Conan The Destroyer by Robert Jordan

look back, but Conan motioned quickly for her to turn back. The follower must be given no warning that he was discovered. The girl and her two companions disappeared behind another bend of the canyon. Conan drew his sword and rested it across the saddle before him. He did not have long to wait.
    Stones rattling beneath shod hooves heralded the approach of their pursuer, and Conan frowned at the noise. The man did not seem to care if he was detected. The Cimmerian exchanged glances with Bombatta, and the two set themselves.
    The first glimpse of a horse appeared between the boulders that hid them, and Conan charged out. “Hold!” he shouted, and then his jaw dropped in surprise. Beside him, Bombatta began to curse.
    The ebon-skinned woman from the village started and stared, then drew herself up. Her horse, two hands shorter than theirs, bore a Corinthian military saddle, and behind it hung a leather waterbag. “I am Zula,” she announced proudly, “a warrior of the People of the Mountain, who live to the south of the land called Keshan. I would know the name of he who gave me my life again.”
    “I am called Conan,” the Cimmerian said, “of Cimmeria.”
    Zula peered at his face intently. “I did not truly believe your eyes before. Do many people in this Cimmeria have eyes like sapphire?”
    “Erlik take his eyes,” Bombatta snapped, “and you as well, woman! You have heard his name. Now be on your way, and bother us no more!”
    The woman did not look at him, or seem even to have heard him. “I will ride with you, Conan of Cimmeria. Perhaps I can repay the life you gave me.”
    Conan shook his head slowly. This talk of a life to be repaid was so strong a reminder of Valeria that it must be an omen, but of what kind? “What I did was not done to save your life, but rather to allow us to escape that village without having to fight our way out. You owe me nothing.”
    “Reasons do not matter,” she said. “Only actions. And for your actions I live and am free, where else I would be dead or captive.”
    Before Conan could frame an answer they were joined by Jehnna and the others.
    He gave the two men with her a withering look. “Did I not say I would catch up to you? What if there had been a score of villagers on our trail? Is this how you look after Jehnna?”
    Malak grinned weakly and became engrossed in study of the pack horse’s lead rope. Akiro shrugged, saying, “I am too old to make a woman do what she does not wish to do.”
    “Do not be silly, Conan,” Jehnna said. “Malak said there was only one, and you agreed. My ears are not failing.” She shifted her attention to Zula. “The villagers called you a bandit.”
    “They lied,” the dark woman replied scornfully. “There is a smaller village four leagues to the south, from which these people stole several young women. With other warriors I took payment for the recovery of these women. In the night we came, firing storage huts to draw the attention of these dogs who call themselves men. The women we found, but T’car, who was my battle companion, took a spear thrust and could not escape, and I could not leave him.”
    “And so you both were captured,” Jehnna said breathlessly. “It was a brave thing you did, a thing such as romances are made of.”
    “He was my battle companion,” Zula said simply.
    Jehnna jerked a nod, as if reaching a decision. “You will come with us.”
    “No!” Bombatta shouted. “Mitra’s mercies, Jehnna, will you endanger everything? Remember the prophecy.”
    “I remember nothing that says I cannot have a woman with me.” Jehnna’s tone was firm, but still she turned to Conan. “Say that she may accompany me. You have Malak and Akiro. I have only Bombatta, and he shouts at me of late. He never shouted at me before.”
    “She could not even keep up with us on that Corinthian sheep,” Malak laughed.
    Zula eyed him calmly. “I will ride you into the ground, little man, even after you attain full