Conan: Road of Kings Read Online Free PDF Page B

Conan with interest; a few came forward to pummel his shoulder and take his hand. Conan accepted their horseplay goodnaturedly; these were men of a breed he knew and liked.
    A lithe rush of movement, and Sandokazi pressed against him. Her kiss was as warm as it was unexpected. Quickly again, she stepped away from him.
    “I saw what you did there,” Sandokazi told Conan. “Santiddio is my brother. I won’t forget.”
    Then Mordermi was stepping between them. “Well now, Conan.” His tone was light, but his smile was a little thin. “If you’re through kissing my lady, why don’t we see about knocking off all that iron jewellery you’re carrying around.”

Three

The White Rose
    A cloud of steam arose as the girl poured another kettle of boiling water into the bath water. Conan, wedged into the wooden tub and unable to evade the scalding water, cursed with his mouth full of wine and swatted at the wench with the chicken carcass he held in his other hand. The girl—Conan had already forgotten her name—laughed coarsely, and knelt to scrub his back with a sponge and the sulfurous-smelling soap that Santiddio swore would kill the prison lice. Her thin cotton shift, wet and clinging to her body, outlined a substantial physique. Conan, a tankard of wine in one fist and a carcass of half-cooked chicken in the other, suffered her ministrations with aplomb.
    One of Mordermi’s men had struck off the Cimmerian chains. Now, in an oak-paneled chamber within Mordermi’s lair, Conan and Santiddio tried to wash away the accumulated filth of their prison ordeal. Grinning whores attended them, and the steam-filled room took on the aspect of a public baths. Conan, impatient to fill his rumbling belly, saw no reason to delay his meal any further.
    Santiddio, in the tub beside him, seemed neither hungry nor thirsty. Scrubbing briskly at his bony sides, he maintained an incessant stream of chatter, detailing the outrages of his arrest and imprisonment—evidently there had never been a trial—and of the struggle beneath the gallows. Mordermi listened politely, occasionally interjecting a question. Sandokazi, amusement in her dark eyes, paid more attention to Conan.
    Seen beside her brother, the sibling resemblance was apparent. There were facial similarities in the angular chin, high-bridged nose, sensuous mouth, and glowing, almost over-large eyes. Sandokazi had the characteristic dark complexion of Zingarans, as well as heavy coils of lustrous black hair, haphazardly bound in a red scarf. She was as tall as her brother, slender and long-limbed. A well-developed figure was set off by her off-the-shoulder blouse of unbleached muslin, tight leather bodice, and wide, calf-length skirt of embroidered material. She was close enough to Santiddio’s age that Conan could not decide which was the elder.
    Mordermi was younger than Conan had expected—probably not more than a few years his senior. He was a head shorter than the hulking Cimmerian as well, despite the high-heeled boots he chose to wear. The prince of Kordava’s thieves had the reputation of being a dangerous opponent either in single combat or in a brawl, and Conan recognized the pantherish deadliness in the man’s compactly muscled frame. He had a square jaw, and a nose that seemed to have been broken at least once. His face was alert; his dark eyes were piercing when he looked at you, veiled when you looked back.
    Again, the dark Zingaran complexion, and an oily mass of black curls that he tied out of his eyes with a scarf that matched Sandokazi’s. Conan considered the thin mustache and gold earrings a bit foppish, but then the fashions of Zingara were not to a Cimmerian’s taste. In trunk hose and filigreed doublet of dark velvet, Mordermi might well be a prince of the blood, instead of prince of rogues. There was nothing effeminate about the double-edged rapier and quillon dagger belted at Mordermi’s trim waist.
    Conan drained the tankard, and his buxom attendant