The two of them exchanged a long look; then the one-eyed man reached down. Conan pulled himself up, putting a hand against the wall to steady himself. Leaning against a wall would not do, though. He took a tottering
step. His bones felt ready to bend, but he forced himself to move the other foot forward.
“It is too late for that one,” Prytanis’ voice came loudly from where he stood beside the chests, dagger in hand. Three already had their lids pried open. “I found some more of those leaves.”
Ghurran let the cloak fall back over the corpse’s face. “I was curious as to the sort of man who uses a poisoned blade. But I suppose new herbs are more important than dead men. More of the leaves, you say?”
Conan made another step, and another. The weakness was still on him, but he felt firmer in some fashion, less like a figure made of reeds.
Hordo followed him, looking like an anxious bear. “Are you all right, Cimmerian?”
“Right enough,” Conan told him, then laughed. “But moments ago I would have settled for living long enough to know the way of all this. Now I begin to think I may live a bit longer than that after all.”
“This body is too frail,” Ghurran said suddenly. “Too old!” He knelt, peering into one of the chests. All twenty had been opened, and some of their contents pulled out. There were more dried leaves, exactly like those in the first chest. There were saffron crystals that seemed, from the powder beneath the pile of them on the dirt floor, to crumble almost of their own weight, and tightly corded leather sacks, several of which had been sliced open to spill out what could have been salt except for its crimson color. Two of the chests contained clear vials filled with a verdant liquid and well-packed in linen bags of goose down.
“What ails you?” Conan asked. “I walk, as you said I would, and I will see that you get the gold Hordo promised you.” The one-eyed smuggler made a muffled sound of pained protest.
“Gold,” Ghurran snorted contemptuously.
“If not gold, then what?” Conan asked. “If any of the herbs or other substances in those chests can be of use to you, take them, leaving only a little for me. It seems we will be not be delivering them to the Zaporoska, but I still want to know why a man would try to kill to keep them hidden. A small portion of the leaves and the rest may help me find out.”
“Yes,” the herbalist said slowly, “you will want to find out, won’t you?” He hesitated. “I do not know exactly how to tell you this. If what I gave you had not been successful, there would have been no need to say anything. I hoped to find something in these chests, or more likely on the body. A man who carries a poisoned weapon will betimes also carry an antidote in case he himself is accidently wounded.”
“What need is there of antidotes?” Hordo demanded. “You have already counteracted the poison.”
Ghurran hesitated again, eying both Hordo and Conan in turn. “The treatment I have given you, northlander, has only masked the poison for a time.”
“But I feel no more than a slight ache in the head,” Conan said. “In an hour I will wrestle any man in Sultanapur.”
“And you will continue to feel so for another day or two perhaps, then the poison will take hold again. A permanent cure requires herbs that I know, but that can be found only in Vendhya.”
“Vendhya!” Hordo exclaimed. “Black Erlik’s bowels and bladder!”
Conan motioned Ghurran to speak on, and the old man did so. “You must go to Vendhya, northlander, and I must go with you, for a daily infusion prepared by me will be necessary to keep you alive. The journey is not one I look forward to, for this old body is not suited to such travels. You, however, may find the answers you seek in Vendhya.”
“Mayhap I will,” Conan said. “It will not be the first time my life has been measured out a day at a time.”
“But Vendhya,” Hordo protested. “Conan, they do not much like folk from this side of the Vilayet in Vendhya. If you with your accursed eyes are thought strange here, how will they think you there? We’ll lose our heads, like as not, and be lucky if we are not flayed first. Ghurran, are you sure there is nothing you can do here in Turan?”
“If he does not go to Vendhya,” Ghurran said, “he dies.”
“It is all right, my friend,” Conan told the one-eyed man. “I will find the antidote there, and answers. Why are those chests worth killing for? Patil was Vendhyan, and I cannot think they were destined elsewhere. Besides, you know I have to leave Sultanapur for a time anyway, unless I want to hide from the City Guard until they find Tureg Amal’s killer.”
“The chests,” Hasan said abruptly. “They can still be taken to the Zaporoska. Whoever was to meet Patil will not know he is dead. They will be waiting there, and they may have answers to our questions. They may even have an antidote.”
“ ’Tis better than Vendhya,” Hordo said quickly. “For one thing, it is closer. No need to travel to the ends of the world if we do not need to.”
“It cannot hurt to try,” Conan agreed. “An easier trip for your bones, Ghurran.” The old man shrugged his thin shoulders noncommitally.
“And if Patil’s friends do not have what you need,” Hordo added, “then we can think about Vendhya.”
“Hold there!” Prytanis strode into the middle of the room, glaring angrily. The other smugglers were listening drunkenly, but he alone seemed sober enough to truly understand what had been said. “Take the chests to the Zaporoska, you say. How are we to find the men we seek? The mouth of the Zaporoska is wide, with dunes and hills to hide an army on both sides.”
“When I agreed to carry Patil’s goods,” Hordo said, “I made sure he told me the signals that would be given by the men ashore, and the signs we must give in return.”
“But what profit is there in it?” Prytanis insisted. “The Vendhyan cannot pay. Do you think his companions will when we arrive without him? I say forget these chests and find a load of ‘fish’ that will put gold in our purses.”
“You spineless dog.” Hordo’s voice was low and seemed all the more deadly for it. “Conan is one of us and we stand together. How deep is the rot in you? Will you now throw goods over the side at the sight of a naval bireme, or abandon our wounded to the excisemen?”