Free Conan of Venarium by Harry Turtledove Page B

from a guarded door at the far end of the barracks hall. Granth would have bet Count Stercus lived in the chamber beyond that door. He had no time to dwell on that, though, for Nario asked, “What do you wish of me?”
    “Sir, I have a letter for you from my commander, Captain Treviranus, up at the place called Duthil,” answered Granth.
    “Do you indeed?” Nario’s smile showed even, very white teeth. “Give it to me, then. I shall be pleased to read it, and I shall write an answer on the spot.”
    “Yes, sir.” Granth handed the officer the rolled-up parchment, meanwhile concealing his own annoyance. He had hoped to deliver the message and be on his way. Now he would have to wait around until Captain Nario not only read what his own commander had to say but came up with a reply.
    And then, quite suddenly, he did not mind waiting any more. A very pretty Cimmerian girl carrying a pitcher of wine and two goblets on a tray came into the barracks. She could not have been above sixteen, and wore little enough that she would have had a hard time sneaking anything lethal into the room at the end of the hall. The guards there did not try to search her, but let her in unchallenged.
    Granth had stared and stared. So had a good many of the soldiers in the barracks, though they seemed more used to her presence than he was. In a hoarse voice, he asked, “Who is she?”
    “She’s Count Stercus’ plaything,” answered Captain Nario, looking up from his writing. He noticed that Granth’s eyes had not left the doorway through which the Cimmerian girl had passed: noticed and started to laugh. “Don’t hope you’ll see her again coming out, my good fellow. She won’t come out of there for quite a while.”
    “Oh.” Granth felt foolish. His ears got hot.
    Nario laughed again, so Granth supposed his flush was only too visible. He felt more foolish yet. He had been ready to face roaring Cimmerian warriors. How could a nearly naked Cimmerian serving girl unman him so? He mumbled, “She’s too young,” and looked down at the ground between his boots.
    “Our distinguished commander would disagree with you, and his is the only opinion that matters,” said Nario in a silky voice. “And now I am going to do you a considerable favor: I am not going to ask you what your name is.”
    For a moment, Granth did not see what sort of favor that was. He was a young man, and inclined to be naive. But then he realized what Captain Nario was driving at, and flushed again. This time, he knew precisely the mistake he had made. “Thank you, sir,” he said.
    “You are welcome.” The officer finished writing, melted some sealing wax at a brazier, and used it and a ribbon to close his letter. The seal on his signet ring was of a fire-breathing dragon, which showed in reverse when he pressed it into the wax. He said, “Now you should make yourself unwelcome, if you follow my meaning, for others more zealous than I may have heard you and may be curious about your choice of words.”
    This time, Granth had no trouble taking the hint. He left the barracks in a hurry, with Vulth and Benno and Daverio trailing after him. For a wonder, none of his companions chaffed him until they were out of the encampment altogether. Then, leering, Benno asked, “Did you want to rescue the wench or just to keep her for yourself?”
    “Mitra!” ejaculated Granth in an agony of embarrassment: was he as obvious as that? Evidently he was. Gathering himself, he said, “She was too young for such sport. She should be finding her first sweetheart, not—what Stercus is giving her.”
    All that won him was more teasing from the two Bossonians and his cousin. They kept it up just about the whole way back to Duthil. By the time he handed Nario’s letter to Treviranus, he had decided he was never going to say another word to anyone else as long as he lived.
    Men gathered in a little knot in the main —and almost only —street in Duthil. They spoke in low voices,