Conan The Destroyer Read Online Free PDF Page A

“I left her company without farewells, and her guards scour the streets for me. But I hope to reach the palace without killing any of them.”
    Malak shook his head. “You will be lucky if she is not angry enough to have a pike decorated with your head.”
    “She may be angry enough, but she will not do it. She sought not just any thief, Malak, but me. She knew my name, and she rode onto the plain to find me. Whatever she intends, Conan of Cimmeria is necessary to it.”

iv
     
    T o the city that surrounded it, the palace of Taramis presented the look of a fortress, though not, of course, so much a one as the Royal Palace. That would have been a good way to be shortened a head, drunkard though Tiridates might be. Taramis’ crenellated granite walls stood four times the height of a tall man, being thus two paces shorter than those of the King. Square towers stood at the four corners of the walls, and two more flanked the tall, iron-bound gates.
    Those gates stood open as Conan approached, guarded by two warriors in nasaled helms and black breastplates, with long-bladed spears slanted smartly. Other pairs stood, as rigid as the stone they guarded, atop the towers, and more along the walls. The big Cimmerian’s lip curled in contempt for such guards. Like statues, they were, and as much use. On a moonlit night a blind thief could find his way between them without being seen.
    The sun now dropped toward the western horizon, and the guards at the massive gates were near the end of their watch, bored and with their minds filled with the food and wine and serving girls that awaited them in their barracks. Conan was within three paces before they realized that he truly meant to enter rather than merely pass by. In their experience, men such as he did not enter the palace of the Princess Royal unless on their way to her dungeons. Their spears dropped as one, long points presented to his chest.
    “Be off with you,” one of them growled.
    “I am here to see Taramis,” Conan announced.
    Their eyes ran over the sweat-caked dust that covered him, and sneers painted their faces. He who had spoken before opened his mouth. “You were told to—”
    Suddenly Bombatta was there, flinging a guard to either side as if he barely noticed they had been in his way. The guards slammed against the thick, iron-bound planks of the open gates and collapsed groggily. Bombatta stood where they had been, glaring at Conan, his hand opening and closing on his sword hilt.
    “You dare come here after—?” The massive scar-faced warrior drew a shuddering breath. His black eyes were on a level with Conan’s. “Where in Zandru’s Nine Hells did you get to?”
    “The camels frightened my horse,” Conan said carelessly. “Besides, I needed a tankard or two of wine to clear the dust from my throat after the ride back to Shadizar.”
    Bombatta ground his teeth. “Come with me,” he snapped, spinning to reenter the palace. The guards, just now rising to their feet, stayed carefully out of his way, but he shouted, “Togra! Replace those buffoons at the gate!” as soon as he was inside the walls.
    Conan followed, but he was no lackey to hurry after the other, as he must were he to catch up. Instead he took his own pace, ignoring Bombatta’s darkening face as he had to slow his own steps or leave the Cimmerian behind.
    A broad, flagstoned way led from the gate to the palace proper through an elaborate garden where marble fountains splashed and shimmered with watery mists and alabaster spires rose to treble the height of the outer wall. Here tall trees cast a pool of gentle shade. There open spaces were filled with flowering shrubs and plants brought from as far as Vendhya and Zingara. Formal walks laced through it all, and merely within Conan’s sight half a score gardeners, their short tunics and bare legs marking them slave, labored to increase its beauty.
    A portico of tall fluted columns surrounded the palace itself, and within was a profusion