The Vendhyan moved his horse closer and dropped his voice conspiratorially. “That certain information, the contents of certain conversations, be passed on to the patron.”
“I told Karim Singh,” Conan replied, biting off each word, “and now I tell you, I will not spy on Kang Hou.”
“The Khitan? What are you saying? The wazam has an interest in him? Bah! I care nothing for merchants!”
The Cimmerian felt as though the other’s confusion were contagious. “If not Kang Hou, then who in Zandru’s Nine Hells…” He paused at a wild thought. “Karim Singh?”
“Aaah,” said Kandar, suddenly all urbanity. “That might be pleasing.”
“I begin to believe it all,” Conan muttered in tones far from belief. “I begin to believe you Vendhyans actually could sign a treaty with Yildiz on one day and kill the High Admiral of Turan the next.”
The smoothness that had come to the Vendhyan was as suddenly swept away. He clutched Conan’s arm with a swordsman’s iron grip, and his teeth were bared in a snarl. “Who says this? Who speaks this lie?”
“Everyone in Sultanapur,” Conan said quietly. “I suspect, everyone in Turan. Now take your hand from my arm before I cut it off.”
Behind Kandar the raft loaded with nobles had reached the bank, and men were streaming off. Two Vendhyan women riding sidesaddle walked their horses toward Conan and the prince. One was plainly garbed and veiled so that only her eyes showed. The other, riding in advance, had a scarf of sheer red silk over her raven hair, with pearls worked into her tresses, but she wore no veil. Necklaces and bracelets of gold and emeralds adorned her and there were rubies and sapphires on her fingers.
As Kandar, glaring at Conan, opened his mouth, the unveiled woman spoke in a low musical tone. “How pleasant to see you, Kandar. I had thought you avoided me of late.”
The Vendhyan prince went rigid. For an instant his eyes stared through Conan, then he rasped, “We will speak again, you and I.” Without ever once looking around or acknowledging the women’s presence, Kandar kicked his horse to a gallop, spurring toward the wazam’s pavilion, which was already being taken down.
Conan was not sorry to see him go, especially not when he was replaced by so lovely a creature as the jewel-bedecked woman. Her skin was dusky satin, and her sloe eyes were large pools in which a man might willingly lose himself. And those dark, liquid eyes were studying him with as much interest as he studied their owner. He returned her smile.
“It seems Kandar does not like you,” he said. “I think I like anyone he does not.”
The woman’s laugh was as musical as her voice. “On the contrary, Kandar likes me much too much.” She saw his confusion and laughed again. “He wants me for his purdhana. Once he went so far as to try to have me kidnapped.”
“When I want a woman, I do not ride away without so much as looking at her.” He kept his eyes on her face so she would know it was not of Kandar he spoke at all.
“He has cause. My tirewoman, Alyna,” she waved a negligent hand toward the heavily veiled woman, “is his sister.”
“His sister!” Conan exclaimed, and once more she laughed. The veiled woman stirred silently on her saddle.
“Ah, I see you are bewildered that the sister of a prince could be my slave. Alas, Alyna dabbled with spies and was to face the headsman’s sword until I purchased her life. I then held a masque to which Kandar came, intending to press his suit yet again. For some reason, when he discovered Alyna among the dancing girls, he all but ran from my palace. Such a simple way to rid myself of the bother of him.”
Conan stared at that beautiful, sweetly smiling face, appearing so open and even innocent, and only what he had already seen and heard that morning allowed him to credit her words. “You Vendhyans seem to have a liking for striking at your enemies through others. Do none of you ever confront an opponent?”
Her laughter was tinkling bells. “You Westerners are so direct, Patil. Those Turanians! They think themselves devious. They are childlike.”
He blinked at that. Childlike? The Turanians? Then something else she had said struck him. “You know my name.”
“I know that you call yourself Patil. One must needs be deaf not to hear of a man such as yourself, calling himself by a name of Vendhya. You interest me.”
Her gaze was like a caress running over his broad shoulders and chest, even down to his lean hips and thick-muscled thighs. Many other women had looked at him in like fashion and betimes he enjoyed it. This time he felt like a stallion in the auction barns. “And do you want me to spy on someone, too?” he asked gruffly.
“As I said,” she smiled. “Direct. And childlike.”
“I am no child, woman,” he growled. “And I want no more of Vendhyan deviousness.”
“Do you know why so many of King Bhandarkar’s court accompanied the wazam to Turan? Not as his retinue, as the Turanians seemed to think. For us it was a new land to be looted, in a manner of speaking. I found jugglers and ac
robats who will seem new and fresh when they perform at my palace in Ayodhya. I bring a dancing bear with me and several scholars. Though I must say the philosophers of Turan do not compare with those of Khitai.”
“Do none of you speak straight out? What has this to do with me?”
“In Vendhya,” she said, “the enjoyment of life is a way of life. Men of the court give hunts and revels, though the last are often no more than drunken debauches. In any case, neither is proper for a woman of breeding. Yet for every decision made by men on horseback while lancing wild boars, two are made in the palace of a noblewoman. You may ask how mere women compete with the lords and princes. We gather about us scholars and men of ideas, the finest musicians, the most talented poets, the best artists, whether in stone or metal or paint. The newest plays are performed in our palaces and there may be found strange visitors from far-off, mysterious lands. Nor does it hurt that our serving wenches are chosen for their beauty, though unlike the men, we require discretion in their use.”
Conan’s face had become more and more grim as he listened. Now he exploded. “That is your ‘interest’ in me? I am to be a dancing bear or a montebank?”