Read Online Conan The Hero by Leonard Carpenter - Free Book Online

emperor but also, perhaps, your own unruly spirit.”
    The sharif would not allow Murad the last word. “We would levy a harsher penalty on you, Sergeant, if we thought it could possibly satisfy the wrath of those you have offended by this ill-advised murder. But the Red Garrotes will seek vengeance regardless of our verdict. And I wager you’ll find their methods more discreet; learn from them if you can.”
    “Jefar Sharif is right, Conan.” Murad nodded gravely from the porch. “We will issue a stern warning to the stranglers, but I cannot guarantee their obedience. Now go forth, give sober thought to the responsibilities of your command, and watch your back!”
    With a nod and grunt of salute, Conan turned to exit the staff compound. The punishment had, indeed, been fiendishly cruel; at his side he felt his sword fist slowly unclenching. Passing the guard dozing at the gate, he slowed to take stock of those waiting outside.
    There were loungers aplenty, ubiquitous idlers who guaranteed the fast spread of news through the fort. Gossip was the coin of the invading army, and betting was its commerce. As Conan watched, a pair of troopers detached themselves from fence-rails and strode off in opposite directions, doubtless to spread the word of his release. Others eyed him speculatively, whispering between themselves and probably setting stiff odds against his longevity. To Conan, the most welcome watcher proved to be Juma, who strode from beneath an awning, hailing him loudly and fearlessly before the watchers. In his enthusiasm, the black giant dragged along a couple of half-willing troopers to meet him.
    “Conan! Well, Sergeant, how went the court-martial?” He relinquished one of his companions’ necks to clap Conan’s shoulder resoundingly. “If Sergeant is still your rank, after this affair?”
    “Aye, it is.” Conan grinned back at him. “Extra duty and a few hill patrols, Murad has decreed. Nothing severe—at least not yet.”
    “Sergeant, sir.” One of the troopers, a fresh-faced boy, interrupted them. “Will they really transfer you back to Aghrapur for punishment, as Sergeant Juma was telling us?”
    Conan laughed resoundingly. “Nay, Hakim!—and do not spread that false rumor, lest half the garrison murder the other half in hope of suffering the same penalty!”
    Their noisy gesticulating gathered a few more watchers to them, some even offering Conan guarded congratulations. But most seemed to shun him, aware that he now possessed dangerous enemies. And after a few moments of banter, the Cimmerian took his leave, drawing Juma along and promptly asking him about Sariya.
    “I left her at the hut with Babrak, Conan. I came because there is surely more danger to you than to her. Now we must go back, so the child of Tarim can return to his camp duties.”
    Together they headed for the main gate of the fort. Conan insisted on going by way of the mess tent, braving baleful stares and ironic whispers for the sake of openly advertising his freedom. They walked on to the main formation of troopers’ tents, stopping by the campfire of Conan’s detachment. Announcing the next morning’s patrol, he was greeted by anonymous groans and curses from beneath the bleaching canvas canopies. But it was not his practice to try to enforce morale. He and Juma passed on out the gate of the compound, heading for the unfortified village and the scatter of makeshift dwellings along the jungle’s fringe.
    Two days of grumbling exertion by Conan’s and Juma’s troopers, aided and bullied by their sergeants’ burly arms, had raised a good-sized bungalow at the edge of the trees. Split hardwood timbers borrowed from the fort’s supply squared up its corners; the walls were lattices of bamboo and bough, interlaced with tough palm fronds. A frame of elbow-thick bamboo trunks formed a basis for the shaggy, palm-thatched roof. Sariya’s graceful fingers taught the resting troopers to weave mats of split bamboo for the