Roland Green - Conan and The Gods of The Mountains

The girl was rubbing her bottom with one hand and her eyes with the other when Aondo was done with her. She crawled into the farthest corner of the hut and cowered there. Wobeku wasted no sympathy on her. Had she seen any of several women who had seriously displeased the huge warrior, she would have called herself fortunate.

"She must go," Wobeku said.

"Who are you—" Aondo snarled. Then he frowned. "Only outside?"

"Yes. Did you think I was fool enough to come between you and one of your women?"

"You do not know as much as you do by being that big a fool, I must say." Aondo turned to the girl. "Go! I will send Wobeku to bring you back."

The girl did not seem much pleased at this prospect, but obeyed. Wobeku himself was hardly pleased at being called on to carry messages for this overgrown boy, whom the gods had given two men's strength and half a man's wits. Like the wench, though, he would obey, but out of hope rather than from fear.

"Aondo," he said when the two warriors were alone, "you were shamed today."

"You dare—"

"I dare repeat what all will say before tomorrow's sunset."

"Who cares what they say before sunset? After the next sunrise, no one will say anything against me. They will be too busy burning the witch-man Conan."

"You are confident."

"I am Aondo."

"Being Aondo did not make you faster than the woman Valeria."

"I know ways to slow any woman."

That much was truth. Aondo knew how to slow a woman so that she never moved again, save when her kin bore her to the burning ground.

"I know how to slow any man. Above all, the man who will dance on the drum with you tomorrow night."

"I need no such help."

"Who said anything of help? You are Aondo, who can win without help. What I offer is friendship."

"You, a friend to any man? I will tell all the Ichiribu that you have promised friendship. Then they will laugh until they choke."

Wobeku grew hot, and his hands became fists. He dared show no more anger before Aondo. He was indeed a man alone more often than not, and few would even think of avenging him should Aondo slay him here.

"If friendship is a word that rings false in your ear, call it a trading of favor for favor."

"I do not give up Valeria."

"Who said anything of asking mighty Aondo to give up his chosen vengeance?" Wobeku assumed a look of vast innocence. "She will not be harmed, I swear it. But without harming her, I can make your victory even more sure than it is already."

"Suppose you did this favor?" Aondo asked. "What do I do for you?"

Wobeku wanted to dance in triumph. The trident had sunk deep. Now to heave on the line and haul in this lionfish!

"There are many among the Ichiribu who will talk to you, but not to me."

Wobeku did not add that many of those did not talk as much to Aondo as in his presence, thinking the hulking warrior too foolish to remember what they merely said. There was truth in that thought, but not so much that Aondo would be useless as a fresh pair of eyes and ears.

"This is so."

"It is also true that sometimes I need to know about matters that people will not speak of before me. I will tell you when such matters arise. You will watch and listen, and tell me what you see and hear."

"Who else learns what I tell you?"

"The gods alone."

"Not Dobanpu?"

"Never the Spirit-Speaker, nor any of his kin!"

That was another truth. Aondo looked so relieved to hear that Wobeku was not spying for Dobanpu that Wobeku knew the big man would not think any further. The moon would turn to mealie porridge before Aondo wondered if Wobeku might be spying for the Kwanyi.

"Gods! Put me on the rack rather than let me endure this!"

Emwaya made soothing noises as Mokossa rubbed oil into Valeria's aching limbs. Conan laughed. Valeria glared.

"You'll not be laughing this time tomorrow night, Cimmerian. Aondo will take a deal of dancing down."

"Not more than I'm fit for, I'll wager."

"How much?"

"What are you wagering, woman?"

This time Valeria's glare ended in laughter. "I know what you would have me wager, Conan."

"Has Emwaya taught you the art of hearing thoughts?"

. "Conan, some of your thoughts make such a din a babe could hear them, and I'm well past that age!"

"Indeed you are," Conan said, running his eyes approvingly over Valeria's nude form. She might say that every one of her muscles ached as if she had been racked, but nothing of this showed on the clear skin.

"Pity you can't take my place on the dance-drum," he continued. "You dance better than I, and clad as you are now, you'd fuddle the wits of a better man than Aondo."

"I already have," Valeria snapped. "Or have you honestly forgotten that the drum-dance is man's magic among these folk? They would not take my dancing as a jest, I am sure."

Conan made a rude suggestion as to where the Ichiribu could take anything they did not like. Emwaya seemed to catch his tone, if not his meaning. She raised her eyebrows but could not hold back laughter.

At last Valeria—as slippery as an eel, her body laved with scented oil—was half-asleep on her pallet. The Ichiribu women departed; Conan sat down besiae Valeria and rested a hand on her hair.

Drowsily, she rolled over, and with eyes still half-closed, nipped his hand lightly. He snatched it away and glowered at her in mock fury.

"Oh, have it your way, woman. Anyone would have thought you cared about what happened to me tomorrow night!"

Valeria bit her lip. "Would you believe me if I said that I do?"

"Any man who believes a woman deserves to be bitten harder than I was."

"That would not be difficult to contrive, Conan."

The Cimmerian sat down on his own pallet and kicked off his boots. "Tomorrow night we can drink late and laugh long over these fears. Tonight I'm for a good sleep."

Valeria was snoring even before the Cimmerian lay down. As Conan rolled over on his pallet, he heard a distant murmur that swelled to an angry drumming of rain on the hut.

The sky had vanished twice over, once behind the clouds and a second time behind the rain, when Ryku slipped through the darkness to meet Chabano.

He had no fear of being tracked on such a night, save by the magic of the Speakers. The rain would do for any natural enemies, and the First Speaker should guard against any idle curiosity by his underlings. If he did not, or if Dobanpu Spirit-Speaker had become curious, then Ryku's hopes of realizing his ambitions would end before they were well begun.

Ryku told himself that this bleak mood was due only to the rain, not to the promptings of spirits. Then lightning flashed, illuminating a solid figure standing against a tree. So solid did the Kwanyi chief appear that it was hard to tell who upheld whom, the tree or the warrior.

"Hail, Chabano. You came swiftly."

"Your message came in good time. Now I am here. Speak."

"I have news. I may promise more aid to the Kwanyi—"

"You will have no place among us for mere promises, Ryku."

"That is not my hope. You asked me to speak. Will you listen if I am brief ?"

"You sing loudly for so small a bird."

"The honey-finder also has a loud song, and the bear does well to listen."

Chabano imitated a bear's growl, but thereafter was silent as Ryku explained what the First Speaker wished and what he was promising.

"My spies among the Ichiribu did not swear to serve the God-Men," Chabano said at last.

Ryku wished the spies' oaths devoured by lionfish, but aloud said only, "Then can they not swear new oaths? If they are wise enough to be your spies, they must also be wise enough to know that the God-Men mean the Kwanyi no harm."

"I myself do not know that," Chabano said. "Or do you say I lack wisdom?"