“She’s no trull,” Conan said, “and she’ll carve your liver does she hear you name her so.” Immediately the words were gone he wished he had held his tongue.
“She’s here!” Machaon exclaimed. “What was her name?”
“Karela,” Narus said. “A temper like a thornbush, that one has.”
Machaon laughed suddenly. “She was the wench last night.” He shrugged at Conan’s glare. “Well, there’s no woman in the palace who’d need her bottom warmed to crawl into your blankets. It must have been her. I’d not bed her without my sword and armor, and mayhap a man to watch my back.”
“It was her,” the Cimmerian said, and added grudgingly, “She tried to put a dagger in me.”
“That sounds like the woman I remember,” Narus chortled. “From the yells, I’d say you taught her better manners.”
“Twould be sport,” Machaon crowed, “to stuff her and our Julia into a sack together.”
Tears ran down Narus’ face from his laughter. “I would pay coin to see that fight.”
“Erlik t
ake the pair of you,” Conan snarled. “There’s more danger in that woman than sport. She thinks she has a grievance against me, and she will cause trouble for the company if she can.”
“What can a woman do?” Narus said. “Nothing.”
“I would not like to wager my life on that,” Conan told him. “Not when the woman is Karela. I want you to ask questions in the taverns and the brothels. ’Tis possible she’s changed her name, but she cannot change the way she looks. A red-haired woman bandit with a body like one of Derketo’s handmaidens will be known to someone. Tell the others to keep their eyes open as well.”
“Why can you not manage her grievance as you did last night?” Machaon asked. “A smack on the bottom and to bed. Oh, very well—” he raised his hands in surrender as Conan opened his mouth for more angry words—“I will ask questions in the brothels. At least it gives me an excuse to spend more time at the House of the Doves.”
“Forget not the House of the Honeyed Virgins,” Narus added.
Conan scowled wordlessly. The fools did not know Karela as he did. He hoped for the sake of the company that they had time to learn before it was too late. Abruptly he became aware of the horn spoon of stew he still held, and put it in his mouth. “Fabio’s cooking horse again,” he said when he’d swallowed.
Narus froze with his own spoon half lifted. “Horse?” he gasped. Machaon stared at his bowl as if he expected it to leap from the table at him.
“Horse,” Conan said, tossing his spoon to the rough planks. Narus gagged. Not until he was out of the room did the Cimmerian permit a smile to grow on his face. The meat tasted like beef to him, but those two deserved the worrying they were going to do over what Fabio was feeding them.
“Conan!” Julia ran out of the door he had just exited, bouncing off his chest as he turned. Her hands clutched her robe at the waist, twisting nervously. “Conan, you didn’t … that is, last night … I mean … .” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Conan, you must speak to Fabio. He struck me. Look.” Half-turning she lifted her robe to expose the alabastrine rounds of her buttocks.
Conan was barely able to make out a pink stripe across the undercurve. He raised his gaze to her face. Her eyes were closed; the tip of her tongue continually wetted her full lips.
“I’ll speak to him,” he said gravely. Her eyes shot open, and a smile blossomed on her face. “I’ll tell him he must strike harder than that to make any impression on a stubborn pot-girl.”
“Conan!” she wailed. Hastily she covered herself, smoothing the pale wool over her hips. Her eyes became as hard as sapphires. “You had a woman in your … your chamber last night. I … I was passing in the corridor, and I heard.”
He smiled, and watched a blush spread over her cheeks. So she had had her ear pressed to his door, had she? “And what concern is that of yours?” he asked. “You are here to scrub pots and stir the stew, to fetch and carry for Fabio. Not to be wandering parts of the palace where you have no business.”
“But you kissed me,” she protested. “And the way you kissed me! You cannot make me feel like that, then calmly walk away. I’m a woman, curse you! I’m eighteen! I will not be dismissed like a plaything.”
For the second time in the space of hours, he mused, a woman was protesting her womanhood to him. But what a contrast between them. Karela was bold and defiant even as she melted with passion; Julia frightened despite her bluff front. Karela knew well the ways of men and women; Julia was ravaged by a kiss. Karela knew who she was and what she wanted; Julia … .
“Do you want to come to my bed?” he said softly, taking her chin in his hand and tilting her face up. Scarlet suffused her face and neck, but she did not try to wrench free. “Say yes, and I’ll carry you there this moment.”
“The others,” she whispered. “They’ll know.”
“Forget them. ’Tis you must chose.”
“I cannot, Conan.” She sobbed when he released her, and leaned toward him as if seeking his touch. “I want to say yes, but I fear to. Can you not just … take me? Men do such things, I know. Why must you put this burden I do not want on me?”
Barely four years seperated them, yet at that moment he felt it could as well be four hundred. “Because you are not a slave, Julia. You say you are a woman, but when you are truly a woman you will be able to say yes or no, and know it is what you mean to say. But till then … well, I take only women to my bed, not frightened girls.”
“Erlik curse you,” she said bitterly. Instantly she was contrite, one hand raised to touch his cheek. “No, I didn’t mean that. You confuse me so. When you kissed me you made me want to be a woman. Kiss me again, and make me remember. Kiss me, and give me the courage I need.”