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.Nothing would come of that except their deaths, leaving the Afghuliswithout leadership.Conan did not trust even Khezal enough to believe hiscomrades would then escape harm.They crept in a wide half-circle around the dead sentry.His rock shelterhad almost vanished in the brown murk as the wind shifted and more ofthe storm blew into the valley.Conan thought he saw human figuresmoving around the rock, but could not be sure.He hoped they were at least human if they were there at all.Asandstorm in unknown country was something to make a man believe inbeings from the netherworld breaking loose and wandering about, seekingto work ill.Not long afterwards, Conan knew there had been someone watchingfrom the dead sentry's post—and that the watcher had seen him andFarad.Someone was following them.It was hard to be certain at first, and no one with eyes or ears less keenthan the Cimmerian's could have learned of the pursuer at all.Even deeperwithin the valley, the sand and dust were swirling thicker, and the windhowled like the mourning cries of demons.But Conan's ears picked out the clang of steel on stone, the rattle ofdislodged rocks, and once, the sound of breathing.Twice he went toground and saw something moving, as the one behind failed to do thesame in time to escape Conan's sharp eye.At last Conan motioned to Farad, and whispered in the Afghuli's earthat their luck might be changing.They had snatched no prisoner fromthe enemy's ranks, but perhaps one might be about to crawl right intotheir arms."Your arms, I suppose," Farad said."One of us had best be free to run, if this goes amiss," Conan said."You need not whip a willing mule," Farad said sourly."Good hunting,my chief." He crawled left as Conan slipped off to the right and went toground.Shrewdly Farad ceased to make much effort to conceal himself.Thisbrought the pursuit in turn out of hiding—three robed men, none of themwearing any tribal markings Conan could recognize.The smallest of thethree seemed to be the leader, although the others seemed ready to arguewith their orders.At last all three seemed of one mind, and set off in astalking pursuit of Farad.This brought the leftmost man so close to Conan that he could havereached out and touched him.This was precisely what he did, with a fistdescending like a club on the back of the man's neck.He jerked forwardand his chin slammed into rock hard enough to stun him.Conan quickly bound the man's hands with strips of his garments, thenmade sure that he was breathing.Two score paces of crawling broughthim to the rear of the second man, the small one who led.It also brought him into view of the third man on the right, just as aflurry of wind left clear air between them.The man's wordless cry gave thealarm, but he then made a fatal mistake by trying to roll over and unslinghis bow.That gave Conan time to close with the smallest man and seize him.Theman struck at Conan with a dagger that seemed to be his sole weapon butwas sharp enough to add to the Cimmerian's collection of wounds.He alsokicked and screeched in a high-pitched voice that made Conan think hemight have captured a eunuch or a youth.None of this kept Conan from taking a firm grip on his captive.Farad,meanwhile, was disposing of the archer.The Afghuli was so determined ona silent kill that he gave the man enough time to have raised the alarm.Fortunately the sight of Farad looming over him seemed to strike the manmute.He tried to change weapons from bow to tulwar, and in the middleof the change Farad's sandal sank into the pit of his stomach.Bothweapons fell to the sand and the man fell on top of them.Farad looked down at his victim."Do we need him?""No," Conan said, as he finished binding and gagging his own captive."I doubt you'll even be needing to bind him.It will be evening before hecan draw a painless breath again."Conan's captive was in better fettle.While he could neither speak norstruggle, so thoroughly was he gagged and bound, his large kohl-rimmedeyes glared eloquently."Game little cockerel, this one," Farad said, prodding the man in theribs."And look at the quality of the robe and the belt.A chief's son, I'dwager."Conan was looking at the robe and the belt, but he was also looking atwhat seemed to be under them.He knelt and ran a hand across thecaptive's shoulders, then down across one shoulder blade to the chest."Ha!" the Cimmerian said."You'd lose that wager.""Eh?" Farad said, bemused at his chief's behavior."It's a chief's daughter.""Eh," Farad said again, this time with an unmistakable leer.Conan shook his head."She's a good hostage as long as she's unharmedand not a moment longer.A hostage is worth ten women, where we are.""Tell that to men who haven't seen a woman for months," Farad said."I've little taste for fighting the Greencloaks over this one."The woman did not seem to understand the Afghuli speech the two menwere using, but the tones carried enough meaning.Her eyes were verywide, and her breath came quick.Conan hoisted her over one massive shoulder and patted her lightly onthe rump."Don't worry, lass," he said, in Turanian."You were gameenough to earn a warrior's treatment besides being a good hostage.Anyone who comes to you will do it over my dead body.""I stand by my chief with my blood and my steel."Farad said.Although he spoke in Afghuli, the woman caught his toneand seemed to relax.Then Conan stepped out, in a long ground-eating hillman's stride, withFarad guarding the rear.By the time they heard someone raising thealarm, they were nearly back to their own camp.The name of the woman—barely that, for she admitted to no more thannineteen summers and looked younger—was Bethina.She was sister toDoiran, heir to the chieftainship of the Ekinari and blood-brother to thechief of the Girumgi.She was riding with a mixed band of Girumgi andEkinari to bring safely home those Girumgi who had escaped the battle inthe South.All this she told willingly after they reached the camp—and after Conanand Farad saved her life.They brought her in, unbound her feet, and removed her gag
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