Robert Jordan - Conan The Indomitable

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One
A man-high cairn marks the desolate juncture where the lands of Brythunia, Corinthia and Zamora come
together. Centuries of wind and rain and snow and sun have worked their hot and cold hands and
weathered claws over the pillar, smoothing it into little more than a soft-featured mound of stone rising
from the barren ground. The mountain upon which the cairn squats is most always covered with snow,
continually subjected to harsh storms, and it draws few visitors intent on seeing a geographical marker of
such plain visage.
Upon the narrow snowbound path that passes the cairn walked a man and a woman. Arguing.
"There were horses," the woman said, "but naturally, it never occurred to you to fetch a pair."
The speaker of these words was named Elashi, a beautiful young woman born of the Khauranian desert.
While lush of breast, she had the supple muscles and carriage developed by one familiar with hard work,
and her legs were firm and slim from much walking. She wore a heavy cloak over a woolen shirt and long
woolen skirt against the cold, and her feet were encased in high boots. A short, curved sword dangled
from a strap at her left hip.
"Most of the horses were either dead or about to be," her companion said, his voice dry. "Riding a dead
horse makes for slow going."
The man was also young, but certainly fully grown. He stood tall and wide-shouldered, with thickly
muscled arms and a deep, heavy chest. Clean-shaven, he wore his black hair in a square-cut mane, and
his blue eyes seemed to flash with a deep inner fire. Conan his name was, begotten of the fierce barbarian
mountain people from the cold lands of Cimmeria far to the north. He too wore a woolen shirt and
woolen pants under a winter's cloak and was shod in heavy boots, and the sheathed sword he carried
was long and straight, of ancient blued iron, its edges sharped like razors.
"A lot you know," Elashi continued. "I sometimes wonder what, if anything, you are good for, you great
barbarian lout!"
Conan shook his head. Since meeting Elashi at the temple of the Suddah Oblates, his life had certainly
been less than dull. They had taken up with a beautiful zombie woman, fought a necromancer's blind
priests and undead minions, and nearly been skewered a dozen times along the way. He and Elashi had
shared sleeping robes for much of the time, but despite that, she continued to harangue him at every
opportunity. It seemed that she never tired of extolling his faults, real or imagined.
Conan said, "I heard no complaints last night as the fire dwindled." He grinned widely at her.
After a few seconds, and seemingly against her will, Elashi returned Conan's grin. "Well, I suppose you
do ometimes rise to certain occasions." She was silent for half a dozen steps and then said, "But we
would have more energy for such alliances had we horses to ride."
"I noticed no lack of energy onmy part," Conan said. "And as long as we are wishing for that which we
do not have, why not wish for a kingdom and servants? Or perhaps a palace of gold?"
"Oh, you, you—barbarian lout!"
He grinned again as she fell silent. After the death of Neg the Malefic, the necromancer whom Conan
had slain, the young Cimmerian and Elashi had agreed to travel together until their paths parted. Conan
intended to visit the wicked city of Shadizar, in Zamora, to ply the trade of thief, while Elashi's plans
would take her farther south, to her native Khauran. From inquiries along the way thus far, Conan had
learned that the route would not be direct; the best road detoured into Corinthia for perhaps several
days' journey before looping southeast into Zamora again. Even as he recalled this, the path upon which
they trod turned to the west and began to angle down the mountain.
Perhaps there was a village or town ahead in which he could practice his thievery and obtain enough
silver for two horses, thereby putting an end to Elashi's constant carping. He certainly hoped it would be
so.
Snow lay thick upon the land save for the path, where it had been trodden down. It was winter but
clear, the blue skies sharp, the air cold and clean. Conan much enjoyed such places; towns offered much,
but the air inside a city stank of odors unknown in the mountains. A man had to balance these things, of
course. Meat and wine and lusty companions were more apt to be found in civilization than along a
snow-covered trail in the middle of nowhere. While Conan's god Crom lived inside a mountain, he had
never ordained that men were supposed to do the same.
From ahead on the trail there came a noise.
It was a small thing, the sound, and ears less sharp than Conan's would have dismissed it as perhaps a
breeze-inspired shrub's rustling or a small rock dislodged by some tiny animal. The big Cimmerian
stopped, and listened intently.
"What are you—?"
Conan waved Elashi to silence. When he spoke, his voice was a deep whisper. "Someone waits just
ahead, around that large boulder."
Elashi glanced at the house-sized rock Conan had just indicated. "I see no sign of anyone," she said,
matching his whisper.
"There was a noise," Conan insisted.
"I heard nothing. And I am a woman of the desert, do not forget."
How could he forget? She reminded him of it at least once daily. "Perhaps you need desert sand for your
ears to work properly. I heard a cough."
That earned him a glare that, had it been a blade, would have left him in small and bloody chunks upon
the snowy ground. "Listen, you barbarian oaf—"
"No more time for games," he cut her off. He drew his sword. "I sense that we are in danger."
Elashi nodded. Despite her verbal abuse of her companion, she had been with him long enough to
understand that his senses were indeed sharper than those of ordinary men. She drew her own sword.
"What should we do?"
"You circle behind the rock while I proceed along the trail to draw their attention. That way, you can
take them unaware while they watch me."
"I willnot !" she said, her whisper increasing in volume. "Just because I am a woman, you seek to shield
me from risks! Never forget that I am firstborn."
Conan stared at her, amazed, as if she had suddenly sprouted wings and was preparing to leap up and
fly into the heavens. He was young, and he supposed that he would learn more with age, but for the
moment he did not think it possible that he would ever understand the motivations of women. Perhaps no
man could. "Very well," he said. "Youproceed down the trail whileI circle behind the rock… and
whoever it is that awaits there."
"Better," she said. But after a moment of triumph, her grin faded and she looked nervously at Conan.
"You would actually send me along the trail into the jaws of possible death?" Her stare was incredulous
and her voice quavered. She acted as if he had spat on her.
Conan shook his head and glanced around at the mountains. Was there some demon hiding out there,
sent to bedevil him? And what did Elashi want from him? Disagree with her and she argued. Agree with
her and she argued even more. Crom! He felt the heat of anger rise within him.
Fighting to keep his voice level, he said, "All right. What isyour suggestion?"
"Keep your voice down," she ordered.
Conan's anger increased as he stared helplessly at her. She was beautiful, to be sure, but maddening!
"You proceed down the path and draw the attention of whoever or whatever is there," she said. "I shall
circle around the rock and get behind them. That way, I may take them unaware."
Conan stared, unable to speak in his frustrated rage.
"Isn't that a better plan than the one you had?" she asked sweetly. Warm goat butter would not have
dissolved in her mouth, he thought. Surely, surely I have offended some god and this is my punishment.
He stood silent for a moment, then stalked off without another word. Whatever was on the other side of
that boulder had better not be intent on causing him grief.
When he rounded the shelter of the rock, Conan found himself facing trouble. Five men stood before
him; short, muscular, and swarthy, each held a dagger-tipped pike. They wore cracked and
sweat-stained leather armor and gauntlets, and heavy boots. Behind these five a single being sat astride a
tall black stallion. This creature wore a heavy riding cape, woolen shirt, and leather breeches, and held in
a gauntleted hand a thin sword across the front of the horse's saddle.
Conan was somewhat puzzled about this last figure.
At first glance, it seemed a man from its dress and manner; on closer examination, the beardless face
was definitely female, this self-evident not merely from its smoothness of complexion but from its shape
and the bearer's use of cosmetics. The lips were rouged, the eyebrows partially plucked, and the area
around the eyes darkened with a bluish hue. The reddish-brown hair was shorter than Conan's own, and
cut feathery on the ends. Additionally, the creature's shirt front jutted out in twin peaks that certainly
seemed womanly… but the crotch of the tight leather breeches revealed a bulge than seemed most
definitely male.
Conan's examination of the horsed figure was interrupted by its speech. "Stand and deliver!" it said. The
voice added to his confusion. It was deep, that of a strong man. Coming from those ruby lips, it sounded
most odd indeed.
"Stand and deliver what?" Conan asked. "Are you blind, that I appear to be some fat merchant laden
with gold or wares? What you see is all I own, and that is little enough."
"I will have your sword," the figure said.
At that moment Elashi appeared behind the six, clambering up the rock so that she was above them.
Conan swung the sword back and forth to limber his shoulder, then gripped the handle with both hands
and aimed the point at the throat of the nearest pikeman, a techinque he had learned from the
swordmaster of the Suddah Oblates. "I think not," he said.
The pikeman swallowed dryly.
"Do not be a fool," the horse rider said. "We are six to your one. Give us your sword and live. Refuse
and die."
"I find it somewhat strange that you seem willing to lose at least some of your men to collect a sword.
Such an exchange is bad business. I think that perhaps there is something else on your mind."
The man-woman laughed, a deep, throaty sound. "Wise, for a savage."
On the boulder, Elashi had put her sword down and was lifting a head-sized rock.
The leader of the bandits leaned forward on the horse. The creak of the saddle leather was loud in the
otherwise quiet clearing. "Very well. Then we shall have to obtain that which we wish the hard way. Take
him!"
Elashi chose this precise instant to hurl the rock she held. Now the desert woman was not much of a
swordswoman, true, and she talked too much for Oman's taste, but apparently the throwing of rocks
could be numbered among her skills: the large stone smacked into the head of one of the pikemen, felling
him like a poleaxed pig. The sound of the rock striking the skull was much like that of a melon when
smashed with a heavy board. That worthy would trouble no one else in this world.
Startled, the pikemen turned to espy this new threat. The rider's mount shied at the sudden movements,
backing itself almost to the boulder. Before the rider could turn, Elashi, sword in hand, leaped upon
him—or her—screaming.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Conan darted forward, swift for a man so large, and swung the
ancient blue-iron blade. The stroke met flesh, cleaving muscle and bone, toppling a second pikeman into
a fall that would ultimately end in the Gray Lands—and likely Gehanna.
Elashi and the rider fell from the horse. Conan had time to see the mysterious bandit leader leap up and
twist about sharply; the movement spun Elashi away as a terrier tosses a rat. She hit the ground and
rolled up, sword held ready.
No matter. Her distraction had accomplished its purpose. Conan swung his sword back and forth,
chopping at the disorganized pikemen, who were at quarters too close to use their weapons effectively.
Blue iron met pike wood and sheared it, continuing on to carve bloody canyons through leather armor.
Conan's mighty arms drove the weapon he bore, gutting one man, removing another's head, driving all
before the Cimmerian whirlwind. Before they could gather their wits, four of the five pikemen were
down, one by Elashi's stone, the others by courtesy of Conan's blade.
The fifth pikeman deemed it wise to change occupations at that moment, to that of a fleet-footed
messenger; he ran, dropping his pike to attain yet more speed. For an instant Conan considered
retrieving one of the fallen pikes to use as a spear against the fleeing man, but decided that dealing with
the leader was more important. As he turned, however, the rider managed to recapture the horse.
Flinging itself onto the saddle, the leader of the bandits spurred the animal, which bolted straight at
Conan.
The Cimmerian dodged, swiping at the rider, but the figure leaned away from the sword's arc and Conan
cut nothing more than air. The force of the slash spun the young Cimmerian off balance. In a heartbeat,
horse and rider were past, moving too swiftly for Conan to recover in time to give chase.
Conan watched the retreating figures of pike-man and rider. Came the rider's call: "I'll have your sword
yet, barbarian!"
Conan, shook his head. Why would anyone be willing to risk death for a sword of uncertain worth? In
fact, while the blued-iron weapon was of good quality and quite serviceable, it had no intrinsic value. The
handle was plain and leather-wrapped, not bejeweled or carved ivory, and the guard was merely a single
bar of thick brass. The strange bandit leader must be mad.
Elashi approached, brushing dirt from her cloak.
"Are you injured?" Conan asked.
"Nay." She finished her cloak dusting and looked at Conan askance. "You let two of them escape."
He could not suppress a surprised grunt. "You never mentioned that you desert dwellers drank blood."
"Little point in leaving a job half accomplished," she said. "I suppose there's nothing to be done for it. Let
us examine the corpses."
"Examine them? Why?"
She regarded him as she might a simpleminded child. "And you intend to become a thief? For valuables,
of course."
Conan nodded at this. For once she had a point. But even as he rifled the sparse purses of the fallen
bandits, the question of why they had attacked continued to plague him. And the man-woman's retreating
threat to have his sword—what was that all about?
Well, he would pay it no more mind. It was finished and done with, and like as not, he had seen the last
of that odd personage.
Two
Although the purses of the slain mountain bandits yielded only a few coppers, Conan was not the least
averse to collecting the coins and sharing them equally with Elashi. Certainly the bandits had no further
need for money where they were bound.
As the Cimmerian and the desert woman made their way down the mountain road, they saw in the
distance a small village; thanks to the bandits, they could now buy food and a room for the night. Only a
few days past, Conan had carried two silver coins, the last of his profit from the pelt of a dire-wolf he
had slain. Unfortunately, as he had raced through the halls of the necromancer's castle, he had somehow
dislodged the silver from his purse. After the aggravation of the bandit's attack, providing supper and
shelter was the least the dead men could do.
As evening sought to claim the day, stormy purple and gray clouds gathered on the horizon. The wind
grew colder, carrying in its chilly teeth the promise of snow. Conan knew the signs: a blizzard was
building. It would be most uncomfortable to be caught out in the open in the coming weather. The village
lay less than an hour ahead by his reckoning, and the two of them should arrive there at about the time
the storm did. If they hurried.
The village was like a dozen others Conan had Seen in his travels. Perhaps a score of structures, most of
them small houses of stone with sod roofing, sprawled along the sides of the road, now somewhat wider
than it had been in the mountains. The largest of the buildings was, naturally, the village inn. The wordless
sign over the doorway bore merely a carved picture of a sheep, doubtless detailing the mainstay of local
industry. The building was also of stone, weathered and in disrepair, with oiled but torn lambskin over the
windows, showing a fitful yellow glow from within.
As Conan and Elashi approached the inn, the snow began to flurry about them. In a moment the swirling
winds had the powdery whiteness dancing thickly in the evening air. The combination of snow and
gathering darkness quickly reduced visibility to a few spans.
"Not a very appealing place," Elashi observed.
"Our choices are somewhat limited," Conan said.
"True."
He swung the heavy wooden door inward and took in the interior of the inn. The ceiling was low, hardly
an arm's length taller than Conan himself, and the central room into which they stared was occupied by
perhaps twenty people, most of them men. They sat at rude tables or stood near the large fireplace within
which a fat log burned brightly. An archway at the end of the room led, Conan surmised, to sleeping
rooms and storage for food and drink.
Stepping into the room, Conan shut the door behind Elashi, never taking his gaze from the occupants.
Most of them were obviously locals: dark-complected, older men dressed in shepherd garb. There were
a few women who matched the men in age and clothes, also likely local folk.
At the far end of the communal eating and drinking room sat a thin man dressed as though for summer in
thigh-length trousers and a short tunic. He had hair the color of straw and a foolish grin upon his face.
Likely drunk or slack-witted, Conan thought.
Behind this summery fool sat two men who looked very much like the five who had assaulted Conan
upon the trail. There were no pikes in evidence, but each man wore a sword and long dagger ensheathed
upon his belt, and their features looked hard in the light of guttering tapers mounted at odd intervals upon
the stone walls.
Conan finished his scan of the room just as a tall and spindly man whose face seemed buried within the
shroud of a gray beard approached. The innkeeper, no doubt.
"Ah, welcome, travelers. Would ye be desirin' food 'n' drink, then?"
Conan nodded. "Aye. And a room for the night."
Graybeard bobbed his head in an enthusiastic nod. "Done, done. Ye made it just in time, I warrant. "Tis
a howler startin' up out there." As if to punctuate his words, the wind whistled and blew a blast of snow
through one of the torn shades. Graybeard said, "Lalo, cover that hole!"
The thin blond man stood and moved to the window, where he began to repair the window cover with a
patch and string that he pulled from a pocket on his tunic. The man continued smiling all the while, and he
hummed a strange little tune as.he worked.
Conan and Elashi, meanwhile, moved to an empty table not far from the fire as Graybeard went to fetch
wine and whatever passed for supper.
The meal, as it turned out, was not altogether bad. The meat was mutton, somewhat greasy, but edible.
Hard brown bread accompanied the meat, and the wine was red and sharp but better than some that
Conan had tasted. Elashi produced a small knife from her belt and sliced the meat into strips; Conan
draped pieces of these over chunks of bread and washed them down with the wine. Certainly it bested
foraging along the trail for roots and ground squirrels, as they had been doing for several days.
Graybeard accepted half a dozen coppers for the meal and asked another four for the room. Conan
would have bargained but he was tired, and what did it matter anyway? The money had been his for only
a few hours; he had not grown particularly attached to it. He paid for the meal and room, causing a smile
to grow in the midst of Gray-beard's hairy visage.
Over his third cup of wine, Conan began to feel somewhat relaxed. The journey along the mountains had
been relatively uneventful—save for the inept bandits—but even so, it had been a long walk. With food
and wine in his belly and shelter against the winter's rages, he felt most comfortable.
He should have known that meant trouble. Every time he felt at ease of late, something always seemed
to come along to spoil it.
"Watch it, fool!"
Conan looked up from his warm feeling, to see the straw-haired man, the one Graybeard had called
"Lalo," backing away from the table at which the two swordsmen sat. Apparently Lalo had jostled the
table in passing and the occupants had taken umbrage at his clumsiness. One of the swordsmen was
missing most of an ear. The other had a nose that had been broken more than once, and was decidedly
bent to one side.
"Sorry, m'lord," Lalo said.
Bent Nose half-stood. "Are you making sport of me, fool? Calling me lord?"
"Why, no, m'lor—I mean, no, sir. 'Twould be hard to make sport of one such as yourself."
"That's better."
Lalo's grin never faltered. "I mean, there's so little to work with."
Bent Nose blinked, obviously not understanding.
At his table, Conan smiled. He might be called a barbarian for his looks, but he knew humor when he
heard it.
Unfortunately for Lalo, One Ear's wits were at least a bit sharper than his companion's. "Fool," he said.
"He has insulted you!"
Bent Nose looked at him quizzically. "What are you talking about?"
"Ah," Lalo said. "I see that you are indeed a wit." He paused for a second, then continued: "No, on
second pass, I think that is probably only half-true."
Conan chuckled into his wine. Judging from Bent Nose's reaction, it seemed true enough.
"Why are you laughing?" Elashi asked. "Those two will cut that poor man into bloody ribbons!"
Conan shrugged. "That's his problem. A sharp tongue is no match for a sharp blade."
One Ear said, "Idiot! He insults you again."
This was enough for Bent Nose. He cleared his blade. "I shall have your laughing head for a soup bowl!"
he bellowed, advancing slowly toward Lalo.
Elashi jumped to her feet, drawing her own sword.
Conan said, "What are you doing?"
"Since there are nomen in here to protect a harmless, unarmed soul from such brutes, I shall do so
myself!"
Conan sighed. Always something came to disturb his peace. He stood. "Be seated. I shall handle this."
"I would not want you to strain yourself," she said.
Conan merely shook his head. Is this a test, Crom? Perhaps I should have remained at the monastery
with the late Cengh and given up women. They are certainly more trouble than they are worth, at times.
Bent Nose looked up to see Conan looming. He paused in his pursuit of Lalo. "What is your business
here, outlander?"
Conan decided to try reason. "I have had a long day," he said, "and I would not see it ended by being
blood-spattered. Why not allow Lalo here to live?"
Bent Nose shifted the point of his sword in Conan's direction. "I care less than mouse turd for how your
day has gone. This fool insulted me and he shall pay for it!"
Conan, whose sword remained sheathed, spared a glance at Elashi, then at Lalo. "Perhaps," he told
Lalo, "if you apologized to Bent Nose here, this matter could be resolved peacefully."
摘要：

OneAman-highcairnmarksthedesolatejuncturewherethelandsofBrythunia,CorinthiaandZamoracometogether.Centuriesofwindandrainandsnowandsunhaveworkedtheirhotandcoldhandsandweatheredclawsoverthepillar,smoothingitintolittlemorethanasoft-featuredmoundofstonerisingfromthebarrenground.Themountainuponwhichthecai...

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