Vyndra’s mouth worked silently for a moment, then she rounded on Conan. “You are the cause of this! It is all your fault! What are you going to do about it?”
“I am to blame?” Conan growled. “I enslaved Alyna?” Vyndra’s eyes almost started from her head in fury and he sighed. “Very well. I will take you to Turan with me.”
“Turan!” she cried, throwing up her hands. “It is a pigsty unfit for a civilized woman! It—” Suddenly it dawned on her that her gesture had bared her to the waist. Shrieking, she snatched the still-sliding silk and dashed for the shelter of the horses.
“A woman whose temper equals her great beauty,” Kang Hou said, “and whose deviousness and vindictiveness exceed both.”
Conan waved the words aside. “What of Gwandiakan? Will it be safe to hide there for a day or two while we recuperate?”
“That will not be possible,” Kuie Hsi said, joining them. “The people of Gwandiakan took the earthquake as a sign from the gods, especially when they discovered that carts had been assembled to take the children from the city to an unknown destination. A wall of the fortress had collapsed. The people stormed the fortress, freeing the imprisoned children. Soldiers who tried to stop them were torn limb from limb. Jharim Kar has promised justice in the matter, but in the meanwhile his soldiers patrol the streets heavily. I cannot believe any Western foreigner would long escape their notice.”
“I am glad for the children,” Conan said, “for all it had nothing to do with me, but this means we must ride for the mountains from here. And the sooner the better, I think. What of you, Kang Hou? Are you, too, proscribed?”
“I am but a humble merchant,” the Khitan replied, “and so, no doubt, beneath Alyna’s notice. To my good fortune. As for your journey over the mountains, I fear that not all who came with you will return to Turan. You will pardon me?” Bowing, he left before Conan could ask what he meant, but Hasan took his place.
“I must speak with you,” the young Turanian said. “Alone.” Still frowning after Kang Hou, Conan let himself be drawn off from the others. Hasan pressed a folded square of parchment into the Cimmerian’s hand. “When you return to Sultanapur, Conan, take that to the House of Perfumed Doves and say it is for Lord Khalid.”
“So you are the one who will not return to Turan,” Conan said, turning over the square of parchment in his hands. “And what message is it you send to Yildiz’s spy master?”
“You know of him?”
“More is known on the streets of Sultanapur than the lords of Turan would believe. But you have not answered my question.”
The Turanian drew a deep breath. “I was sent to discover if a connection exists between the Vendhyans and the death of the High Admiral. Not one question have I asked concerning that, yet I know already this land is so full of intrigues within intrigues that no clear answer can ever be found. I say as much in the letter. As well I say that I can find no evidence connecting the ‘fishermen’ of Sultanapur with the matter, and that the rumors of a northland giant in the pay of Vendhyans is just that. A rumor. Lord Khalid will recognize my hand, and so know it for a true report. It is unsealed. You may read it if you wish.”
Conan stuffed the parchment into his belt pouch. There would be time for reading—and for deciding whether to visit the House of Perfumed Doves—later. “Why are you remaining?” he asked. “Chin Kou?”
“Yes. Kang Hou has no objections to a foreigner marrying into his family.” Hasan snorted a laugh. “After years of avoiding it, it seems I will become a spice merchant after all.”
“Be careful,” Conan cautioned. “I wish you well, but I do not believe the Khitans are much less devious than the Vendhyans.”
Leaving the young Turanian, Conan went in search of Kang Hou. The merchant was seated on the wall of the caved-in well. “Soon you will be fleeing Vendhya,” the Khitan said as Conan approached. “What of your plans to sack the land with an army at your back?”
“Someday perhaps. But Vendhya is a strange land, mayhap too devious for a simple northlander like me. It makes my thoughts whirl in peculiar fashions.”
Kang Hou arched a thin eyebrow. “How so, man who calls himself Patil?”
“Just fragments, spinning. Odd memories. Valash, sitting in the Golden Crescent on the morning the High Admiral died. A very hard man, Valash. He would never have let two such beauties as your nieces leave his ship except to a slaver’s block. Unless someone frightened him into it perhaps. But then, you are a very hard man for a poor merchant, are you not, Kang Hou? And your niece, Kuie Hsi, is an extremely able woman. The way in which she passed for a Vendhyan woman to seek information in Gwandiakan. And knowing Naipal was among those who rode to the Forests of Ghelai, though I have heard his face was known but to a handful. Were you aware that a Vendhyan woman was delivered to the High Admiral as a gift on the morning he died? She vanished soon after his death, I understand. But I have never understood why the Vendhyans would sign a treaty with Turan and kill the High Admiral within a day of it. Kandar seemed truly shocked at the news, and Karim Singh as well. Strange, would you not say, Kang Hou?”
All through the rambling discourse the Khitan had listened with an expression of polite interest. Now he smiled, tucking his hands into his broad sleeves. “You weave a very fanciful tale for one who calls himself a simple northlander.”
Returning the smile, Conan put his hand on his dagger. “Will you wager you are faster than I?” he asked softly.
For an instant Kang Hou wavered visibly. Then, slowly, he brought his hands into the open. Empty. “I am but a peaceful merchant,” he said as though nothing had happened. “If you would care to listen, perhaps I can weave a tale as fanciful as yours. Having, of course, as little to do with reality.”
“I will listen,” Conan said cautiously, but he did not move his hand from the dagger hilt.
“I am from Cho-Hien,” the Khitan began, “a small city-state on the borders of Vendhya. The lifeblood of Cho-Hien is trade, and its armies are small. It survives by balancing its larger, stronger neighbors one against another. Largest, strongest and most avaricious of Cho-Hien’s neighbors is Vendhya. Perhaps the land rots from within, as you say, but the ruling caste, the Kshatriyas, are fierce men with eyes for conquest. If those eyes turn to the north, they will fall first on Cho-Hien. Therefore Cho-Hien must keep the Kshatriyas’ gaze to the east, or to the west. A treaty with Turan, for instance, might mean that Kshatriyan ambitions would look not toward the Vilayet but toward Khitai. My tale, I fear, has no more point than yours but perhaps you found it entertaining.”
“Entertaining,” Conan agreed. “But a question occurs to me. Does Chin Kou share Kuie Hsi’s talents? That is,” he added with a smile, “if Kuie Hsi had any talents out of the ordinary.”
“Chin Kou’s sole talent is that she remembers and can repeat every word that she hears or reads. Beyond that she is merely a loving niece who comforts an aging man’s bones. Though now it seems she will comfort another.”
“That brings another question. Does Hasan know of this?”
“Of my fanciful tale? No.” A broad grin split the Khitan’s face. “But he knew what I was, as I knew what he was, before ever we reached the Himelias. He will make a fine addition to my family. For a foreigner. Now I will ask a question,” he added, the grin fading. “What do you intend concerning my fanciful tale?”
“A tale spun by a northlander and another spun by a Khitan merchant,” Conan said musingly. “Who in Turan would believe if I told them? And if they did, they would find ten other reasons for war, or near to war. For there to be true peace between Turan and Vendhya, the Vilayet will have to expand to swallow Secunderam, perhaps enough to separate the two lands for all time. Besides, true peace and true war alike are bad for smugglers.”
“You are not so simple as you claim, northlander.”
“Vendhya is still a strange land,” Conan replied with a laugh. “And one I must be leaving. Fare you well, Kang Hou of Cho-Hien.”
Th
e Khitan rose and bowed, though he was careful to keep his hands away from his sleeves. “Fare you well…Conan of Cimmeria.”
Conan laughed all the way to the horses. “Hordo,” he roared, “do we ride, or have you grown so old you have put down roots? Enam, to horse! And you, Shamil. Do you ride with us, or remain here like Hasan?”
“I have had my fill of travel and adventure,” Shamil replied earnestly. “I return to Sultanapur to become a fisherman. For fish!”
Vyndra pushed her way past the men scrambling into saddles and confronted Conan. “What of me?” she demanded.
“You do not wish to go to Turan,” Conan told her, “and you cannot remain in Vendhya. Except as Alyna’s…guest. Perhaps Kang Hou will take you to Cho-Hien.”
“Cho-Hien! Better Turan than that!”
“Since you have asked so nicely, if you keep me warm on the cold nights in the mountains, I will find a place for you dancing in a tavern in Sultanapur.”
Her cheeks colored, but she held out her arms for him to lift her to her saddle. As he did, though, she pressed herself against him briefly and whispered, “I would much rather dance for you alone.”
Conan handed her her reins and turned away, hiding a smile as he vaulted to his own saddle. There would be problems with this woman yet, but amusing ones he thought.
“What of the antidote?” Hordo asked. “And Ghurran?”
“I saw him,” Conan replied. “You might say he saved all of us with what he told me.” Ignoring the one-eyed man’s questioning look, he went on. “But are we to sit here until the Vendhyans put all our heads on pikes? Come! There’s a wench called Tasha waiting for me in Sultanapur.” And with a grin for Vyndra’s angry squawl, he booted his horse to a gallop, toward the mountains towering to the north.
Tor Books by Robert Jordan
Note: Within series, books are best read in listed order.
—–
THE WHEEL OF TIME®
The preeminent fantasy epic of our era, created by Robert Jordan and completed by Brandon Sanderson.
The Eye of the World
The Great Hunt
The Dragon Reborn
The Shadow Rising
The Fires of Heaven
Lord of Chaos
A Crown of Swords
The Path of Daggers
Winter’s Heart
Crossroads of Twilight
Knife of Dreams
The Gathering Storm (with Brandon Sanderson)
Towers of Midnight (with Brandon Sanderson)
A Memory of Light (with Brandon Sanderson)
New Spring: The Novel (a prequel)
Young adult editions of the first two books in the Wheel of Time:
From the Two Rivers (Starscape; Part one of The Eye of the World)
To the Blight (Starscape; Part two of The Eye of the World)
The Hunt Begins (Starscape; Part one of The Great Hunt)
New Threads in the Pattern (Starscape; Part two of The Great Hunt)
Companion books to The Wheel of Time containing in-depth descriptions of the characters and the world:
The World of Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time (with Teresa Patterson)
The Wheel of Time Companion (with Harriet McDougal, Alan Romanczuk, and Maria Simons)
Graphic novel adaptions of The Eye of the World and New Spring: The Novel:
The Eye of the World: The Graphic Novel, Volume One
The Eye of the World: The Graphic Novel, Volume Two
The Eye of the World: The Graphic Novel, Volume Three
The Eye of the World: The Graphic Novel, Volume Four
The Eye of the World: The Graphic Novel, Volume Five
The Eye of the World: The Graphic Novel, Volume Six
New Spring: The Graphic Novel
CONAN
Tales of the legendary barbarian created by Robert E. Howard
Conan the Invincible
Conan the Defender
Conan the Unconquered
Conan the Triumphant
Conan the Magnificent
Conan the Destroyer
Conan the Victorious
The Conan Chronicles
The Further Chronicles of Conan
ROBERT JORDAN WRITING AS REAGAN O’NEAL
These gripping tales of love and bravery in America’s tumultuous past chronicle the lives of the Fallon men as they encounter adventure, forbidden love, and history.
The Fallon Blood
The Fallon Pride
The Fallon Legacy
ROBERT JORDAN WRITING AS JACKSON O’REILLY
Cheyenne Raiders
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CONAN THE INDESTRUCTIBLE
The greatest hero of the magic-rife Hyborian Age was a northern barbarian, Conan the Cimmerian, about whose deeds a cycle of legend revolves. While these legends are largely based on the attested facts of Conan’s life, some tales are inconsistent with others. So we must reconcile the contradictions in the saga as best we can.
In Conan’s veins flowed the blood of the people of Atlantis, the brilliant city-state swallowed by the sea 8,000 years before his time. He was born into a clan that claimed a homeland in the northwest corner of Cimmeria, along the shadowy borders of Vanaheim and the Pictish wilderness. His grandfather had fled his own people because of a blood feud and sought refuge with the people of the North. Conan himself first saw daylight on a battlefield during a raid by the Vanir.
Before he had weathered fifteen snows, the young Cimmerian’s fighting skills were acclaimed around the council fires. In that year the Cimmerians, usually at one another’s throats, joined forces to repel the warlike Gundermen who, intent on colonizing southern Cimmeria, had pushed across the Aquilonian border and established the frontier post of Venarium. Conan joined the howling, blood-mad horde that swept out of the northern hills, stormed over the stockade walls, and drove the Aquilonians back across their frontier.
At the sack of Venarium, Conan, still short of his full growth, stood six feet tall and weighed 180 pounds. He had the vigilance and stealth of the born woodsman, the iron-hardness of the mountain man, and the Herculean physique of his blacksmith father. After the plunder of the Aquilonian outpost, Conan returned for a time to his tribe.
Restless under the conflicting passions of his adolescence, Conan spent several months with a band of Æsir as they raided the Vanir and the Hyperboreans. He soon learned that some Hyperborean citadels were ruled by a caste of widely-feared magicians, called Witchmen. Undaunted, he took part in a foray against Haloga Castle, when he found that Hyperborean slavers had captured Rann, the daughter of Njal, chief of the Æsir band.
Conan gained entrance to the castle and spirited out Rann Njalsdatter; but on the flight out of Hyperborea, Njal’s band was overtaken by an army of living dead. Conan and the other Æsir survivors were led away to slavery (“Legions of the Dead”).
Conan did not long remain a captive. Working at night, he ground away at one link of his chain until it was weak enough to break. Then one stormy night, whirling a four-foot length of heavy chain, he fought his way out of the slave pen and vanished into the downpour.
Another account of Conan’s early years tells a different tale. This narrative, on a badly broken clay prism from Nippur, states that Conan was enslaved as a boy of ten or twelve by Vanir raiders and set to work turning a grist mill. When he reached his full growth, he was bought by a Hyrkanian pitmaster who traveled with a band of professional fighters staging contests for the amusement of the Vanir and Æsir. At this time Conan received his training with weapons. Later he escaped and made his way south to Zamora (Conan the Barbarian).
Of the two versions, the records of Conan’s enslavement by the Hyrkanians at sixteen, found in a papyrus in the British Museum, appear much more legible and self-consistent. But this question may never be settled.
Although free, the youth found himself half a hostile kingdom away from home.
Instinctively he fled into the mountains at the southern extremity of Hyperborea. Pursued by a pack of wolves, he took refuge in a cave. Here he discovered the seated mummy of a gigantic chieftain of ancient times, with a heavy bronze sword across its knees. When Conan seized the sword, the corpse arose and attacked him (“The Thing in the Crypt”).
Continuing southward into Zamora, Conan came to Arenjun, the notorious “City of Thieves.” Green to civilization and, save for some rudimentary barbaric ideas of honor and chivalry, wholly lawless by nature, he carved a niche for himself as a professional thief.
Being young and more daring than adroit, Conan’s progress in his new profession was slow until he joined forces with Taurus of Nemedia in a quest for the fabulous jewel called the “Heart of the Elephant.” The gem lay in the almost impregnable tower of the infamous mage Yara, captor of the extraterrestrial being Yag-Kosha (“The Tower of the Elephant”).
Seeking greater opportunities to ply his trade, Conan wandered westward to the capital of Zamora, Shadizar the Wicked. For a time his thievery prospered, although the whores of Shadizar soon relieved him of his gains. During one larceny, he was captured by the men of Queen Taramis of Shadizar, who sent him on a mission to recover a magical horn wherewith to resurrect an ancient, evil god. Taramis’s plot led to her own destruction (Conan the Destroyer).
The barbarian’s next exploit involved a fellow thief, a girl named Tamira. The Lady Jondra, an arrogant aristocrat of Shadizar, owned a pair of priceless rubies. Baskaran Imalla, a religious fanatic raising a cult among the Kezankian hillmen, coveted the jewels to gain control over a fire-breathing dragon he had raised from an egg. Conan and Tamira both yearned for the rubies; Tamira took a post as lady’s maid to Jondra for a chance to steal them.