Jondra's eyes flickered to Conan. Abruptly her posture softened, and her voice became languorous. "No, I am not a child, Zathanides. Perhaps we can discuss my future plans. In the privacy of my tent?"

Startlement pa.s.sed over Zathanides' face to be replaced by pleasure.

"Certainly," he said with an unctuous smile. "Let us ... discuss your future."

Arvaneus' swarthy face was a blend of despair and rage as he watched the pair disappear into the scarlet tent. Conan merely scooped up a handful of rocks and began tossing them down the hill one by one. Telades squatted next to him.

"More trouble, Cimmerian," the shaven-headed man said, "and I begin to wonder if you are worth "What have I to do with anything?" Conan asked coldly.

"She does this because of you, you fool northlander."

"She makes her choice." He would not admit even to himself that this flirting with Zathanides sat ill with him. "She's not the first woman to choose a man for wealth and t.i.tles."

"But she is no ordinary woman. I have served her since she was a child, and I tell you that you were the first man to come to her bed."

"I know," Conan said through gritted teeth. He was unused to women casting him aside; he liked neither the fact of it nor the discussing of it.

A woman's scream came from the tent, and the Cimmerian threw another stone. The tightness of his jaw eased, and a slight smile touched his lips.

Arvaneus took a single step toward the scarlet pavilion, then froze in indecision. From where she knelt by the tent flap, Tamira cast an agonized glance at Conan. All the rest of the camp seemed stunned to immobility.

Another shriek rent the air.

Telades leaped to his feet, but Conan caught the hunter's arm. "I will see if she requires aid," he said calmly, tossing aside his handful of stones.

Despite his tone the Cimmerian's first steps were quick, and by the time he reached the tent he was running.

As he ducked through the tent-flap, the story was plain. Jondra struggled among the cushions, her scarlet robe rucked up above her rounded hips, long legs kicking in the air, while Zathanides lay half atop her, fumbling with his breeches and raining kisses on her face. Her small fists pounded futilely at his back and sides.

With a snarl Conan grasped the man by the neck of his gilded mail shirt and the seat of his breeches, lifting him straight into the air. Zathanides gave a shout, then began cursing and struggling, clawing at his sword, but the huge Cimmerian easily carried him to the entrance and threw him from the tent to land like a sack.

Conan took a bare instant to a.s.sure himself that Jondra was unharmed.

Her jewelry was discarded on the cushions, and her robe was torn to expose one smooth shoulder, but she seemed more angry than hurt as she scrambled to her feet, pushing her silk down over her sleek nudity. Then he followed Zathanides outside. The general had risen to one knee, his mouth twisted with rage, and his sword came out as Conan appeared. The Cimmerian's foot lashed out. The jeweled sword went flying; Zathanides yelped and clutched his wrist. The shout of outraged pain faded as Conan's blade point touched the general's throat.

"Stop!" Jondra cried. "Conan, put up your sword!"

Conan lowered his steel slowly, though he did not sheath it. It had been she who was a.s.saulted, and by his thinking Zathanides' life was hers to dispose of as she saw fit, or even to spare. But he would not disarm himself until the man was dead or gone."I'll have your head, barbarian," Zathanides snarled as he got painfully to his feet. "You'll discover the penalty for attacking a Lord of Zamora."

"Then you will discover the penalty for ... for manhandling a Lady of Zamora," Jondra said coldly. "Tread warily, Zathanides, for your head and Conan's will share the same fate, and the choice is yours."

Zathanides' dark eyes bulged, and spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth. "Make what charges you will, you half-breed Brythunian trull. Do you think there is anyone in Zamora who has not heard the stories of you? That you bed a man before you take him in service as a hunter? Who will believe that one such as I would touch such a s.l.u.t, such a piece of-"

He cut off and took a step back as Conan's sword lifted again, but Jondra grabbed the Cimmerian's ma.s.sive arm, though both her hands could not come near encircling it. "Hold, Conan," she said unsteadily. "Make your choice, Zathanides."

The dark-faced general scrubbed at the spittle on his chin with the back of his hand, then nodded jerkily. " 'Tis you who has made a choice, Jondra. Keep your savage lover. Enter the mountains if you will, and find a hillman." Stamping to where his jewel-hilted blade lay, he s.n.a.t.c.hed it from the ground and slammed it home in the sheath at his side. "For all I care, you can go straight to Zandru's Ninth h.e.l.l!"

Satisfaction glimmered beneath Conan's anger as he watched the general's stiff-backed march to his horse. Zathanides might wish to abandon Jondra to her fate, but too many of his own soldiers knew that he had found her. The attempted rape might well be covered up-especially if other n.o.bles felt about Jondra as the general did-but failing in his attempt to turn a woman back from the mountains would place his manhood in an unfavorable light indeed. At least, that was the way the Cimmerian believed a man of Zathanides'

ilk would look at the matter. Conan felt he could safely wager that the next day would see the appearance of a force under orders to escort the hunting party to Shadizar, without regard for what Jondra had to say.

As Zathanides and his standard bearer galloped down the hill, Arvaneus approached the crimson-walled tent, his manner at once arrogant and hesitant.

"My lady," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "if you command it, I will take men and see that Lord Zathanides does not survive the night."

"If I command it," Jondra replied in an icy tone, "you will sneak in the night and murder Zathanides. Conan did not await my command. He faced Zathanides openly, without fear of consequences."

"My lady, I ... I would die for you. I live only for you."

Jondra turned her back on the impa.s.sioned huntsman. Her eyes fastened on Conan's broad chest as if afraid to meet his gaze. "You begin to make a habit of saving me," she said softly. "I see no reason for us to continue to sleep apart." Arvaneus's teeth ground audibly.

Conan said nothing. If his thoughts concerning Zathanides were correct, then he should be gone from the camp before the night ended, for the general's instructions would certainly include the death of one large northlander. Too, there was his plan of departing with Tamira. Leaving from Jondra's bed would necessitate explanations he did not want to make.

The tall n.o.blewoman drew a shuddering breath. "I am no tavern wench to be toyed with. I will have an answer now."

"I did not leave your bed for wanting to," he said carefully, and cursed his lack of diplomatic skill when her chin went up and her eyes flared. "Let us not argue," he added quickly. "It will be days before the wounded have their strength back. They should be days of rest and enjoyment." Days spent in her return to Shadizar, he thought, but his satisfaction vanished at her scornful laugh.

"Can you be so foolish? Zathanides will brood on his manhood and the pride he lost here, then convince himself that he can escape any charges I might bring. Tomorrow will see more soldiers, Conan, no doubt with orders to take me back in chains if I'll go no other way. But they will need to seek me in the mountains." Abruptly her face stilled, and her voice hardened. "You arenot so foolish as that. You know as well as I the soldiers will return. You would have waited and seen me carried back to Shadizar like a bundle. Well, go, if you fear the mountains. Go! I care not!" As abruptly as she had turned her back on Arvaneus, she turned to face the huntsman again. "I intend to press on at first light," she told the hawk-faced man, "and to move quickly.

All baggage must be discarded except what can be carried on pack animals. The wounded and all men who cannot be mounted will turn back with the ox-carts.

Perhaps their trail will confuse Zathanides for a time. ..."

As her list of instructions went on, Arvaneus shot a look over her shoulder at Conan, smug satisfaction mingled with a promise of violence. There would be more trouble from that quarter. Or rather, the Cimmerian reminded himself, there would be if he continued with the hunters, which he had no intention of doing. And since such was his plan, it was time for him to be making preparations for his leave-taking.

Slowly Conan moved away from the n.o.blewoman's flow of commands. With studied casualness he drifted beyond the cookfires. The fat cook, frowning over a delicate dish for Jondra's table, never looked up as the Cimmerian rooted among the supplies. When Conan walked on, he carried two fat leather pouches of dried meat in the crook of his arm. Taking one quick look to make certain he was un.o.bserved, he cached the meat beneath a thornbush on the edge of the encampment. Soon he had added four waterbags, and blankets of blue-striped wool. He was inured to sleeping with naught but his cloak for protection from the cold, or even without it, but he could not think a city woman like Tamira was so hardy.

The horses had to wait until the point of leaving- they certainly could not be saddled now without drawing unwanted attention-but he walked to the picket line anyway. It was easier to choose out a good mount when there was light to see. The big black he had been riding would do for him; Tamira needed a horse with good endurance as well, though. He had intended to move down the line of animals without stopping, so as to give no hint of his interest, but as he came to a long-legged bay mare-just the sort he, would choose for Tamira-his feet halted of their own accord. On the ground at the mare's head rested a high-pommeled saddle, a bulging waterbag, and a tightly tied leather sack.

"In the night, Tamira?" he said softly. "Or while I sit waiting for darkness to come?" The picture of the rubies lying on the cushions of Jondra's tent was suddenly bright in his mind.

With a calm he did not feel, Conan strode through the camp, his eyes seeking Tamira. Once more the encampment was an anthill, hunters scurrying at Jondra's commands. For an instant the n.o.blewoman paused, gazing at Conan as if she wished to speak, or waited for him to speak, but when he did not slow she turned angrily back to supervising the preparations for the next morning.

Nowhere did Conan see Tamira. But that, he thought grimly, might mean he was not too late.

Conan knew how he would have entered the scarlet tent, had he chosen to steal the rubies with the camp aroused. A glance told him no one was watching, and he quickly slipped behind Jondra's pavilion. Down the back of the tent a long slit had been made. Parting it a finger-width, he peered in. Tamira knelt within, rooting among the cushions. With a m.u.f.fled laugh she drew out the sparkling length of the -necklace. The tiara was gripped in her other hand.

Soundlessly Conan slipped through the slit. The first announcement of his presence Tamira received was his hand closing over her mouth. His free arm encircled her, pinning her arms and lifting her before she had time to do more than gasp into his palm. She had dropped the gems, he saw, but that was the end of his moment of peace. Tamira exploded into a wriggling, kicking, biting bundle. And footsteps were approaching the front of the tent.

With a muttered oath the Cimmerian ducked back through the slit with his struggling burden. Behind the tent was no place to stop, however, not if someone was going to enter the tent, not with Tamira as likely as not to scream that he had been thieving. Cursing under his breath, he scrambled downthe stony slope until he found a clump of scrub brush that hid them from the camp. There he tried to set her down, but she kicked him fiercely on the ankle, rocks slid beneath his foot, and he found himself on the ground with Tamira beneath him, her eyes starting from her head from the force of the fall.

"You great oaf!" she wheezed after a moment. "Do you try to break my ribs?"

"I did not kick myself," he growled. "I thought we agreed to leave in the night. What were you doing in Jondra's tent?"

"Nothing was said about the rubies," she retorted. "I haven't changed my plans for them, even if you have. Perhaps," she finished angrily, "you find what Jondra gives you more valuable than rubies, but as I am not a man I have a different view of the matter.''

"Leave Jondra out of this," he snapped. "And do not try to change the subject. You have a horse waiting this very instant."

Tamira shifted uneasily beneath him, and her eyes slid away from his. "I wanted to be ready," she muttered. "For the night."

"Do you think I'm a fool," he said, "that I take you for a fool? The saddle cannot escape discovery till nightfall. But if someone planned to steal the rubies and leave the camp within the turn of a gla.s.s. . . . You could not have been planning such a thing, could you?"

"They would not have held you to blame." Her tone was sullenly excusatory. "Jondra would not blame you if she found you with the rubies in your pouch. And if she did, it would be less than you deserve."

"Jondra," he breathed. "Always Jondra. What is it to you whose bed I share? You and I are not lovers."

Tamira's large brown eyes grew even wider. Scarlet suffused her cheeks, and her mouth worked for a long moment before sound finally came out. "We most certainly are not!" she gasped. "How dare you suggest such a thing? Let me up!

Get off me, you great ox! Let me up, I say!" Her small fists punctuated her words, pounding at his shoulders, but suddenly her fingers had tangled in his hair, and she was pressing her lips to his.

Conan blinked once in surprise, then returned her kiss with as much fervor as she was putting into it. "Don't think this will convince me to stay," he said when they broke apart for air. "I'm not such a fool."

"If you stop," she moaned, "then you are a fool."

With one last silent reminder that he would not be a fool, Conan gave up talk and thought alike for pleasures at once simpler and more complex.

Chapter 13.

He was not a fool, Conan told himself once more as he guided his horse along a trail halfway up a nameless peak on the fringe of the Kezankians. If he kept saying it, he thought he might convince himself in time. Before and behind him stretched the hunting party, all mounted and many leading pack animals, wending their way deeper into the hillman domains. The sun stood barely above the horizon. They had left the camp in the hills before the first glimmer of dawn. The ox-carts with the wounded would be on their way back to Shadizar.

Lost in his own thoughts, Conan was surprised to find that Jondra had reined aside to await him. He had not spoken to her since she turned her back on him, but he noted that at least she was smiling now.

She drew her horse in beside his. The trail was wide enough for the animals to walk abreast. "The day is fine, is it not?" she said brightly.

Conan merely looked at her.

"I hoped you would come to me in the night. No, I promised myself I would not say that." Shyly she peered at him through lowered lashes. "I knew you could not leave me. That is ... I thought . . . you did stay because of me, did you not?"

"I did," he said glumly, but she appeared not to notice his tone."I knew it," she said, her smile even more radiant than before. "Tonight we will put the past behind us once and for all." With that she galloped up the line of mounted men to resume her place at their head.

Conan growled deep in his throat.

"What did she want?" Tamira demanded, guiding her mount up beside his.

It was the same bay mare she had chosen out for her flight. She glared jealously after the n.o.blewoman.

"Nothing of consequence," Conan replied.

The young woman thief grunted contemptuously. " 'Tis likely she thinks you are still here because of the over-generous charms she displays so freely.

But you came because of me. Didn't you?"

"I came for you," Conan told her. "But unless you want to see how strongly Jondra wields a switch, you had best not let her see us talking too often."

"Let her but try."

"Then you intend to explain to her that you are not Lyana the handmaiden, but Tamira the thief?"

"If she faced me in a fair fight," the slender woman began with a toss of her head, then broke off in a laugh. "But it is not talk I want from you.

She can have that. Till tonight, Conan."

The big Cimmerian sighed heavily as she let her horse fall behind his.

It was no easy task he had ahead of him, and all because he could not allow a woman who had shared his bed-much less two of them-to enter the Kezankians while he rode back to Shadizar. He supposed those men who called themselves civilized and him barbarian could have managed it easily. It was beyond him, though, and his pride was enough to make him believe he could bring both safely out of the mountains. Of course, he knew, soon or late each woman would find out about the other. At that point, he was sure, he would rather face all the hillmen of the Kezankians than those two females.

The thought of hillmen brought him back to his surroundings. If he did not keep watch, they might not even make it fully into the mountains, much less out. His eyes scanned the steep brown mountain slopes around him, dotted with tress bizarrely sculpted by wind and harsh clime. He searched the jagged peaks ahead. No signs of life did he discern, but the breeze brought a sound to him, faint yet disturbing. It came from behind.

He reined his horse around to look back, and felt the hair stir on the back of his neck. Far" below and far distant among the foothills a battle raged. He could make out little save dust rising as smoke from the hills and the small forms of men swarming like ants, yet for an instant he saw what he could swear was a Zamoran honor standard atop a hill. Then it was ridden down, and the men who rode over it wore turbans. Most of the other shapes he could make out were turbanned as well.

"What is the matter?" Jondra shouted, galloping down the trail. She had to force her way through a knot of hunters gathered behind Conan. "Why are you halted?"

" 'Tis a battle, my lady," Telades said, shading his eyes with one hand to peer down at the hills. "I cannot say who fights."

"Hillmen," Conan said. "From the look of it hillmen are killing some part of the Zamoran army."

"Nonsense!" Arvaneus snapped. "The army would sweep any hillman rabble aside. Besides, the tribes never gather in such numbers, and . . . and. ..."

The force of his words weakened as he spoke, and he finished lamely with, "It is impossible to make out details at this distance. That could be anyone fighting. Perhaps it is not a battle at all."

"Perhaps it is a folk dance," Conan said dryly.

Jondra touched his arm. "Is there aught we can do to aid them?"

"Not even if we had wings," the big Cimmerian replied.

Relief was writ plain on the faces of the hunters at his reply, but it was relief tinged with fear. It was all very well to talk of entering the Kezankians and risking the wrath of the hill tribes. To actually see thatwrath, even at a distance, was something else, and most especially when it seemed to be dealt out by more hillmen than a man might expect to see in a lifetime of roaming the mountains.

Jondra looked from face to face, then put on a smile. "If so many hillmen are down there, then we shall have the mountains to ourselves." Her words had little effect on the hunters' expressions. A raven appeared, flying around the side of the mountain. "There," Jondra said, drawing her bow from its lacquered case behind her saddle. "Should there be a hillman or two left in the mountains, we'll deal with them as easily as this." Her bowstring slapped against her forearm leather; the raven's wings folded, and the bird dropped like a stone. Conan thought he heard her mutter something about "Brythunian" as she recased her bow. "Now let us ride," she commanded, and galloped back up the trail.

Slowly the column of hunters formed again behind the n.o.blewoman. As Tamira pa.s.sed Conan, she gave him an anxious, wide-eyed look. Perhaps he was a fool, he thought, but he could be no other than what he was. With a rea.s.suring smile for the young woman thief, he joined the file of hors.e.m.e.n picking its way up the mountain.

Eldran ran a judicious eye over the two score men following him through a field of boulders deeper into the mountains, and said, "We stop for a rest."

"About time," said a round-cheeked man with gray streaking the long hair that was held back from his face by a leather cord. "We've ridden since before first light, and I'm not so young as I once was."

"If you tell me about your old bones one more time, Haral," Eldran laughed, and the others joined in, though their laughter was strained. Haral's age and plumpness were belied by the scars on his face, and the wolf whose fur trimmed his cloak had been slain with his bare hands. "A short stop only,"

Eldran went on. "These mountains feel ill, and I would be done with what we came for and out of them quickly."