Free Conan The Freelance by Steve Perry

seven of the man-sized and mostly stupid lizards, who dashed back and forth in their high-fenced yard excitedly.
    “Silence, you ignorant beasts!”
    The Korga master was an old Pili; he had been old when, as a child, Thayla had first seen him, and he seemed unchanged in all that time. “What is it, Rawl-)”
    The old Pili shrugged. “I cannot say, my lady. The Korga smell something out there.”
    “What are you going to do about it?”
    He shrugged again. “Nothing. The king told me to keep this bunch penned.”
    “The king is not here and I am. Release the Korga to go and chase whatever is bothering them so that we may have quiet here.”
    “By your command, Queen Thayla.”
    Rawl opened the gate to the pen and the Korga dashed out in that funny gait they had, their thick tails stuck out behind for balance as they ran. She did not much care for the things, and were it up to her, would keep none about the caves. They ate more than they provided, and it was only the male Pili who thought they had any value. Probably because the males were closer to the Korga in thought and action, she thought. There were enough troops left to protect the caves without the stupid beasts slavering about, and good riddance. Mayhaps they would not return. There was a pleasant thought.
    Conan saw the approaching figures long before they arrived. His fiery blue eyes took in the scene, and he knew he was about to meet another batch of the Pili’s dragonlike hounds. He rolled his shoulders, limbering them, and pulled his sword. A cursory glance told the Cimmerian youth that there was no cover to be had. There was a small hill, not more than thrice his own height, a short ways to his left; that would give him the higher ground, something of an advantage, but not much. He had perhaps a minute or so before the reptilian creatures arrived, so he trotted toward the rise and began to climb.
    When he was nearly to the top of the hillock, Conan almost fell into a pit. Due to the nature of the ground, he had not seen it until he was nearly upon it. The sandy depression was fairly deep, perhaps nearly his own height, and the sides were angled down sharply. Odd, the pit, he seemed to recall seeing something like it before, but he could not quite remember where.
    Conan circumvented the pit and reached the pinnacle of the small hill. Perhaps one of the Korga would fall into the hole, were it moving fast enough to miss seeing it in time. True, it could climb out easily enough, but the effort would give Conan more time to dispatch the others.
    He shifted his grip on the sword handle until it felt perfect. Seven of them. Bad odds. Well, if this were to be his last battle, he would sell himself as dearly as he could. He would arrive in front of Crom with as many of these beasts as he could bring. He hoped Crom had forgotten about their earlier meeting, but it had been recent enough that Conan doubted that happening.
    The lizard beasts came, hissing and growling. They seemed to take no notice of the change in terrain, but clambered up the hillock in lunging bounds, teeth flashing in their scaled muzzles as they drew nearer.
    Conan cocked the sword back over his right shoulder. Perhaps he could cleave through two at once, did he swing hard enough.
    Perhaps some god felt benevolent this day, for the first of the onrushing beasts never thought to look for its footing and fairly sailed into the pit just below where Conan stood. The big Cimmerian, even though staring his death in the eyes, managed to find a smile. Foolish beast.
    The other Korga, however, seeing the fate of their leader, slowed their headlong run and circled around the pit.
    Conan shifted to his left as the sun’s hot light flashed on the fangs of the nearest beast. As the thing lunged toward him, Conan swung the blued-iron blade with all his strength. The sword sang in the air as it bit into the Korga’s neck, found a space between bones, and sheared the thing’s head cleanly from its