The Sword of Skelos Read Online Free

dangerous; anyone could see that, anyone who knew what to look for. He was unusually tall and built massively. His mop of black hair was square-cut above blue eyes. He wore a short tunic of good green over nothing, and the garment’s unusual deeply v-cut front displayed the molded muscular plates of his great chest. Sword and dagger swung from a belt of worn old leather, which

    was slung low on lean hips. A tribal amulet of pitiful “jewelry” lay on his chest, slung on a leathern cord: a longish blob of red-brown clay set with a bit of yellowish glass that was definitely not a gemstone. Probably something to do with his religion, whatever that might be, or a ward against disease or evil eye. His only other decor was a nice little gold ring on the smallest finger of his left hand. Set with an emerald of no great size, it did not appear to be a man’s ring.
    About this youth there was a look, almost an aura of savagery barely contained, of constant readiness for violence. He spoke again.
    “Once I knew another man of Iranistan. We met in the home of a certain man of certain powers. Only coincidence brought us there at the same time, of an evening. Together, we fought off guardians who were not… natural men. Then two serpents emerged from a panel in a certain door: vipers. Both bit the man of Iranistan. He died while I watched, powerless to aid him.”
    Standing over the table, Conan removed Yavuz’s cloak while he watched the other man decide that Conan knew who he was, and choose whether to dissemble or no. When he decided to speak, his words were relatively straightforward, assuming that each knew who the other was and why both were here. At the same time he maintained some caution: “Was his name Yusuphar?”
    “You are interested in talking? —With me
not
trussed up?”
    “I may be.”
    “Do you wait, then, while I give this cloak to the taverner. It belongs to Yavuz, whom I did not kill.”
    The seated Iranistani showed a little frown. “The other—”
    “He sought to strike me from behind. I dodged, and struck second. He did not dodge. Had I known he wanted only to take me alive, I might not have opened his throat with my sword.”
    The other man nodded. “Deep?”
    “He is dead,” Conan said, and walked among the tables to the taverner.
    “This cloak was loaned me tonight,” he told that large-eyed man, “by a good friend. His name is Yavuz and he wears a scar that splits his beard, here.” Conan touched his own cleanshaven face. “I told him I would leave the cloak on that peg nearest the door.”
    “It might disappear if you do that now. I know Yavuz. Best give me the cloak; I will hang it there when I open on the morrow.”
    “Good. I would hate for it to disappear. Once a man tried to cheat my friend Yavuz, and now he is called Three-finger. I am joining the Iranistani. Do bring him another, and me a cup of your best wine. There’s gold on the table.”
    The taverner looked. “Hmp. Also a sword. That will have to be put out of sight. You would do best to let me hold yours, too, until you are ready to go.”
    “I shall get the other one out of sight. I am bodyguard to that wealthy Iranistani, and must keep my arms.” Without yielding time for a reply, Conan turned and walked back to the table. Standing, he said, “Lean your oversized knife against the wall there on your left.”
    The Iranistani’s smile was tiny as he did so; the youth had swiftly noted that he was left-handed and could not quickly whip up a wall-leaned sword on that side. Conan sat down facing him.
    “Was his name Yusuphar, this other man of Iranistan you met by accident in the home of a certain man of certain powers?”
    “We both know that it was not,” Conan said. “His name was Ajhindar. He told me that another of his land was about: a spy on him. He bore a blade such as that one I took from two hired men—kidnapers, not killers. One is dead and the other probably still running. You have your weapon and your