rh.conanthewarrior-第36部分

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　river。　He　did　not　believe　they　would　cross　in　the　daytime；　however。
　　〃Some　woodsman　would　be　sure　to　see　them　and　give　the　alarm。　They'll　cross　above　and　below　the　fort；　out　of　sight　of　the　sentries。　Then　others　will　get　in　canoes　and　make　straight　across　for　the　river　wall。　As　soon　as　they　attack；　those　hidden　in　the　woods　on　the　east　shore　will　assail　the　fort　from　the　other　sides。　They've　tried　that　before；　and　got　the　guts　shot　and　hacked　out　of　them。　But　this　time　they've　got　enough　men　to　make　a　real　onslaught　of　it。〃
　　They　pushed　on　without　pausing；　though　Balthus　gazed　longingly　at　the　squirrels　flitting　among　the　branches；　which　he　could　have　brought　down　with　a　cast　of　his　ax。　With　a　sigh　he　drew　up　his　broad　belt。　The　everlasting　silence　and　gloom　of　the　primitive　forest　was　beginning　to　depress　him。　He　found　himself　thinking　of　the　open　groves　and　sun…dappled　meadows　of　the　Tauran；　of　the　bluff　cheer　of　his　father's　steep…thatched；　diamond…paned　house；　of　the　fat　cows　browsing　through　the　deep　lush　grass；　and　the　hearty　fellowship　of　the　brawny；　bare…armed　plowmen　and　herdsmen。
　　He　felt　lonely；　in　spite　of　his　panion。　Conan　was　as　much　a　part　of　this　wilderness　as　Balthus　was　alien　to　it。　The　Cimmerian　might　have　spent　years　among　the　great　cities　of　the　world；　he　might　have　walked　with　the　rulers　of　civilization；　he　might　even　achieve　his　wild　whim　some　day　and　rule　as　king　of　a　civilized　nation；　stranger　things　had　happened。　But　he　was　no　less　a　barbarian。　He　was　concerned　only　with　the　naked　fundamentals　of　life。　The　warm　intimacies　of　small；　kindly　things；　the　sentiments　and　delicious　trivialities　that　make　up　so　much　of　civilized　men's　lives　were　meaningless　to　him。　A　wolf　was　no　less　a　wolf　because　a　whim　of　chance　caused　him　to　run　with　the　watch…dogs。　Bloodshed　and　violence　and　savagery　were　the　natural　elements　of　the　life　Conan　knew；　he　could　not；　and　would　never；　understand　the　little　things　that　are　so　dear　to　civilized　men　and　women。
　　The　shadows　were　lengthening　when　they　reached　the　river　and　peered　through　the　masking　bushes。　They　could　see　up　and　down　the　river　for　about　a　mile　each　way。　The　sullen　stream　lay　bare　and　empty。　Conan　scowled　across　at　the　other　shore。
　　〃We've　got　to　take　another　chance　here。　We've　got　to　swim　the　river。　We　don't　know　whether　they've　crossed　or　not。　The　woods　over　there　may　be　alive　with　them。　We've　got　to　risk　it。　We're　about　six　miles　south　of　Gwawela。〃
　　He　wheeled　and　ducked　as　a　bowstring　twanged。　Something　like　a　white　flash　of　light　streaked　through　the　bushes。　Balthus　knew　it　was　an　arrow。　Then　with　a　tigerish　bound　Conan　was　through　the　bushes。　Balthus　caught　the　gleam　of　steel　as　he　whirled　his　sword；　and　heard　a　death　scream。　The　next　instant　he　had　broken　through　the　bushes　after　the　Cimmerian。
　　A　Pict　with　a　shattered　skull　lay　face…down　on　the　ground；　his　fingers　spasmodically　clawing　at　the　grass。　Half　a　dozen　others　were　swarming　about　Conan；　swords　and　axes　lifted。　They　had　cast　away　their　bows；　useless　at　such　deadly　close　quarters。　Their　lower　jaws　were　painted　white；　contrasting　vividly　with　their　dark　faces；　and　the　designs　on　their　muscular　breasts　differed　from　any　Balthus　had　ever　seen。
　　One　of　them　hurled　his　ax　at　Balthus　and　rushed　after　it　with　lifted　knife。　Balthus　ducked　and　then　caught　the　wrist　that　drove　the　knife　licking　at　his　throat。　They　went　to　the　ground　together；　rolling　over　and　over。　The　Pict　was　like　a　wild　beast；　his　muscles　hard　as　steel　strings。
　　Balthus　was　striving　to　maintain　his　hold　on　the　wild　man's　wrist　and　bring　his　own　ax　into　play；　but　so　fast　and　furious　was　the　struggle　that　each　attempt　to　strike　was　blocked。　The　Pict　was　wrenching　furiously　to　free　his　knife　hand；　was　clutching　at　Balthus'　ax；　and　driving　his　knees　at　the　youth's　groin。　Suddenly　he　attempted　to　shift　his　knife　to　his　free　hand；　and　in　that　instant　Balthus；　struggling　up　on　one　knee；　split　the　painted　head　with　a　desperate　blow　of　his　ax。
　　He　sprang　up　and　glared　wildly　about　for　his　panion；　expecting　to　see　him　overwhelmed　by　numbers。　Then　he　realized　the　full　strength　and　ferocity　of　the　Cimmerian。　Conan　bestrode　two　of　his　attackers；　shorn　half　asunder　by　that　terrible　broadsword。　As　Balthus　looked　he　saw　the　Cimmerian　beat　down　a　thrusting　shortsword；　avoid　the　stroke　of　an　ax　with　a　cat…like　side…wise　spring　which　brought　him　within　arm's　length　of　a　squat　savage　stooping　for　a　bow。　Before　the　Pict　could　straighten；　the　red　sword　flailed　down　and　clove　him　from　shoulder　to　midbreastbone；　where　the　blade　stuck。　The　remaining　warriors　rushed　in；　one　from　either　side。　Balthus　hurled　his　ax　with　an　accuracy　that　reduced　the　attackers　to　one；　and　Conan；　abandoning　his　efforts　to　free　his　sword；　wheeled　and　met　the　remaining　Pict　with　his　bare　hands。　The　stocky　warrior；　a　head　shorter　than　his　tall　enemy；　leaped　in；　striking　with　his　ax；　at　the　same　time　stabbing　murderously　with　his　knife。　The　knife　broke　on　the　Cimmerian's　mail；　and　the　ax　checked　in　midair　as　Conan's　fingers　locked　like　iron　on　the　descending　arm。　A　bone　snapped　loudly；　and　Balthus　saw　the　Pict　wince　and　falter。　The　next　instant　he　was　swept　off　his　feet；　lifted　high　above　the　Cimmerian's　head…he　writhed　in　midair　for　an　instant；　kicking　and　thrashing；　and　then　was　dashed　headlong　to　the　earth　with　such　force　that　he　rebounded；　and　then　lay　still；　his　limp　posture　telling　of　splintered　limbs　and　a　broken　spine。
　　〃e　on！〃　Conan　wrenched　his　sword　free　and　snatched　up　an　ax。　〃Grab　a　bow　and　a　handful　of　arrows；　and　hurry！　We've　got　to　trust　to　our　heels　again。　That　yell　was　heard。　They'll　be　here　in　no　time。　If　we　tried　to　swim　now；　they'd　feather　us　with　arrows　before　we　reached　midstream！〃
　　
　　
　　　6。　　Red　Axes　of　the　Border
　　
　　Conan　did　not　plunge　deeply　into　the　forest。　A　few　hundred　yards　from　the　river；　he　altered　his　slanting　course　and　ran　parallel　with　it。　Balthus　recognized　a　grim　determination　not　to　be　hunted　away　from　the　river　which　they　must　cross　if　they　were　to　warn　the　men　in　the　fort。　Behind　them　rose　more　loudly　the　yells　of　the　forest　men。　Balthus　believed　the　Picts　had　reached　the　glade　where　the　bodies　of　the　slain　men　lay。　Then　further　yells　seemed　to　indicate　that　the　savages　were　streaming　into　the　woods　in　pursuit。　They　had　left　a　trail　any　Pict　could　follow。
　　Conan　increased　his　speed；　and　Balthus　grimly　set　his　teeth　and　kept　on　his　heels；　though　he　felt　he　might　collapse　any　time。　It　seemed　centuries　since　he　had　eaten　last。　He　kept　going　more　by　an　effort　of　will　than　anything　else。　His　blood　was　pounding　so　furiously　in　his　ear…drums　that　he　was　not　aware　when　the　yells　died　out　behind　them。
　　Conan　halted　suddenly。。　Balthus　leaned　against　a　tree　and　panted。
　　〃They've　quit！〃　grunted　the　Cimmerian；　scowling。
　　〃Sneaking…up…on…us！〃　gasped　Balthus。
　　Conan　shook　his　head。
　　〃A　short　chase　like　this　they'd　yell　every　step　of　the　way。　No。　They've　gone　back。　I　thought　I　heard　somebody　yelling　behind　them　a　few　seconds　before　the　noise　began　to　get　dimmer。　They've　been　recalled。　And　that's　good　for　us；　but　damned　bad　for　the　men　in　the　fort。　It　means　the　warriors　are　being　summoned　out　of　the　woods　for　the　attack。　Those　men　we　ran　into　were　warnors　from　a　tribe　down　the　river。　They　were　undoubtedly　headed　for　Gwawela　to　join　in　the　assault　on　the　fort。　Damn　it；　we're　father　away　than　ever；　now。　We've　got　to　get　across　the　river。〃
　　Turning　east　he　hurried　through　the　thickets　with　no　attempt　at　concealment。　Balthus　followed　him；　for　the　first　time　feeling　the　sting　of　lacerations　on　his　breast　and　shoulder　where　the　Pict's　savage　teeth　had　scored　him。　He　was　pushing　through　the　thick　bushes　that　hinged　the　bank　when　Conan　pulled　him　back。　Then　he　heard　a　rhythmic　splashing；　and　peering　through　the　leaves；　saw　a　dugout　canoe　ing　up　the　river；　its　single　occupant　paddling　hard　against　the　current。　He　was　a　strongly　built　Pict　with　a　white　heron　feather　thrust　in　a　copper　band　that　confined　his　square…cut　mane。
　　〃That's　a　Gwawela　man；〃　muttered　Conan。　〃Emissary　from　Zogar。　White　plume　shows　that。　He's　carried　a　peace　talk　to　the　tribes　down　the　river　and　now　he's　trying　to　get　back　and　take　a　hand　in　the　slaughter。〃
　　The　lone　ambassador　was　now　almost　even　with　their　hiding…place；　and　suddenly　Balthus　almost　jumped　out　of　his　skin。　At　his　very　ear　had　sounded　the　harsh　gutturals　of　a　Pict。　Then　he　realized　that　Conan　had　called　to　the　paddler　in　his　own　tongue。　The　man　started；　scanned　the　bushes　and　called　back　something；　then　cast　a　startled　glance　across　the　river；　bent　low　and　sent　the　canoe　shooting　in　toward　the　western　bank。　Not　understanding；　Balthus　saw　Conan　take　from　his　hand　the　bow　he　had　picked　up　in　the　glade；　and　notch　an　arrow。
　　The　Pict　had　run　his　canoe　in　close　to　the　shore；　and　staring　up　into　the　bushes；　called　out　something。　His　answer　came　in　the　twang　of　the　bow…string；　the　streaking　flight　of　the　arrow　that　sank　to　the　feathers　in　his　broad　breast。　With　a　choking　gasp　he　slumped　sidewise　and　rolled　into　the　shallow　water。　In　an　instant　Conan　was　down　the　bank　and　wading　into　the　water　to　grasp　the　drifting　canoe。　Balthus　stumbled　after　him　and　somewhat　dazedly　crawled　into　the　canoe。　Conan　scrambled　in；　seized　the　paddle　and　sent　the　craft　shooting　toward　the　eastern　shore。　Balthus　noted　with　envious　admiration　the　play　of　the　great　muscles　beneath　the　sun…burnt　skin。　The　Cimmerian　seemed　an　iron　man；　who　never　knew　fatigue。
　　〃What　did　you　say　to　the　Pict？〃　asked　Balthus。
　　〃Told　him　to　pull　into　shore；　said　there　was　a　white　forest　runner　on　the　bank　who　was　trying　to　get　a　shot　at　him。〃
　　〃That　doesn't　seem　fair；〃　Balthus　objected。　〃He　thought　a　friend　was　speaking　to　him。　You　mimicked　a　Pict　perfectly…〃
　　〃We　needed　his　boat；〃　grunted　Conan；　not　pausing　in　his　exertions。　〃Only　way　to　lure　him　to　the　bank。　Which　is　worse…to　betray　a　Pict　who'd　enjoy　skinning　us　both　alive；　or　betray　the　men　across　the　river　whose　lives　depend　on　our　getting　over？〃
　　Balthus　mulled　over　this　delicate　ethical　question　for　a　moment；　then　shrugged　his　shoulders　and　asked：　〃How　far　are　we　from　the　fort？〃
　　Conan　pointed　to　a　creek　which　flowed　into　Black