic. He had hair the color of straw and a foolish grin upon his face.

Likely drunk or slack-witted, Conan thought.

Behind this summery fool sat two men who looked very much like the five who had a.s.saulted Conan upon the trail. There were no pikes in evidence, but each man wore a sword and long dagger ensheathed upon his belt, and their features looked hard in the light of guttering tapers mounted at odd intervals upon the stone walls.