rh.conanthewarrior-第28部分

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　　〃Yes；　I　suppose　I　should；〃　he　agreed。　〃But　forget　it。　Never　worry　about　what's　past。　And　stop　crying；　will　you？　That's　better。　e　on。〃
　　〃You　mean　you're　going　to　keep　me？　Take　me　with　you？〃　she　asked　hopefully。
　　〃What　else　do　you　suppose　I'd　do　with　you？〃　He　ran　an　approving　glance　over　her　figure　and　grinned　at　the　torn　skirt　which　revealed　a　generous　expanse　of　tempting　ivory…tinted　curves。　〃I　can　use　an　actress　like　you。　There's　no　use　going　back　to　Keshia。　There's　nothing　in　Keshan　now　that　I　want。　We'll　go　to　Punt。　The　people　of　Punt　worship　an　ivory　woman；　and　they　wash　gold　out　of　the　rivers　in　wicker　baskets。　I'll　tell　them　that　Keshan　is　intriguing　with　Thutmekri　to　enslave　them…which　is　true…and　that　the　gods　have　sent　me　to　protect　them…for　about　a　houseful　of　gold。　If　I　can　manage　to　smuggle　you　into　their　temple　to　exchange　places　with　their　ivory　goddess；　we'll　skin　them　out　of　their　jaw　teeth　before　we　get　through　with　them！〃
　　
　　
　　
　　　BEYOND　THE　BLACK　RIVER
　　
　　
　　Heading　for　Punt　with　Muriela；　Conan　carries　out　his　scheme　for　relieving　those　worshippers　of　an　ivory　goddess　of　some　of　their　abundant　gold。　He　then　continues　to　Zembabwei。　In　the　city　of　the　twin　kings　he　joins　a　trading　caravan；　which　he　squires　northward　along　the　desert　borders…borders　patrolled　by　his　one…time　Zuagir　marauders…bringing　it　safely　into　Shem。　He　continues　northwards　across　the　Hyborian　kingdoms　to　his　bleak　homeland。　Conan　is　now　around　forty；　with　few　signs　of　his　years　save　a　more　deliberate　approach　to　wenching　and　the　pursuit　of　trouble。　Back　in　Cimmeria；　he　finds　the　sons　of　his　contemporaries　raising　families　in　their　turn　and　tempering　their　northern　hardihood　with　little　luxuries；　which　filter　up　from　the　softer　Hyborian　lands。　Even　so；　no　Hyborian　colonist　has　crossed　the　Cimmerian　borders　since　the　destruction　of　Venarium；　more　than　two　decades　before。　Now；　however；　the　Aquilonians　are　spreading　westward；　through　the　Bossonian　Marches　into　the　fringes　of　the　Pictish　wilderness。　So　thither；　seeking　work　for　his　sword；　goes　Conan。　He　enrolls　as　a　scout　at　Fort　Tuscelan；　the　last　Aquilonian　outpost　on　the　east　bank　of　the　Black　River；　deep　in　Pictish　territory。　Here　a　fierce　tribal　war　with　the　Picts　is　in　progress。
　　
　　
　　　1。　　Conan　Loses　His　Ax
　　
　　The　stillness　of　the　forest　trail　was　so　primeval　that　the　tread　of　a　soft…booted　foot　was　a　startling　disturbance。　At　least　it　seemed　so　to　the　ears　of　the　wayfarer；　though　he　was　moving　along　the　path　with　the　caution　that　must　be　practised　by　any　man　who　ventures　beyond　Thunder　River。　He　was　a　young　man　of　medium　height；　with　an　open　countenance　and　a　mop　of　tousled　tawny　hair　unconfined　by　cap　or　helmet。　His　garb　was　mon　enough　for　that　country…a　coarse　tunic；　belted　at　the　waist；　short　leather　breeches　beneath；　and　soft　buckskin　boots　that　came　short　of　the　knee。　A　knife…hilt　jutted　from　one　boot…top。　The　broad　leather　belt　supported　a　short；　heavy　sword　and　a　buckskin　pouch。　There　was　no　perturbation　in　the　wide　eyes　that　scanned　the　green　walls　which　fringed　the　trail。　Though　not　tall；　he　was　well　built；　and　the　arms　that　the　short　wide　sleeves　of　the　tunic　left　bare　were　thick　with　corded　muscle。
　　He　tramped　imperturbably　along；　although　the　last　settler's　cabin　lay　miles　behind　him；　and　each　step　was　carrying　him　nearer　the　grim　peril　that　hung　like　a　brooding　shadow　over　the　ancient　forest。
　　He　was　not　making　as　much　noise　as　it　seemed　to　him；　though　he　well　knew　that　the　faint　tread　of　his　booted　feet　would　be　like　a　tocsin　of　alarm　to　the　fierce　ears　that　might　be　lurking　in　the　treacherous　green　fastness。　His　careless　attitude　was　not　genuine；　his　eyes　and　ears　were　keenly　alert；　especially　his　ears；　for　no　gaze　could　penetrate　the　leafy　tangle　for　more　than　a　few　feet　in　either　direction。
　　But　it　was　instinct　more　than　any　warning　by　the　external　senses　which　brought　him　up　suddenly；　his　hand　on　his　hilt。　He　stood　stock…still　in　the　middle　of　the　trail；　unconsciously　holding　his　breath；　wondering　what　he　had　heard；　and　wondering　if　indeed　he　had　heard　anything。　The　silence　seemed　absolute。　Not　a　squirrel　chattered　or　bird　chirped。　Then　his　gaze　fixed　itself　on　a　mass　of　bushes　beside　the　trail　a　few　yards　ahead　of　him。　There　was　no　breeze；　yet　he　had　seen　a　branch　quiver。　The　short　hairs　on　his　scalp　prickled；　and　he　stood　for　an　instant　undecided；　certain　that　a　move　in　either　direction　would　bring　death　streaking　at　him　from　the　bushes。
　　A　heavy　chopping　crunch　sounded　behind　the　leaves。　The　bushes　were　shaken　violently；　and　simultaneously　with　the　sound；　an　arrow　arched　erratically　from　among　them　and　vanished　among　the　trees　along　the　trail。　The　wayfarer　glimpsed　its　flight　as　he　sprang　frantically　to　cover。
　　Crouching　behind　a　thick　stem；　his　sword　quivering　in　his　fingers；　he　saw　the　bushes　part；　and　a　tall　figure　stepped　leisurely　into　the　trail。　The　traveller　stared　in　surprise。　The　stranger　was　clad　like　himself　in　regard　to　boots　and　breeks；　though　the　latter　were　of　silk　instead　of　leather。　But　he　wore　a　sleeveless　hauberk　of　dark　mesh…mail　in　place　of　a　tunic；　and　a　helmet　perched　on　his　black　mane。　That　helmet　held　the　other's　gaze；　it　was　without　a　crest；　but　adorned　by　short　bull's　horns。　No　civilized　hand　ever　forged　that　head…piece。　Nor　was　the　face　below　it　that　of　a　civilized　man：　dark；　scarred；　with　smoldering　blue　eyes；　it　was　a　face　as　untamed　as　the　primordial　forest　which　formed　its　background。　The　man　held　a　broad…sword　in　his　right　hand；　and　the　edge　was　smeared　with　crimson。
　　〃e　on　out；〃　he　called；　in　an　accent　unfamiliar　to　the　wayfarer。　〃All's　safe　now。　There　was　only　one　of　the　dogs。　e　on　out。〃
　　The　other　emerged　dubiously　and　stared　at　the　stranger。　He　felt　curiously　helpless　and　futile　as　he　gazed　on　the　proportions　of　the　forest　man…the　massive　iron…clad　breast；　and　the　arm　that　bore　the　reddened　sword；　burned　dark　by　the　sun　and　ridged　and　corded　with　muscles。　He　moved　with　the　dangerous　ease　of　a　panther；　he　was　too　fiercely　supple　to　be　a　product　of　civilization；　even　of　that　fringe　of　civilization　which　posed　the　outer　frontiers。
　　Turning；　he　stepped　back　to　the　hushes　and　pulled　them　apart。　Still　not　certain　just　what　had　happened；　the　wayfarer　from　the　east　advanced　and　stared　down　into　the　bushes。　A　man　lay　there；　a　short；　dark；　thickly…muscled　man；　naked　except　for　a　loin…cloth；　a　necklace　of　human　teeth　and　a　brass　armlet。　A　short　sword　was　thrust　into　the　girdle　of　the　loin…cloth；　and　one　hand　still　gripped　a　heavy　black　bow。　The　man　had　long　black　hair；　that　was　about　all　the　wayfarer　could　tell　about　his　head；　for　his　features　were　a　mask　of　blood　and　brains。　His　skull　had　been　split　to　the　teeth。
　　〃A　Pict；　by　the　gods！〃　exclaimed　the　wayfarer。
　　The　burning　blue　eyes　turned　upon　him。
　　〃Are　you　surprised？〃
　　〃Why；　they　told　me　at　Velitrium；　and　again　at　the　settlers'　cabins　along　the　road；　that　these　devils　sometimes　sneaked　across　the　border；　but　I　didn't　expect　to　meet　one　this　far　in　the　interior。〃
　　〃You're　only　four　miles　east　of　Black　River；〃　the　stranger　informed　him。　〃They've　been　shot　within　a　mile　of　Velitrium。　No　settler　between　Thunder　River　and　Fort　Tuscelan　is　really　safe。　I　picked　up　this　dog's　trail　three　miles　south　of　the　fort　this　morning；　and　I've　been　following　him　ever　since。　I　came　up　behind　him　just　as　he　was　drawing　an　arrow　on　you。　Another　instant　and　there'd　have　been　a　stranger　in　Hell。　But　I　spoiled　his　aim　for　him。〃
　　The　wayfarer　was　staring　wide　eyed　at　the　larger　man；　dumbfounded　by　the　realization　that　the　man　had　actually　tracked　down　one　of　the　forest　devils　and　slain　him　unsuspected。　That　implied　woodsmanship　of　a　quality　undreamed；　even　for　Conajohara。
　　〃You　are　one　of　the　fort's　garrison？〃　he　asked。
　　〃I'm　no　soldier。　I　draw　the　pay　and　rations　of　an　officer　of　the　line；　but　I　do　my　work　in　the　woods。　Valannus　knows　I'm　of　more　use　ranging　along　the　river　than　cooped　up　in　the　fort。〃
　　Casually　the　slayer　shoved　the　body　deeper　into　the　thickets　with　his　foot；　pulled　the　bushes　together　and　turned　away　down　the　trail。　The　other　followed　him。
　　〃My　name　is　Balthus；〃　he　offered。　〃I　was　at　Velitrium　last　night。　I　haven't　decided　whether　I'll　take　up　a　hide　of　land；　or　enter　fort　service。〃
　　〃The　best　land　near　Thunder　River　is　already　taken；〃　grunted　the　slayer。　〃Plenty　of　good　land　between　Scalp　Creek…you　crossed　it　a　few　miles　back…and　the　fort；　but　that's　getting　too　devilish　close　to　the　river。　The　Picts　steal　over　to　burn　and　murder…as　that　one　did。　They　don't　always　e　singly。　Some　day　they'll　try　to　sweep　the　settlers　out　of　Conajohara。　And　they　may　succeed…probably　will　succeed。　This　colonization　business　is　mad；　anyway。　There's　plenty　of　good　land　east　of　the　Bossonian　marches。　If　the　Aquilonians　would　cut　up　some　of　the　big　estates　of　their　barons；　and　plant　wheat　where　now　only　deer　are　hunted；　they　wouldn't　have　to　cross　the　border　and　take　the　land　of　the　Picts　away　from　them。〃
　　〃That's　queer　talk　from　a　man　in　the　service　of　the　governor　of　Conajohara；〃　objected　Balthus。
　　〃It's　nothing　to　me；〃　the　other　retorted。　〃I'm　a　mercenary。　I　sell　my　sword　to　the　highest　bidder。　I　never　planted　wheat　and　never　will；　so　long　as　there　are　other　harvests　to　be　reaped　with　the　sword。　But　you　Hyborians　have　expanded　as　far　as　you'll　be　allowed　to　expand。　You've　crossed　the　marches；　burned　a　few　villages；　exterminated　a　few　clans　and　pushed　back　the　frontier　to　Black　River；　but　I　doubt　if　you'll　even　be　able　to　hold　what　you've　conquered；　and　you'll　never　push　the　frontier　any　further　westward。　Your　idiotic　king　doesn't　understand　conditions　here。　He　won't　send　you　enough　reinforcements；　and　there　are　not　enough　settlers　to　withstand　the　shock　of　a　concerted　attack　from　across　the　river。〃
　　〃But　the　Picts　are　divided　into　small　clans；〃　persisted　Balthus。　〃They'll　never　unite。　We　can　whip　any　single　clan。〃
　　〃Or　any　three　or　four　clans；〃　admitted　the　slayer。　〃But　some　day　a　man　will　rise　and　unite　thirty　or　forty　clans；　just　as　was　done　among　the　Cimmerians；　when　the　Gundermen　tried　to　push　the　border　northward；　years　ago。　They　tried　to　colonize　the　southern　marches　of　Cimmer