Conan The Invincible Robert Jordan

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.The soothsayer was nowrinkled hag, as such women were wont to be.Silken auburn hair showed at the edges of hervoluminous brown cloak's hood, framing a heart-shaped face.Her emerald eyes had a slight tilt abovehigh cheekbones.The cloak and the robe beneath were of rough wool, but her slender fingers on theMar cards were delicate."Do you listen to nothing not connected to your thievery?" Abuletes grumbled."These six months past nofewer than seven caravans bound for Turan, or coming from there, have disappeared without a trace.Tiridates has the army out after the Red Hawk, but they've never gotten a glimpse of that she-devil.Whyshould this time be any different? And when the soldiers return empty-handed, the merchants screamingfor something to be done will force the king to crack down on us in the Desert.""He has cracked down before," Conan laughed, "and nothing changes." The Iranistanis said somethingwith a smirk.The soothsayer's green eyes looked daggers at him, but she continued to tell her cards.Conan thought the Iranistani had the same idea he did.If Semiramis wanted to flaunt her trade beforehim."What proof is there," he said, without taking his eyes from the pair across the room, "that the RedHawk is responsible? Seven caravans would be a large bite for a bandit to chew."Abuletes snorted."Who else could it be? Kezankian hillmen never raid far from the mountains.Thatleaves the Red Hawk.And who knows how many men she has? Who knows anything of her, even whatshe looks like? I've heard she has five hundred rogues who obey her like hounds the huntsman."Conan opened his mouth for an acid retort, and at that moment the situation at the fortuneteller's tableflared.The Iranistani laid a hand on her arm.She shook it off.He clutched at her cloak, whisperingurgent words, hefting a clinking purse in his other hand."Find a boy!" she spat.Her backhand blow to his face cracked like a whip.The Iranistani rocked back, his face livid."Slut!" he howled, and a broadbladed Turanian daggerappeared in his fist.Conan crossed the room in two pantherish strides.His big hand clamped the bicep of the Iranistani'sknife arm and lifted the man straight up out of his chair.The Iranistani's snarl changed to open-mouthedshock as he tried to slash at the big youth and his knife dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.Conan'siron grip had shut off the blood to the man's arm.With contemptuous ease, Conan hurled the man sprawling on the floor between the tables."She doesn'twant your attentions," he said."Whoreson dog!" the Iranistani howled.Left-handed, he snatched the Turanian coiner's Ibarrisword-knife and lunged at Conan.Hooking his foot around the Iranistani's toppled chair, Conan swung it into the man's path.The Iranistanitumbled, springing up again even as he fell, but Conan's booted toe took him under the chin before hecould rise above a crouch.He flipped backward to collapse at the feet of the coiner, who retrieved thesword-knife with a covetous glance at the Iranistani's purse.Conan turned back to the pretty fortuneteller.He thought he saw a dagger disappearing beneath hercapacious cloak."As I saved you an unpleasantness," he said, "perhaps you will let me buy you somewine."Her lip curled."I needed no help from a barbar boy" Her eye flickered to his left, and he dove to hisright.The scimitar wielded by one of the other Iranistanis bit into the table instead of his neck.He tucked his shoulder under as he dove, rolling to his feet and whipping his broadsword free of itsshagreen sheath in the same motion.The two Iranistanis who had been sitting alone faced him withscimitars in hand, well apart, knees slightly bent in the stance of experienced fighters.The tables aroundthe three had emptied, but otherwise the denizens of the tavern took no notice.It was a rare day that atleast one man did not give his death rattle on that sawdust-covered floor."Whelp whose mother never knew his father's name!" one of the longnosed men snarled."Think you tostrike Hafim so and walk away? You will drink your own blood, spawn of a toad! You will-"Conan saw no reason to listen to the man's rantings.Shouting a wild Cimmerian battle cry, he whirled hisbroadsword aloft and attacked.A contemptuous smile appeared on the dark visage of the nearer man,and he lunged to spit the muscular youth before the awkward-seeming overhand slash could land.Conanhad no intention of making an attack that left him so open, though.Even as the Iranistani moved, Conandropped to the right, crouching with his left leg straight out to the side.He could read death knowledge inthe man's dark bulging eyes.As the gleaming blue blade of the scimitar passed over his left shoulder hisbroadsword was pivoting, slashing through the leather jerkin, burying itself deep in the Iranistani's ribs.Conan felt the blade bite bone; beyond the man choking on his own blood he saw the second Iranistani,teeth bared in a rictus, rushing at him with scimitar extended.He threw his shoulder into the pit of thedying man's stomach, straightening to lift the Iranistani and hurl him at his companion.The sword tearingfree of the body held it up enough that it fell sprawling at the other man's racing feet.The secondIranistani leaped over his friend, curved blade swinging.Conan's slash beat the scimitar aside, and hisbackhand return ripped out the man's throat.Blood spilling down his dirty chest, the Iranistani totteredback with disbelieving eyes, pulling an empty table over when he fell.Conan caught sight of Semiramis heading up the stair, one of the Kothian's big hands caressing a nearlybare buttock possessively as he followed.With a grimace, he wiped his blade clean on the baggypantaloons of one of the dead men.Be damned to her, if her eyes had not shown her she already had abetter man.He turned back to the table of the red-haired woman.It was empty.He cursed again, underhis breath [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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