Conan the Swordsman

The People Of The Summit After a year or two of felonious life as a thief in Zamora, Corinthia, and Nemedia, Conan, who has just about turned twenty, undertakes to earn a more or less honest living as a mercenary soldier serving King Yildiz of Turan. Following the events of the story "The City of Skulls," the mighty Cimmerian, as a reward for his services to the king's daughter Zosara, is given a noncommissioned rank corresponding to that of sergeant. In this capacity he goes to the Khozgari Hills as part of the military escort of an emissary sent by the king to the restless tribesmen of that region, in hope of dissuading them by bribes and threats from raiding and plundering the Turanians of the lowlands. But the Khozgarians are warlike barbarians who respect only immediate and overwhelming force. They treacherously attack the detachment, killing the emissary and all but two of the soldiers. These two, Conan andjamal, escape. * * * The lean Turanian, whose dusty crimson jerkin and stained white breeches testified to the rigors of his flight, reined in his mare at the signal. Turning questing black eyes upon his giant leader, he asked: "Dare we tarry here?" His companion, similarly garbed, save that the flowing left sleeve of his woolen shirt bore the golden scimitar of a sergeant in the Turanian frontier cavalry, scowled. Blue eyes blazing beneath the crimson turban that bound his spired helmet, he tossed aside the flap of cloth that protected his face from the swirling dust and spat before he answered. "The beasts must rest." The heaving flanks of the two animals and their foam-flecked mouths made plain the need for a halt. "But, Conan," protested the Turanian, "what if those Khozgari devils still follow us?" Uneasily he studied the curved scimitar thrust into his sash, and his grip tightened on the lance resting in its leathern pouch beside his right stirrup. He was comforted by the weight of the double-curved bow and the full quiver of arrows slung upon his back. "Damn that stupid emissary!" growled the Cimmerian. "Jamal, thrice I warned him of the treacherous Khozgari tribesmen; but his head was so full of trade treaties and caravan routes that he would not listen. Now that thick-skulled head of his hangs in the smokeroom of a chief's hut, along with seven of our company. Damn him to Hell, and damn the lieutenant for permitting the palaver in the rock village!" "Aye, Conan, but what could our lieutenant do? The emissary had full power to command. Our task was to protect him and obey him, only. Had he countered the emissary's orders, the captain would have snapped his scimitar before the regiment and reduced him to the ranks. You know the captain's temper." "Better broken to the ranks than dead," growled Conan, scowling. "We two were lucky to escape when the devils rushed us! Listen!" He held up his hand. "What was that?" Conan rose in his stirrups, blue eyes sweeping the gorges and crevices for the source of the faint sound he had heard. As his companion silently unslung his great bow and nocked an arrow, Conan's hand closed on the hilt of his scimitar. A moment later, he flung himself from the saddle and, like a charging bull, rushed toward the nearby rock wall; for in that fleeting space of time, a youth had raced across the narrow gorge and scaled the steep cliff with the agility of a monkey. Conan swept to the granite wall, found purchase for reaching hands and feet, and clambered upward with the assurance born of long experience. He heaved himself over the rim of the rock and cast himself aside just as a club descended on the spot where, a moment earlier, his head had been. Rolde Camp, L. Sprague is the author of 'Conan the Swordsman', published 2002 under ISBN 9780765300690 and ISBN 0765300699.