Conan the Gladiator

Chapter 1 Night-Cats The public-house at Thujara was no gilded palace. Its walls of sun-baked mud were thick enough to stand before the harsh winds of the Shemitish plain, turn aside leopards, and blunt the spears and arrows of roving bandits. It had a tile roof tight enough to keep out winter sleet and summer dust-storms. Its doors and shutters were secure against sneak thievesthose, at least, who had not been locked inside for the night. The inn's kitchen had sheep stew, coarse bread, and raw wines and ciders that were no more sickly or sour than the pressings of other rural districts. The place was, in all, very little different from a hundred other inns Conan had squatted in during his travels. It was cozy enough, and he thanked Crom he had coppers enough to afford its shelter for a few more nights. Hulking over the long plank table that served as a counter, he took careful stock of the local women. A hardy lot, these Shemitish maidsthick and supple in the haunch and breast, sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued, with ill-kempt hair that hung down in charcoal or reddish curls. Ellilia, now, the kitchen-keeper, made a healthy armful...as did Sudith, the innkeep's pouting daughter, a wild crocus blooming along a barnyard fence. Alas, most of these country wenches were discouragingly homey and settled. And unimaginative, far too ready to fend off an innocent question with the swipe of a roasting-fork or a splash of scalding soup. The two current exceptions sat on the bench at either side of Conan, flirting gaily with the handsome Cimmerian. One of them, Tarla, was no real contender: a thin slip of a girl, barely approaching the estate of womanhood. She enjoyed playing at feminine wiles without fully knowing what they meant; to her, the outlander's thick-muscled bare chest, his square black mane, and his foreign-looking blue eyes signified only status and prestige, a handsome trophy in the flirting game. Yet Conan tolerated her brash experimentation; he bantered with her as half a child and half a maiden, without making demands on her. The other female was Gruthelda, the stablemaid. She had all too clear an idea of the relationship between the sexes, likely gained from watching the antics of the horses and asses under her care. To her credit, she had the braying laugh and the good strong teeth of a well-fed mu≤ less fortunately, there was something in the roll of her eye and the stumble of her speech that made Conan believe she must have been kicked by one. Sitting with Gruthelda was lively exercise; the lass would make some stockhand a sportive mate. He had just been letting the girls share his trencher of spiced oat gruel when there came a stirring from outside the inna chorus of voices and the skirling of some high-pitched instrument. It was not yet dusk, and the oaken door was not bolted; instead it swung open to admit a string of newcomersmountebanks of some kind, three in number. They marched in and issued a grand proclamation, singing in turn as they made a prancing circuit of the tavern. "For your delight and idle delectation," one said. "Be you of noble rank or common station," the next proclaimed, to a riotous fluting. * * * "We hail you to our sumptuous display, A Circus offered here on market day! Rare feats of prowess, strength, and wizardry, Strange fearsome beasts, and maidens fair to see, All will disport at Festival tomorrow. Come be amazed, nor shirk us at your sorrow!" * * * The first in the line was a broad muscular man, almost Conan's height and more than his girth. Bare-chested, he wore a brightly sequined kilt, rope sandals, and a wide leather belt with the brightly polished clasp of a contest champion. His face, framed by jet-black curls, boreCarpenter, Leonard is the author of 'Conan the Gladiator', published 1996 under ISBN 9780812524925 and ISBN 0812524926.