information passing between the great lands. Thus at will he could either terrify or lull into complacency the kingdoms at both ends of the routes.
He dragged his thoughts back to his tent. Dreams were for the future. For the present, he had yet to firmly cement his alliances with his fellow Kagans.
"Tonight," Bartatua announced, "we have special entertainment. I have selected my most rebellious slaves and prisoners, but only those best skilled in arms. They shall be pitted against one another for our amusement and so that you may see how your enemies are accustomed to fighting."
A great cheer greeted this announcement, and slaves came in bearing chests from which protruded a great variety of weapons. The Vendhyan dancers scampered off amid a shower of coins, and the rich carpets upon which they had been dancing were taken up, revealing the bare ground. Silent anticipation reigned.
"Bring in the first pair," Bartatua ordered.
Two men were led in on chains. One was the hulking brute with whom Conan had spoken when he entered the fighter pen. "This one I know," said Bartatua. "He was the victor in the last combat a few evenings ago But you," he said to the other, "I know not. Who are you, slave?"
"I am Conan of Cimmeria, and I am a warrior, not a slave." He folded his arms across his massive chest and lowered from beneath lowering brows. He was clean-shaven once more, and he had contrived to bathe with a bucket of water and a rough cloth. His skin was now oiled and caught highlights from the torches.
"Say you so? Yet you wear my neck ring, and that makes you my slave."
"No," Conan said, "it makes me your prisoner. There is a great difference." There was nothing subservient in his pose nor in the volcanic glare of his blue eyes.
"This one has a sharp tongue," said a warrior as he drew a dagger. "Let me split it for you, Kagan."
Conan turned his baleful gaze upon the one who had spoken. "You had best dip your dagger in yon bowl of sauce, warrior," he said.
"And wherefore should I do such a thing, slave?" asked the man scornfully.
"Because," said Conan, "if you seek to use it on me, I shall make you eat it." The tent rocked with laughter, and the dagger-bearer would have leaped upon Conan but was checked by a gesture from Bartatua.
"Nay," said the Kagan. "A free man may not fight with a slave as if with an equal. You amuse me, man of Cimmeria, but the time has come to see whether there is more to you than talk.'' He signed to a slave master and the neck rings of the two were unlocked. "The first fight," said Bartatua, "shall be without weapons. Begin."
No sooner had the command been given than the huge easterner burst into motion. With a speed incredible in a man so large, his foot whipped up and around, aimed for Conan's face. The Cimmerian was still facing Bartatua and had not even glanced toward his opponent beside him. Any other man would have died in that
moment, Its neck snapped by the terrible force of this easterner's kick.
Conan's muscles and nerves acted without hesitation and without need for thought. When the callused f hissed through the space where his head had been Conan was three paces away. The easterner's ft assault flowed into his second as if it were a single motion. The instant his kicking foot touched the ground,, his pivot foot lashed out at the Cimmerian's midsection. Conan slapped the foot aside with his open palm am the easterner spun away, out of range.
There was a ferocious cheer for the vicious assault and for Conan's superb recovery. The Cimmerian never let his eyes move from the man opposite him, who now stood with one leg slightly advanced, fists clench before him at waist level. He could see that the eastern was using a highly sophisticated style of unarmed combat and that the man was accustomed to killing unskilled opponents with it.
Conan had no use for highly structured styles, with or without weapons. They taught a man to think in terms of set situations and left him vulnerable