epilogue
From an alabaster balcony of the vast marble palace that had once been Taramis’, Conan watched the sun rise from the far horizon. It was the second time he had watched a sunrise from that same spot. A day and a night to rest and think, to reach decisions. He had made his decisions, then given a few commands, and showed a handbreadth of steel when those commands were questioned.
“My Lord Conan,” said a servant behind him, “the Princess Jehnna b-begs your presence.” The woman blushed, flustered at stammering, flustered because a Zamoran noblewoman never begged. Most especially not a princess.
“I am not a lord,” Conan said, then quickly added, “Take me to the Princess Jehnna,” before she could become flustered further.
The tapestry-hung chamber to which he was led was meant for informal audiences, with a dais only one step high and an unadorned, high-backed chair of polished ebony for a throne. Jehnna looked well on it, he thought, in her robes of white silk. The others were much recovered from their ordeals as well, Malak surreptitiously fingering a golden bowl, Akiro looking impatient with a bundle of tightly rolled scrolls under his arm, Zula leaning on her staff near Jehnna’s throne as if she were a bodyguard.
“Conan,” Jehnna said brightly as he entered, “it has come. King Tiridates has invested me as Princess Royal of Zamora and confirmed me in Taramis’ estates.”
“I congratulate you,” he said, and she frowned at him doubtfully.
The frown cleared quickly though, and she said, “I have asked you all to come to me this morning because I have a favor to ask of each of you. You, first, Malak.” The small man jerked his hand from the bowl as if burned. “I ask you to remain here with me, Malak,” she went on, “living in my palace. Thus I will always be reminded that a man can be a fool, yet be brave and good.”
“Even my mother never called me good,” Malak said slowly. His eyes drifted to the bowl. “But I will stay in your palace. For a time.”
“Best to put a guard on him, then,” Akiro said drily, and grinned at the offended glare he got from Malak.
“You, also, Akiro,” Jehnna said, “must stay with me. You are a man of great wisdom, and I will need wise counsel in the days, the years, to come.”
“Impossible,” the wizard replied. “You have given me the Scrolls of Skelos, and some bushshamans on the Kothian border are carrying on vile practices that I have vowed to end.”
“I can put soldiers at your disposal to deal with the shamans,” Jehnna told him, then added slyly, “And Taramis gathered several rooms full of magical volumes and instruments which you would be free to study for as long as you remained here.”
“Soldiers,” Akiro mused. “I suppose soldiers could deal with such hedge-shamans as those. Ah, how many rooms full, exactly?”
“Many,” Jehnna laughed. “Zula, you must stay, as well. You have showed me that a woman need not be confined by others’ boundaries, but there is much yet to teach. The staff, for instance.”
The black woman sighed regretfully. “I cannot. I owe a life to Conan, and I must follow him until I can re—”
“No!” Conan said sharply. “The debt cannot be repaid in that way.”
“But—”
“It cannot, Zula. It has come to me that some debts cannot be repaid directly the one owed. Find another life to save, and I will be repaid by that.”
Zula nodded slowly before turning back to Jehnna. “I will stay, Jehnna, and gladly.”
“Conan,” Jehnna said, and hurried on when he opened his mouth. “Listen to me, Conan. Stay with me. Sit beside me.”
“I cannot,” Conan said gently.
“But why not? By all the gods, I want you, and I need you.”
“I live by my wits and my sword. Would you have me become a lapdog? ’Tis all I could be, here. I am not made for palaces and silks.”
“Then I will go with you,” she said, and stiffened when he laughed.
“The Turanians have a saying, Jehnna. The eagle does not run in the hills, the leopard does not fly in the sky. You would take to my life as ill as I would take to yours. Never a day but I must fight for my life or ride for it. That is the road I travel, and you cannot come with me.”
“But, Conan—”
“Fare you well, Jehnna, and all the gods grant you happiness.”
He turned his back on her then, and walked from the room. He thought he heard her call after him, but he would not look back or listen. As he had commanded, his horse waited, saddled, before the palace.
The sun was almost to its zenith by the time he reached the rough stone altar on the plains. The wind had swept dirt and sand against it, and he thought Malak might have some difficulty finding exactly where Amphrates’ jewels were buried, but otherwise nothing had changed.
Slipping the dragon amulet from about his neck, he laid it on the altar. From his pouch he took the vial Akiro had given him. So long ago, it seemed. Some debts could not be repaid to the one to whom they were owed.
“Fare you well, Valeria,” he said softly. And, scraping the seal from the vial, he drank.
Heat rushed along his limbs, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his horse dancing from an involuntary jerk on the reins. When he opened them again, the heat was gone. He found shards of a vial crushed in his fist, and wondered how they had come there. A glint of gold in the sun caught his eye. A pendant, he saw, in the shape of a dragon, resting atop a strange pile of stones. He bent from the saddle, but before his fingers touched the gold, he stopped. There was something, something he did not understand, that told him he should not take it. Sorcery, he decided.
Well, there was gold aplenty in Shadizar that was not sorcerous, and willing wenches to sit on his knee and help spend all he stole. With a laugh, he kicked his horse into a gallop for the city. Never once was he tempted to look back.
Tor Books by Robert Jordan
THE WHEEL OF TIME®
New Spring: The Novel
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 Conan Chronicles
The Further Chronicles of Conan
The huge shape stripped back its hood, and as Conan started in spite of himself, hundred-fold laughter rolled from the mirrors. An ape’s head glared at him from atop the scarlet robes, as black as pitch and with gleaming white fangs made for the ripping of flesh. Its eyes held malevolent ebon fire. A tiger’s claws tipped its thick, hairy fingers. Slowly it shredded the robes, revealing a massive, ebon-haired body and heavy, bowed legs. No sound came from it, not even that of breathing.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
CONAN THE DESTROYER
Copyright © 1984 by Conan Properties, Inc.
All rights reserved.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
eISBN 9781429951333
First eBook Edition : March 2011
First Edition: July 1984
Third Edition: August 2009
Robert Jordan, Conan the Destroyer
(Series: Robert Jordans Conan Novels # 6)
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