Conan the Barbarian by L. Sprague de Camp, Lin Carter Read Free Book Online

motion with one blunt-fingered hand. When Conan still hesitated, the Pit-master repeated the unequivocal gesture with greater emphasis.
    The young barbarian bent over the crumpled woman, who seemed to have lost consciousness. His sword swung up and fell in a chopping blow. Still bent, he thrust the point of his sword into the earth, grasped the blonde braid, and raised the severed head for the enjoyment of the chieftains. The crowd roared its satisfaction.
    “At that moment," the king related to me, “I hated myself. Never have I told this tale before, for the deed is one of the few of which I am ashamed. True, the woman was dying, and the death I dealt her was perhaps more merciful than letting her die slowly; but still, the deed was vile and cowardly to a Cimmerian. Then I bethought me of Toghrul, who had made me thus to despise myself. All my hatred focused on him, and I swore that one day I would repay him for my shame.”
    The welled scum along his brow, etched by the Hyperborean woman's sword, was only one of several that scarred Conan's face and body during that summer in the Pit. The barbarian youth became a good rough-and-ready fighter, making up hi sheer strength and reach what he lacked in the more subtle understanding of the martial arts. But his lack of these refinements worried Toghrul. Some day, he feared, Ins youthful champion would be pitted against a swordsman of comparable strength but of superior skills. Then Conan would be maimed or slain and, in either case, would have no further value to the games-man.
    So, as autumn once more painted the forests red and gold, Toghrul took his troupe far to the east, across the bleak plains of Hyperborea to a town called Valamo, near the farthest reaches of that land. There dwelt a master swordsman, whom Toghrul meant to hire to teach the Cimmerian more skilful handling of his blade. There, too, Toghrul looked to buy potential Pit fighters in the local slave market; for death had thinned the troupe to half its former number.
    They made the two month's journey in a well-guarded caravan. At every stopping place, first the Æsir and later the Hyperboreans gathered to admire Toghrul’s champion, who had become famous for his exploits and gigantic strength. On these occasions, the Pit master, a showman to the core, would strip the young barbarian and display him naked on a revolving platform from which four iron chains extended upward to the slave collar that he wore. Nordheimers and their women gladly paid their copper coins to stare with curious, appraising eyes at Conan's magnificent physique.
    Conan returned their stares with stolid indifference. He guessed that it would have amused them to witness the arousal of his body by the seductive smiles and sidelong glances of the women; but he was determined to deny them even this small pleasure, lie hated them all.
    At Valamo, on the distant borders of Hyrkania, the master swordsman, a Hyrkanian named Oktar, imparted his secrets to the Cimmerian. All through the winter, the youth drilled and practised under Oktar’s direction. By the time spring melted winter’s heavy snows, Toghrul was satisfied that nothing remained to teach his champion.
    During his stay, Conan learned much about these eastern lands of which he had heard only the scantiest of rumours. As Toghrul’s most favoured Pit fighter, he was often allowed to spend the evening hours in the Pit master’s yurt, when his master entertained the warlords and chieftains who drifted into Valamo from time to time to buy and sell or to trade gossip. Sometimes Toghrul was honoured by the presence of Turanians, men of Hyrkanian stock who had drawn ahead of their nomadic fellows in the arts and sciences of civilization, and who, on the western shores of the Vilayet Sea, had reared glittering cities and learned the ways of urban life.
    Most of the time, Conan sat cross-legged and silent on the carpeted floor of his master’s yurt. But when opportunity arose, he would ply