As he watched, the beam slipped from its support and came crashing down. One man jumped from under the falling weight with great agility, but the second man"s speed was not sufficient. The beam pinned the unfortunate victim to the ground as a man"s sandaled foot pins a snake.
He screamed as the wood smashed both his legs to the dirt. The remaining men immediately began trying to lift the beam, cursing as they realized they had not the strength. It looked hopeless.
Conan sprang, unthinking. Such was the speed of his movement that the men gripping the timber jumped back, as if fearing attack.
The Cimmerian ignored them. He wrapped his great arms around the end of the fallen beam and squatted, so that he held the wood to his chest. He shifted his feet slightly wider and tried to stand. Individual muscles stood out on his thighs like a network of thick bands: the hard flesh of his bare arms writhed as though small animals roved under his skin.
The beam did not move.
Conan adjusted his grip, took a deep breath, and screamed a wordless, guttural yell that caused the hair to stand on the necks of several watchers. With a contraction that caused his rock-hard thews to vibrate, the young giant stood, keeping his back stiff as his legs straightened. For a moment he stood there holding the giant beam, great veins standing out all over his exposed flesh like tiny snakes. Then the barbarian heaved the timber away from himself with a thrust of his hips. The heavy wood fell with a ground-shaking crash just past the end of the formerly trapped man"s feet. Conan shook himself once and stretched his shoulders. "Best you be more careful," he said. "I might not walk this way again." He turned and strode back to where his friends stood, staring.
Kinna spoke first. "By Mitra! No man can be so strong!"
Conan grinned. "What? For lifting that twig?" Are there no men where you come from?"
Kinna"s voice was soft and full of admiration. "None such as you."
Conan grinned wider, pleased with himself. This was the kind of ch.o.r.e for a man, one that needed quick reactions and strength-and one that impressed women and men alike.
The Cimmerian felt the slightest touch upon his leg then, just where his leathern breech gapped over his boots, but when he looked there was nothing to be seen.
The Smoking Cat inn might have been constructed on the same pattern as had the Milk of Wolves. The same benches, the same tables, even the same servers. The place was not crowded; however, likely owing to all the work needed to be done outside. Conan and the others found a table easily, and ordered wine and breakfast. "Might as well spend what we have," the Cimmerian said, "for we should have much more shortly."
"Stealing from a rich man could be very dangerous," Eldia said.
Conan smiled at the girl. "Aye. But I have some . . . experience in such things."
"There is a high wall surrounding Lemparius"s estate," Vitarius put in.
"They have yet to build a wall a Cimmerian cannot climb," Conan said.
He quaffed a cup of wine.
Kinna stared at him with curiosity in her eyes. Finally, she spoke.
"How is it that you are so strong and so adept, Conan?"
He shrugged. "Cimmeria is a rocky land; ofttimes the rocks are in places where they impede a man"s progress. Such rocks must be moved; some of them are heavy. As to my skills, well, a man learns what he must to survive."
"How are we to accomplish this-ah-liberation of valuables?" Vitarius said.
"Not "we," magician, me. I work best alone. You shall arrange today for our supplies; on the morrow I shall return with funds sufficient to pay for these things. Simple." Conan lifted another cup of wine to his lips and smiled again. This was more to his liking, and what he should have done in the first place-then he would have never become entangled with the nasty webs of magic he so disliked.
Djuvula the Witch smiled as she followed the glowing line of the thread that led to her prey. Soon he would be hers!
Patch, the cutthroat, grinned evilly as he watched the barbarian drink his third cup of wine. Good. If the man were drunk, so much the better.
He had planned to a.s.semble a host of a.s.sistants earlier, but upon seeing the barbarian, Patch felt such a rage that he dismissed his earlier thoughts. No. He would strike when the big man was not prepared; he would knock him senseless and then work on the unconscious form with his bare hands and shod feet until he felt some measure of revenge. Aye, that be the way of it, to do it singly, to balm his wound and pride. No man defeated Patch and escaped unscathed. No man!
Chapter Ten.
Conan decided to sleep for a few hours so that he might be rested and fresh for his nocturnal business. While the others went to arrange for their travel supplies, the barbarian ascended the stairs to the rooms the group had rented. The pair of rooms could have been twins to the ones at the destroyed Milk of Wolves Inn. Conan picked one and entered, bolting the door behind him. He sprawled upon the ticking and soon fell fast asleep.
Djuvula followed the magic thread up the stairs of the inn. The glowing line ended at the door to one of the sleeping rooms. One or more of those she sought must be inside. It was important, however, that she find the beautiful barbarian alone. Her spell would do her little good if there were another woman within the man"s reach. How could she find out?
After a moment the idea came to her. Quickly, Djuvula descended the stairway and found a clean-up boy clearing tables. "Like to earn a few coppers, boy?"
"Aye, mistress. Whom shall I slay for you?"
"Not such a large task as that, boy. Just knock on the door of the room I point out and see how many people are within when you are answered.
Say you have come to change the bedding."
Djuvula handed the boy several coppers, and then followed him up the stairs. She pointed out the door, then moved back down the stairway, out of sight.
After a few moments the boy returned.
"Well?"
"There is but one in the room, mistress, and he seems an ill-tempered one at that. He said he would skewer me, were I to bother him again for such stupidity."
"What did he look like, boy?"
"A giant of a man mistress. A barbarian."
Djuvula smiled and gave the boy a handful of coppers. "Speak of this to no one, boy."
"I should hope not," the boy said. "Fat-a.r.s.e the owner would take my money faster than flies locate dung."
When she was alone in the hallway again, Djuvula brought forth from her silken robe a vial stoppered with cork and wax; inside this clear-walled vessel was a liquid that glowed faintly, like phosphorus.
She pried the cork from the bottle"s mouth and bent to pour a line of the fluid along the base of the door. Vapor rose in a thick yellow cloud, and the sorceress hastily backed away from the smoke.
Conan awoke suddenly. Something was wrong. Some strange smell had invaded his dreams . . . . He sat up suddenly and stared. In the light admitted by the poorly fitted shutters he saw a thin haze of yellow smoke filling the room. He sniffed deeply, then coughed as the irritating fumes filled his nostrils. Was the inn on fire? No, this was like no odor he had smelled before; no wood fed this noxious vapor-
He suddenly found himself suffused with an emotion altogether different from curiosity: His body seemed about to burst-with l.u.s.t.
There came a knock at his door. A female voice called to him. "Open the door, my beautiful barbarian."
Conan felt confusion. The voice was seductive and carried the tones of warm honey, the promise of undreamed of fulfillment. His l.u.s.t increased. He moved to the door, slid back the bolt, and jerked the door wide.
The woman who stood there was covered from head to toe in a deep blue robe of fine silk. As he watched, the figure raised pale hands to slip back the hood covering her face and head. By all the G.o.ds, she was beautiful! Her hair was flame, her skin unblemished white, her lips ruby and smiling.
"Am I to stand in the drafty hallway?" she said.
Conan took two hesitant steps backward, and the woman followed, gliding smoothly across the floor. She eased the door shut behind her and smiled at him. She stood motionless for a moment, then slowly brought her hands to the front of the robe. With a quick flip of her fingers she opened the front of the robe and shrugged it away.
Beneath the blue silk she was naked.
Conan licked suddenly dry lips. By Mitra, what a woman! She was glorious! Her legs, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-her whole body was perfect!
The mysterious woman reached out toward him with both hands.