"Nay, I say again. You may do what you will with the man, so long as I can remove his heart from his still-living form. "

Djavul laughed. "So, you still seek to make yourself a new toy?" The demon nodded toward the form on Djuvula's bed. "I could easily summon better from the Depths for you, sister. Why, I would even undertake your pleasures myself-"

"Thank you, no," Djuvula said. "I'll not put myself into the thrall of a demon-lover, no matter how adept. The price would be more than I would care to pay."

Djavul chuckled. "Aye, were I you, I, too, would likely refuse such an offer; still, there is no harm in trying, is there?"

"I would expect no less of you, brother. But bide a moment; I have spells to produce . . . ."

Vitarius looked up, startled, as Conan stormed into the room. "Where have you been?" the old mage asked. "We expected you this morning-"

"Never mind, I shall explain later. Are we supplied? Ready to travel?"

"Aye. Eldia and her sister are waiting at the provisioner's; I thought it best to wait here for you-"

"Then let us depart, Vitarius. Now."

"You have acquired sufficient funds . . . ?"

"We must be on our way, old man. No time to tarry. There was some . . .

trouble during my venture. It would be best to clear the city gates quickly."

There were four horses, saddles of fair quality for each animal, and a pack beast tethered at a post in one of the twisted alleys Conan was coming to hate. Eldia and Kinna stood nearby. The older sister had obtained a thick bra.s.sbound staff, her own height in length. It was Kinna who spoke first when she saw the Cimmerian and the White magician approaching.

"Conan! Where are your clothes?"

"I was hot," he replied.

The woman seemed as if she might inquire further, but apparently thought better of it, for she spoke no more. Conan strode past her and into the provisioner's shop.

The owner of the establishment was a swarthy man of small frame, with a gold tooth gleaming in the rays of the afternoon sun, allowed inside by a large window. He exposed the tooth hesitantly at the sight of the big man moving toward him.

"I need a sword," Conan said, "something with heft and length. And a cloak."

"I have a stock of both," Gold-tooth replied. "And breeches, tunics, boots-"

"Aye, boots."

The proprietor led Conan to a second room, filled with supplies. Conan tried on several pairs of boots, but found none large enough. He settled for some thick-soled sandals with leg lashings; they would do well enough, since he was riding and not walking. A well-spun cloak, dyed indigo, was draped over his shoulders, and he nodded. It would suffice. Finally, he chose a sword. He found a double-edged blade as long as the distance between his outstretched fingertips and the middle of his chest. The handle was more ornate than he liked, but the steel seemed sound, and the edges were of sufficient sharpness to shave hair from the back of one hand. He would rather have had his own broadsword, but this one would have to do.

"A wise choice," Gold-tooth said. "The steel is of the many-folds variety, brought all the way from Turan."

"Do you know gems?" Conan asked.

"Why, certainly. I am pa.s.sing familiar with-"

"Examine this, then." Conan dug into his belt purse and produced the single emerald remaining from the booty he had attempted to remove from Lemparius's household. He flipped the stone at the man's face.

Gold-tooth deftly picked the jewel from the air. He held it up to the light and squinted at the emerald. From his jacket he produced an eyegla.s.s, and used the instrument to peer at the stone. Conan saw the man's eyes widen at the sight of the emerald.

"Well?"

"It-ah-has some value," Gold-tooth said. From the way he spoke, Conan thought the man's mouth had gone dry.

"Enough to pay for our supplies?"

The merchant started to smile, stopped, then turned the expression into a frown. "It-ah-would go some way as payment, yes. Perhaps . . . half, I would think."

Conan had dealt with men such as Gold-tooth; they would lie to their own mothers without a second thought, especially when matters of money were in question.

"In Zamora," Conan began, "such a precious stone would buy a dozen horses and five times the supplies you have furnished."

Gold-tooth's eyes narrowed, but his voice remained bland. "Perhaps it is so; however, this is not Zamora. Perhaps I might allow three-quarters of the debt for this-ah-bauble."

Conan shook his head, and his blue eyes sent a penetrating gaze at the small man. "I have not the time to play bargaining games with you. You shall have the stone for our supplies; speak no more about it."

"Oh? It seems to me that I hold the upper hand here, outlander. I can choose not to trade." Despite his words, he maintained his hold on the emerald, greed showing in his face.

Conan pulled his new sword from its stiff leathern sheath and aimed the point of the blade at Gold-tooth's throat. "No more of your unctuous babble, merchant! Accept the trade and live. Refuse at your peril!"

"I-ah-have-ah-men I can call!" Gold-tooth's voice trembled. He licked his lips, flashing his tooth at Conan.

"Do," Conan said. "Such would make my day. A thick coat of blood upon your stock would no doubt improve its appearance. Call your men."

Gold-tooth swallowed dryly, and licked his lips again. "I find that-ah-I am willing to accept the loss on-ah-the trade as you suggest-in the interests of maintaining-ah-good market relations."

Conan grinned. "I thought you might see it so." He turned and walked quickly from the room, his cape flaring behind him. He found Vitarius and the sisters awaiting him.

"Mount," Conan commanded. "It is time we departed this rabbit warren."

Lemparius waved his left arm at his men and yelled loudly in his anger.

"Fifty solons to the man who brings me the barbar! Breathing. And slow torture to the man responsible if the barbarian dies before I see him again."

A hundred men stared at the senator, nodding. None spoke.

"Go. I will not have him escape!"

The deputies left the courtyard at a double-time pace, accompanied by Lemparius's curses. His left fist clenched tightly, but not his right-that arm was securely bandaged and strapped to his body, protection for the wound which ran from elbow to wrist in length, and to the bone. Had such a wound been inflicted by an ordinary weapon, it would already have been healed; since the cut was made by his own saber-tooth knife, which bore a cat-enchantment, it would fare as any normal man's surgery.

d.a.m.n the barbarian! He would learn the meaning of pain once he was returned. Djuvula would have no need of his heart, of that Lemparius was certain-he could fill her needs. But Conan owed him for this injury.

Loganaro was close to panic. The barbarian and his party were leaving, an idiot could see that. How was he to stop them? The thought of facing Lemparius made the fat agent shudder. On the other hand, the idea of trying to stand against the truculent barbarian also had little appeal.

The four mounted their horses as Loganaro watched. By Yama, he could not simply allow them to leave! He must delay them somehow, must invent some story that would keep the barbarian in Mornstadinos until he could gather help.

With that thought Loganaro ran forward, mind working frantically.

"Sir," he called, "delay a moment! You remember me, don't you? I am Loganaro, we met in the village-" He stopped and gawked at Conan. Two things he noticed at once: The barbarian was pulling his sword-a new blade, from its look-and at his side he carried Lemparius's curved knife, sheathless, through his belt!