“Aniya,” Taramis said. The naked girl reluctantly tore her gaze from the Sleeping God. “You,” Taramis said, “are the first chosen, above your sisters, for your purity.”
“This poor one is honored greatly,” the girl whispered.
“At your birth were you sealed to the Sleeping God. Do you now willingly serve him?” Taramis knew the answer even before the light of ecstacy appeared in the girl’s eyes. The cruel-eyed noblewoman had prepared both long and well.
“This poor one begs to serve,” the girl replied, her voice soft yet eager.
The flutes now shrieked in frenzy.
“O great Dagoth,” Taramis cried, “accept this, our offering and pledge to thee. Accept thy first anointing, against the Night of thy Return.”
His face still a portrait of gentleness, Xanteres’ clawed fingers gripped Aniya’s hair, bent her forward over the head of the alabaster form, then bent back her head so that her neck was a tight curve of smooth skin. From within his robes he produced a dagger with a gilded blade, and the gilded steel bit smoothly into the smooth curve. A crimson fountain splashed over the god’s face.
“O great Dagoth,” Taramis shouted, “thy servants anoint thee!”
“O great Dagoth,” the priests echoed, “thy servants anoint thee!”
Taramis sank to her knees, bowed her head to the marble. Wrapped in her own intentness, she was unaware of the rustle as the priests knelt and bowed as well. “O great Dagoth,” she prayed, “thy servants await the Night of thy Coming! I await the Night of thy Coming.”
The massed voices of the priests followed fervently on hers. “O great Dagoth, thy servants await the Night of thy Coming.”
Aniya’s body jerked one last time and was still where it had fallen, forgotten, her glazing eyes staring at the no longer spreading pool of her blood on the pale tiles.
xvi
Conan’s horse picked its way along the stony valley floor, its rider wearing a stony expression. He kept his mind focused on the way before him, not allowing thoughts to stray.
“We must go on,” Jehnna told him, and his face hardened more. “I know the way, and we must go on.”
He waited until they topped a notch, its far slope leading into another valley, before speaking. “I can have you safe in Shadizar in two days. One, if we near kill the horses.” From that rise he could see out of the mountains toward the rising sun, out onto the Zamoran plain. Two days, he thought, without pushing the animals too hard. No thoughts but how far the horses could travel, and how fast.
“It is my destiny!” she protested
“Your destiny is not to die in these moutains. I will return you to your aunt’s palace.”
“You cannot interfere with my destiny!”
“Erlik take your destiny,” he growled.
She drew alongside of him. “What of Valeria?” she demanded. “Yes, I heard that, too. I know what reward my aunt promised you.”
It was a titanic effort to keep his face free of emotion, but Conan did it. A debt to be repaid, no matter the cost. But cost to himself, not to Jehnna. “I can protect you as we travel, but not if we hunt danger. Or do you think this treasure will simply be lying about unguarded?”
“Valeria—”
“She’d not ask me to trade your life for hers,” he snapped. “Now be quiet, and follow me.”
For a time she was indeed silent, though sulking and muttering angrily under her breath. Occupied with his own troubles, Conan refused to acknowledge her anger
Abruptly she said, “It is there. I know it is, Conan. We must go there. Please!”
Despite a resolve not to, he looked where she was pointing. The gray-sloped mountain was not high, but near the base its stone flanks split unnaturally into hundreds of granite fingers and spires. A maze, he remembered Jehnna calling this journey. That was a maze in truth, where an army could lie in wait unseen until you were in their midst. It was no place to take a young girl, not in the Karpash Mountains, not even if the treasure Taramis wanted was in there. They would circle to the south, he decided, giving that particular mountain a wide berth. He rode on in silence.
“Conan!”
He closed his ears, refused to hear.
“Conan!”