Free Conan the Marauder by John Maddox Roberts

long legs, the deep chest, the thick neck, the arms heavily cabled with muscle. She walked around him, cataloguing his scars, admiring his size and symmetry. She felt an arm, kneading the tough muscle. She punched his midsection with a small, gloved fist. Her hand bounced back as if it had hit a tree trunk. Last of all, she studied his face.
    "Cleaned up and properly shaved," she said to the slave master, "it might be presentable." Then, to Conan: "How do you fight, foreigner?"
    "I am a swordsman, but I can use all hand weapons: ax, lance, mace, dagger. I am a warrior."
    "Perhaps you are, as your nation defines such things. Can you fight bare-handed?"
    "I have yet to meet my better," he answered. He studied her frankly. He could see little of her except for her face, but that was as lovely as he had ever seen. Her graceful, confident stride told him that her body was as well made.
    "You are amusing, slave," she said. "You shall be yet more amusing tonight.'' She turned to the slave master. "Give him means with which to wash and shave. My lord will see him fight first tonight." With that, she went on to examine the rest of the slaves.
    Rustuf grinned at Conan. "Already you have attracted attention, although it may be of the wrong kind. You may have the longest night of us all, or the shortest."
    In the great tent, Bartatua held revel for the new arrivals. Two allied chiefs had come into the camp that day, bringing their hordes as well as a gaggle of slaves for the pit. He feasted them upon unaccustomed delicacies: imported wines and spices, birds that were not native to the steppe, even fish raised in the ponds of Bukhrosha, brought in by courier, still living in skin bags of water. It was important to his future plans that the austere Kagans of the steppe acquire a taste for the exotic delights of civilization.
    "Your reputation for hospitality was not exaggerated, chief of the Ashkuz," said a leather-faced Kagan. His narrow eyes drank in the sight of a dozen Vendhyan women, clad only in elaborate jewels and executing one of the lascivious dances for which their land was famed.
    "It is my pleasure to share with my friends all that I have," said Bartatua. "If you see aught that pleases you here, ask it of me and it shall be yours. Do you desire one of these dancers for your stay? Take your pick. They have been selected and trained by my own concubine, whom I took when I slew Kuchlug." It did no harm to remind them that he had slain the great chief bare-handed in the midst of his people. It was the kind of feat that made the reputation of an ambitious man.
    "Your generosity is far-famed," said another, younger chieftain. "We are much intrigued by your scheme to take Sogaria. But we are puzzled by your plans for this great crowd of slaves. Would you explain this?"
    "Aye," said leather-face, who sat upon Bartatua's other side. "We have always defeated the city folk easily because we ride like the wind across the plain. While they lumber about in their armoured formations, we strike behind them and are gone. It is our swiftness and our incomparable bows that give us mastery. If we must take along these slaves, we shall be slowed to a walking pace and much of our advantage shall be lost."
    "Attend me, then, and I shall explain."
    The Kagan of the Ashkuz was taller than most of his race, with the long arms and tremendous shoulders of a great bowman. He was of the western Hyrkanians, with green eyes, and auburn hair worked into a number of small plaits. His handsome features had a slightly east-era cast, but his skin was fair beneath its weathering. Tattooed swirls decorated his cheeks, adding to the powerful ferocity of his countenance. Although Bartatua had no more than thirty years and was quite young to be so great a Kagan, his personal force and aura of power were those of a great leader of men. He sipped at his wine as he prepared his explanation.
    "Within a few days, we shall begin our campaign. The slaves will not be needed