Conan: Road of Kings by Karl Edward Wagner Read Free Book Online Page A

the hand-and-a-half sword for duelling, but in time I predict you’ll see the rapier supplant the bastard sword, and the slash give way to the thrust.”
    “There’s not enough stopping power to a thrust from one of those narrow blades,” Conan disagreed. “I’ve seen a drunken Æsir mercenary take a rapier thrust through the heart, then go on to cut his slayer in half and kill two of his friends, before he stumbled over a bench and died. Split a man’s skull, and if he doesn’t fall, walk around and see what he’s leaning against. You can have your fine techniques and rapier thrusts. Give me a strong blade with a good edge, and I’ll cut my way out of any scrap.”
    “Of course,” Mordermi’s tone held just enough sarcasm that Conan didn’t miss it this time. “Well, I’m sure you made a believer out of Captain Rinnova though, didn’t you? Do you want to try it?”
    Mordermi drew his sword.
    “Just to be certain you like the balance,” he grinned. “First blood?”
    Although Conan disliked the sham bloodletting that civilized men considered well-bred virility, the proposal was innocent enough. Conan wished he could read the lambent moods that flickered behind the veil of Mordermi’s eyes.
    Mordermi guarded himself, waiting politely for Conan to initiate the play. Conan, feeling foolish, made an awkward thrust that Mordermi easily evaded. There was nothing awkward to Mordermi’s riposte, and Conan caught the rapier point upon his guard at the final instant.
    Angered, Conan flung aside Mordermi’s blade, rotated his wrist for an upward slash in the same movement. At the last moment he realized the swordtip would inflict a crippling wound to his friend’s brachial plexus; he turned the point just as it touched the armpit, and Mordermi shivered away in the split second that Conan’s hesitation had given him.
    The slash would have inflicted permanent injury; shaken, Conan reminded himself that this was only a game. Mordermi felt no such qualms; before Conan could recover, his blade slashed for the Cimmerian’s face. Conan parried desperately, but Mordermi was faster. Their blades rang together, sprang away. Conan felt a tug alongside his jaw. Already his broadsword, following the instinctive movement of his swordarm, was again engaged with Mordermi’s blade as the other sought to withdraw. The heavier blade caught the rapier near its hilt, snagged the elaborate guard, and the force of Conan’s blow ripped the hilt from Mordermi’s hand.
    “Conan!”
    Sandokazi’s scream snapped him to awareness. His broadsword was raised for a killing blow. Mordermi was spinning to reach for his rapier—seemingly suspended in midair.
    Conan froze. The rapier struck the floor, bounded upward. Mordermi caught it up.
    “You’re bleeding,” Mordermi said calmly.
    Conan touched his jaw. There was warm wetness from the shallow cut there.
    “What madness is this?” Sandokazi demanded. “I heard the clash of steel…”
    “Sorry,” Conan muttered sheepishly, looking at the blood on his fingers. “I’m not used to doing this for sport.”
    “I should have known better than to relax my guard,” Mordermi said easily. “No matter. The exercise was instructive.”
    “Mitra, what were you two…?”
    “Conan wanted to try the balance of his broadsword, and I was curious to test the swordarm that mastered Rinnova,” Mordermi told her. “Conan has a theory…”
    “That was a slash you used,” Conan protested, remembering.
    “As I said, a rapier is a versatile weapon,” Mordermi shrugged. “You should have seen this, ’Kazi. Conan wields that broadsword as if it were an extension of his arm and no heavier than his finger.”
    “And you call Santiddio scatterbrained!” Sandokazi shook her head. “I think I’ll catch up with my brother and listen to him exchange verbal barbs with his rivals. No blood to clean up afterward.”
    “Oh, don’t bet on that,” Mordermi murmured, as she stalked away. “Even