“Well?” Jondra demanded as she stalked up to him. “I suppose you have seen nothing either?”
The hawkfaced huntsman seemed taken aback at her tone, but he recovered quickly and swept a bow before her. “My lady, what you seek, I give to you.” He shot a challenging look at Conan as he straightened. ‘‘I, Arvaneus, son of Lord Andanezeus, give it to you.”
“You have found it?” Excitement brightened her face. “Where, Arvaneus?”
“A bare league to the east, my lady. I found the marks of great claws as long as a man’s hand, and followed them for some distance. The tracks were made this day, and there cannot be another creature in these mountains to leave such spoor as human eyes have never before seen.”
The entire camp stared in amazement as Jondra leaped spinning into the air, then danced three steps of a jig. “It must be. It must. I will give you gold to make you wealthy for this, Arvaneus. Find this beast for me, and I will give you an estate.”
“I want no gold.” Arvaneus said huskily, his black eyes suddenly hot. “Nor estates.”
Jondra froze, staring at him, then turned unsteadily away. “Prepare horses,” she commanded. “I would see these tracks.”
The huntsman looked worriedly at the sky. The sun, giving little warmth in these mountains, lay halfway to the western horizon from its zenith. ‘‘It is late to begin a hunt. In the morning, at first light—”
“Do you question my commands?” she snapped. “I am no fool to start a hunt for a dangerous beast with night approaching, but I will see those tracks. Now! Twenty men. The rest will remain in camp and prepare for the hunt tomorrow.”
“As you command, my lady,” Arvaneus muttered. He glared malevolently at Conan as Jondra turned to the big Cimmerian and spoke in a soft voice.
“Will you ride with me, Conan? I … I would feel much safer.” The awkwardness of her words and the coloring of her cheeks gave her the lie. With obvious difficulty, she added, “Please?”
Wordlessly Conan rose and walked to the picket line. Arvaneus barked orders, and others joined the Cimmerian. As Conan was fastening his saddle girth, he became aware of Tamira, making a great show of idly petting the nose of a roan next to his tall black.
“Will you ride with me, Conan?” she mimicked softly. “I will feel so much safer.” She twisted up her face as if to spit.
Conan let out a long breath. “I’d not like to see either of you dead, or a hillman’s slave. You will be safer here than will she out there, so I go with her.”
He stepped up into the high-pommeled Zamoran saddle. Tamira trotted alongside as he rode from the hollow where the horses were picketed. “You will be out there,” she told him, “and so will she. You could return to find me gone, Conan. And the rubies. What is to keep me here?”
“Why, you’ll be waiting for me,” he laughed, booting his mount to a trot. A hurled rock bounced off his shoulder, but he did not look back.
Chapter 16
The party of Zamoran hunters made their way in single file along the gullies and clefts that lined the mountains like wrinkles of ancient age on the face of the earth. Arvaneus led, since he knew the way, and Jondra rode close behind him. Conan, in turn, kept close to the tall noblewoman. There would be little time to spare when protection was needed. The mountains seemed to press in on them malignly, even when their way opened enough for a score of men or more to ride abreast.
The big Cimmerian’s eyes searched the jagged crags and steep slopes around them constantly, and with instincts long buried in civilized men he probed for his enemies. No sign of hillmen did he see, no hint of them came to his senses, but menace still oozed from the stones. Outwardly he seemed at ease, but he was dry tinder waiting for a spark.
Abruptly Arvaneus drew rein where the walls of rock were steep and close. “There, my lady,” the huntsman said, pointing to the ground. “Here is the first track I found.”
Jondra scrambled from her saddle to kneel by a small patch of clay. The deep marks of two massive claws and part of a third were impressed there. “It is larger than I thought,” she murmured, running two slender fingers into one impression.
“We have seen the tracks,” Conan said. The oppressive air seemed thicker to him. “Let us return to the camp.”
Arvaneus’ lip curled in a sneer. “Are you afraid, barbar? My lady, there are more tracks further on. Some are complete.”
“I must see that,” Jondra exclaimed. Swinging into her saddle she galloped ahead, and Arvaneus spurred after her.
Conan exchanged a look with Telades—by the shaven-headed hunter’s sour face he liked this as little as the Cimmerian—then they and the rest of the column of horsemen followed.
As it had often before, the narrow passage opened out. This time it led into a small canyon, perhaps a hundred paces wide, with five narrow draws cutting its steep brown walls. Conan eyed those openings suspiciously. Any enemy hidden in those would be on them before they had time to react. The hillmen’s favorite tactic was the ambush.
&nb
sp; On the floor of the canyon the spoor of the beast was plentiful. Tracks leading both in and out showed that the beast had explored the narrow cuts. Unease permeated the column; hunters shifted their spears nervously, or reached back to touch the cased bows behind their saddles, and horses danced and shied. Jondra uncased her bow as she dismounted at the track Arvaneus pointed out, and nocked an arrow before kneeling to examine it. The hawk-faced huntsman frowned at the ground around him, attempting with only partial success to control his mount’s quick sidesteps.
Conan found himself wondering about that frown. Arvaneus had seen this canyon and the tracks that filled it only a short time before. What was there for him to frown about? The big Cimmerian’s breath caught in his throat. Unless there were more tracks than he had seen before. If that was true they must leave immediately.
Conan opened his mouth, and a shrill ululation split the air, chilling the blood, making the horses buck and scream. Jondra’s mount tore the reins from her hands and bolted, nostrils flaring and eyes rolling wildly, leaving the noblewoman standing like a statue of ice. With difficulty the Cimmerian pulled his big black around. “Crom,” he breathed into the din filling the stone walls.