“I remember,” Conan said. “I’ve said naught of joining their rebellion.”
“Said naught, but thought much,” Hordo growled. “You’re a romantic fool, Cimmerian. Always were, likely always will be. Hannuman’s Stones, man, you’ll not mix me in another uprising. Keep your mind fixed on the gold for a Free-Company.”
“I always keep my mind on gold,” Conan replied. “Mayhap I think on it too much.”
Hordo groaned, but Conan was saved having to say more by the appearance of the slender girl who had brought the wine jug. Tilting her head to one side, she favored the big Cimmerian with a look, half shyness, half invitation, that made the room suddenly too warm.
“What’s your name, girl?” Hordo asked. “You’re a pretty little bit. Get rid of that cotton shift, deck yourself with a little silk, and you could work in any tavern in Belverus.”
She tossed her head, laughing gaily, silken brown hair rippling about her shoulders. “Thank you, kind sir, and for your generous contribution.” Hordo frowned in uncomprehension. “My name is Kerin,” she went on, her soft brown eyes shifting to Conan like a light-fingered caress. “And by those shoulders, you must be the Conan Ariane spoke of. I work in clay, though I hope to have my sculpture cast in bronze some day. Would you pose for me? I can’t pay you, but perhaps … .” Her mouth softened, full lower lip dropping slightly, and her eyes left no doubt what sort of arrangement she wanted with the muscular barbarian.
Conan had barely listened after the mention of posing. An image flashed in his brain of Ariane, posing on the table, and he was uncomfortably aware of his face growing hot. Surely she did not mean … . She could not want … .
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “You mentioned Ariane. Did she send a message?”
“Why did she see you first?” Kerin sighed. “Yes, she did. She’s waiting in your room. To tell you something very important, she said.” She ended with a slight smirk.
Conan scraped back his stool.
“Girl,” Hordo said as the Cimmerian rose, “what is this posing? I might well do it.” Kerin slipped into the seat Conan had vacated.
All the way across the common room Conan waited for Hordo’s outraged shout, but when he looked back from the foot of the stairs the one-eyed man was nodding slowly, a delighted grin on his face. Laughing, Conan ran up the stairs. It seemed his friend would receive more than good value for his silver piece.
Upstairs the narrow hall was lined with many doors, most crudely made, for the original chambers had been roughly partitioned into more. When Conan pushed open his own rude plank door, Ariane was standing below the small window high in the wall. His cloak was still wrapped tightly around her, her fists showing at the neck where she held it together. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it.
“I pose,” she said without preamble. Her eyes glinted with something he could not quite read. “I pose for my friends, who cannot hire models. I do it often, and never have I felt embarrassment. Never until today.”
“I merely looked at you,” he said quietly.
“You looked at me.” She uttered a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You looked at me, and I felt like one of those girls at the Gored Ox, wriggling to a flute for drooling men. Mitra blast your eyes! How dare you make me feel like that!”
“You are a woman,” he said. “I looked at you as a man looking at a woman.”
She closed her eyes and addressed the cracked ceiling. “Hama All-Mother, why must I be stirred by an untutored barbarian who thinks with his sword?” A smug smile grew on his face, to be quashed almost immediately by a glare from her large hazel eyes. “A man may take as many women as he wishes,” she said fiercely. “I refuse to have less freedom than a man. If I choose to have but one man at a time to my mat, and have no other till he leaves or I do, that is my affair. Can you accept me as I am?”
“Did your mother never tell you a man likes to do the asking?” he laughed.
“Mitra blast your heart!” she snarled. “Why do I waste my time?” Muttering to herself she stalked toward the door, cloak flaring in her haste.
Conan reached out one massive arm, curling it around her waist beneath the cloak. She had time for one strangled squawk before he lifted her, the cloak floating to the floor, to crush her soft breasts against the hard expanse of his chest.
“Will you stay with me, Ariane?” he asked, looking into her startled eyes.
Before she could speak he tangled his free hand in her hair and brought her lips to his. Her small fists bruised themselves against his shoulders; her feet kicked futilely at his shins. Slowly her struggles subsided, and when a satisfied murmur sounded in her throat he released her hair. Panting, she let her head drop onto his broad chest.
“Why did you change your mind?” she managed after a time.
“I didn’t change it,” he replied. She looked up, startled, and he smiled. “Before you asked. This time I did the asking.”
Laughing throatily, she let her head fall back. “Hama All-Mother,” she cried, “will I never understand these strange creatures called men?”
He laid her gently on his sleeping mat, and for a long time thereafter only sounds passion-wrought passed her lips.
VI
The Street of Regrets in the morning hours fit well Conan’s mood. The paving stones were littered with the tawdry refuse of the previous night’s revelry; those few people to be seen were stumbling home bleary eyed and hollow faced. Conan kicked rubbish from his path as he strode along, and gave growl for growl to the stray dogs that scavenged among the leavings.
The ten nights past had been an idyll at the Sign of the Thestis, wrapped in Ariane’s arms, her passions and appetites feeding his own even as they sated them. Stephano brooded much in jealousy and wine, yet the memory of the Cimmerian’s anger kept his tongue between his teeth. Hordo, drawn by the attractions of the slender Kerin, had moved his few belongings from an inn three streets away, and of an evening they drank and told each other lies till the charms of Ariane and Kerin parted them. Those were the nights. Days were another matter.