Conan the Marauder by John Maddox Roberts Page B

lattice. The food was lavish, though, if not exotic, and the Cimmerian ate well. He drank only moderately, for he knew better than to befuddle his wits when his situation was so precarious.
    As a mere despised foreigner, Conan knew that his neighbours were not inclined to socialize with him. He was not unaccustomed to such social rejection, and he used the opportunity to observe more closely these people among whom he had fallen.
    He saw immediately that those of a certain dress or cast of features tended to sit close together and draw away from those of another sort. Whatever unity they shared was the result of Bartatua's will. He saw much evidence of differing customs as well. A plate of steaming meat would be fallen upon with gusto by one group, while another group would turn away from the same food with disgust. Some men were heavily tattooed; others did not practice the custom
    Against one wall sat a band of men who drew his special attention. Their hair was long and upbraided, and their faces were shaven or plucked clean of beard. Their clothes were bizarre collections of rags, finery and even, he was amazed to note, of some elements of women's dress. They were draped about with animal bones and amulets, and many carried drums, flutes and rattles.
    Conan did not need to question his neighbours in order to identify these odd persons. They had to be shamans: medicine men and sorcerers, practitioners of the tribesmen's primitive religions. The place where they sat was not that of most-favoured guests, and that came as no surprise either. Conan had encountered few nations wherein priests and kings were not fierce rivals for power and influence.
    As the banquet drew to a close, a servant came to Conan and said in a low voice, "The Kagan bids you stay after the others have left, lord."
    Soon men arose and walked out, many of them unsteady. Some had to be carried. Drunkenness was the abiding vice of the steppe warriors, and the sight made
    Conan more determined than ever to keep a clear head while he was among them. Soon the last of the guests were gone, leaving only Conan and Bartatua.
    "Come, Cimmerian," the Kagan said. "Sit with me."
    Conan sat upon a cushion facing the chief and took a bowl of the wine proffered by his host. His eye caught a hint of movement from behind Bartatua's low dais. There was someone on the far side of the silken curtain that screened off Bartatua's sleeping quarters.
    "That you are a good fighter I saw last night. Today you have shown that you are a capable officer as well. This is good, but these are the abilities of the hands and the will. The abilities of the mind are also valuable to me, and since you are now my follower, I expect you to put what is in your head at my disposal as well."
    "I understand, Kagan," Conan said. "What would you have of me?"
    "You have travelled widely in the west?" the Kagan asked.
    "I have visited all the western nations, and many of those to the far south. I have sailed upon the Western Sea and upon the Vilayet. From boyhood I have been a wanderer, and never can I stay in one place more than a season or two before I yearn to see new lands."
    "Good. I shall wish to hear much about those lands. Most of the information I have of them I must glean from traders. These men know all the mysteries of buying and selling, which kings levy the most oppressive taxes, and which officials are the most amenable to bribery. This is useful information, but when I wish to know how armies are organized, how forts are garrisoned, whether commands are given for merit or for birth, they rarely know aught of value. You have some idea now of how my hordes fight. Where in the western lands would they be the most effective?"
    Conan thought for a while, drawing in his mind a map of the world he knew. Few men of his day had gravelled more extensively. "The nations west of the Vilayet and north of the Styx are for the most part pastoral lands: Koth, Shem, Corinthia, Ophir and the lesser