The Sword of Skelos Read Online Free PDF

with you—to some accommodations I fear you will not like so well as this fine inn wherein you have tried to mislead a distinguished foreign visitor!”
    “Aye,” Khassek petulantly said, “and take-this awful sword with you!” Half-turning, he brought up the great Ubarsi knife. An instant later, he was standing behind Ferhad, the sword-arm across the man’s chest and his other tawny hand holding a dagger at his throat.
    “None of you move! Lord Ferhad: Give order that all swords and that crossbow are to be placed on that table to your right!”
    “Wha—wha—you can’t—let me g—ah! Careful with that dagger, man!”
    “Aye, it is honed to razor-sharpness, as I have tender skin and use it to shave, daily. The order, Ferhad!”
    Ferhad gave the order. The crossbowman raised the point that his weapon was cocked and dangerous. Khassek advised the man to shoot the quarrel into the wall just below the ceiling, and Ferhad confirmed. Soon the quarrel thunked home and remained there, high above the floor, quivering only a little; a souvenir for the Red Lion’s owner.
    “Conan,” Khassek said, “do persuade our host to show us his cellar.”
    “Cellar!” Ferhad echoed in a yelp, and his adam’s apple bobbed against the chill blade of Khassek’s knife. Trying not to swallow, Ferhad stood as tall and stiff as a military recruit, and said no more.

III
FAREWELL TO SHADIZAR
    Imraz, the large-eyed proprietor of the Red Lion, lifted a squared trap in the floor of his pantry. One by one, the four men of Shadizar’s City Watch grumblingly descended into darkness. Each shot a last dark look at the huge barbarian who stood above, grinning just a bit as he leaned on a sword—their sergeant’s.
    “My dear lord Ferhad,” Khassek said, “I am grievously sorry, but see no way out of this other than to beg you to join those men below.”
    “Below!”
    “Try to look on the good side,” Conan said. “Maybe our host Imraz keeps his best vintages down there.”
    “Morelike rotting turnips, spiderwebs and mushrooms,” Ferhad said tightly, which was the only way he could speak with his head tilted back. “Why not tie me and leave me up here? Pent in the dark with those common soldiers—”
    “—who doubtless know many fine stories for your entertainment, my good lord.” Khassek released the man, easing out his handsome sword as he did. “Below, and I wish you a good good evening.”

    “Me too,” Conan said as the fancily dressed fellow gingerly set foot on the top of the seven old wooden steps that led down into earth-smelly darkness. Conan neatly plucked Ferhad’s gem-winking dagger from its sheath.
    “You will both be very, very sorry for this,” the descending Ferhad promised.
    “Well, just you come up to Brythunia and talk with us about that,” Khassek said affably.
    “Brythunia!”
    Khassek kicked the trap down. “Doesn’t lock, does it,” he muttered, and looked up to see the Red Lion’s owner backing slowly.
    Conan took four quick steps. “No no Imraz, no running off now. Here, help us to move that big full keg over atop the trap, there’s a good man.”
    With a bit of grunting, the three men accomplished the barrel’s moving and placement. Conan glanced through the pantry doorway to see several faces gazing interestedly in at the front door.
    “Ho!” he cried. “Hand me that crossbow!”
    The faces vanished and Khassek trotted lightly through the inn to slam and bar the door. When he turned back, he was frowning. “Just realized… Imraz! Where is that serving wench of yours?”
    His host blinked. “Why—I know not—”
    “Damn! Gone by a rear door to fetch even more brave soldiery—the King’s Own this time, I have little doubt. Conan—”
    “We take all these swords and daggers, and the crossbow,” Conan said. “We take him with us.” He nodded at the taverner. “We go out the back, and we
run
!”
    “I doubt Imraz can roll this huge keg off the trap all by himself,”