Free Conan The Freelance by Steve Perry Page B

all he saw. He had practiced his spells for five hundred years, after all, and he would not make the same mistakes he had made before. He would be Dimma the Mist Mage no longer, but instead Dimma the Destroyer. Perhaps he would make himself king, and even allow Seg to be his queen-until he got bored with her, of course, and found some nubile beauty to replace her. And after that one, another and another. There was much to be done, after all the years of inactivity. Pleasures to be had, armies to be slain, villages and even countries to enslave, all at the whim of Dimma the Destroyer.
    Yes. He much liked the sound of that.
    Ahead, Conan saw the rocky outcrop that must be the habitat of the Pili. The three-toed tracks of the deceased Korga led directly toward the low stone mound, which seemed more a jumble of giant rocks piled upon the desert by a careless god than anything else.
    Conan squatted and observed the mound. The Pili had chosen a location from which they could observe approach from any direction. Aside from occasional clumps of dry bush, the land was bare around the mound for half an hour’s fast walk. Even using the sporadic cover of the bushes, it would take a skilled man to manage a surprise visit to the Pili. In daylight, a party of three or more would likely find it impossible, were even a half-blind guard posted.
    There was the key, Conan decided. A careful man could sneak close under cover of night, assuming he kept downwind to avoid watch beasts. Assuming also that the Pili’s night vision was no more sharp than a man’s. Risky, perhaps, but was not Conan planning to become a successful thief when he reached Shadizar? One had to begin practice somewhere.
    Conan moved to a roundish clump of brush and settled into its shade. Darkness would not be long in coming. He would wait; in the meanwhile, he would sleep.
    Kleg, his hunger sated and his form once again that which resembled a man, looked up at the clearing sky. The rain had finally diminished and, even as he watched, stopped entirely. The late-afternoon air was cool and evening fast approaching. They would resume their homeward journey on the morrow, he decided.
    Awake in her bed, Thayla was restless. She hoped her fool of a husband could recover the talisman of the Tree Folk, but there was no guarantee of success. That the Pili were in decline could not be denied, but with that magical token, they might establish themselves far enough away from the trails of men to become once again a powerful force. Then those things that should be hers by right could be made to happen, but until then, life might be a precarious thing.
    Thayla threw the silk sheet from her and lay naked on the bed, her voluptuous body exposed to the night air. She needed a male, she decided, but she deemed none of those left behind by her husband satisfactory. He had taken the strongest and best ones with him, and Thayla was certain he had done so deliberately to thwart her desires. As a married female, she was not allowed to lie with any other than her husband, but that was a formality as far as she was concerned. Still, the cream of the Pili had gone with the king, leaving behind mostly females, children, and old males; with a few young stalwarts who had strength, but little experience as lovers. She did not feel like teaching a new male old tricks on this night.
    No, Thayla wanted a lover with power and grace and endurance and she wanted him now.
    Too bad, she thought. Maybe a prayer to the Great Dragon will bring results, eh? A gift from the Gods?
    The Queen of the Pili rolled over onto her stomach and clutched one of the silken pillows to her bosom. The Gods help those who help themselves, she thought, sighing. Which of the boring young males could she send her chambermaid to fetch?
    Conan worked his way toward the rocky mound with the skill of a hunter stalking a wary deer. Under the blanket of night, even his sharp eyes had trouble seeing much detail in the desert, though the