"Robert E. Howard - Conan - Vale of Lost Women" - читать интересную книгу автора (Howard Robert E)

unconsciously to familiar values and ideas, even among surroundings and conditions alien and
unrelated to those environs to which such values and ideas are adapted. In spite of all Livia had
experienced, she had still instinctively supposed a woman's consent the pivotal point of such a
game as she proposed to play. She was stunned by the realization that nothing hinged upon her at
all. She could not move men as pawns in a game; she herself was the helpless pawn.
"I see the absurdity of supposing that any man in this corner of the world would act
according to rules and customs existent in another corner of the planet," she murmured weakly,
scarcely conscious of what she was saying, which was indeed only the vocal framing of the thought
which overcame her. Stunned by that newest twist of fate, she lay motionless, until the white
barbarian's iron fingers closed on her shoulder and lifted her again to her feet.
"You said I was a barbarian," he said harshly, "and that is true, Crom be thanked. If you had
had men of the outlands guarding you instead of soft gutted civilized weaklings, you would not be
the slave of a black pig this night. I am Conan, a Cimmerian, and I live by the sword's edge. But
I am not such a dog as to leave a white woman in the clutches of a black man; and though your kind
call me a robber, I never forced a woman against her consent. Customs differ in various countries,
but if a man is strong enough, he can enforce a few of his native customs anywhere. And no man
ever called me a weakling!
"If you were old and ugly as the devil's pet vulture, I'd take you away from Bajujh, simply
because of the colour of your hide. But you are young and beautiful, and I have looked at black
sluts until I am sick at the guts. I'll play this game your way, simply because some of your
instincts correspond with some of mine. Get back to your hut, Bajujh's too drunk to come to you
tonight, and I'll see that he's occupied tomorrow. And tomorrow night it will be Conan's bed
you'll warm, not Bajujh's."
"How will it be accomplished?" She was trembling with mingled emotions. "Are these all your
warriors?"
"They're enough," he grunted. "Bamulas, every one of them, and suckled at the teats of war. I
came here at Bajujh's request. He wants me to join him in an attack on Jihiji. Tonight we feasted.
Tomorrow we hold council. When I get through with him, he'll be holding council in Hell."
"You will break the truce?"
"Truces in this land are made to be broken," he answered grimly. "He would break his truce
with Jihiji. And after we'd looted the town together, he'd wipe me out the first time he caught me
off guard. What would be blackest treachery in another land, is wisdom here. I have not fought my
way alone to the position of war-chief of the Bamulas without learning all the lessons the black
country teaches. Now go back to your hut and sleep, knowing that it is not for Bajujh but for
Conan that you preserve your beauty!"
Through the crack in the bamboo wall, Livia watched, her nerves taut and trembling. All day,
since their late waking, bleary and sodden from their debauch of the night before, the black
people had prepared the feast for the coming night. All day Conan the Cimmerian had sat in the hut
of Bajujh, and what had passed between them, Livia could not know. She had fought to hide her
excitement from the only person who entered her hut - the vindictive black girl who brought her
food and drink. But that ribald wench had been too groggy from her libations of the previous night
to notice the change in her captive's demeanor.
Now night had fallen again, fires lighted the village, and once more the chiefs left the
king's hut and squatted down in the open space between the huts to feast and hold a final,
ceremonious council. This time there was not so much beer-guzzling. Livia noticed the Bamulas
casually converging toward the circle where sat the chief men. She saw Bajujh, and sitting
opposite him across the eating pots, Conan, laughing and conversing with the giant Aja, Bajujh's
war-chief.
The Cimmerian was gnawing a great beef-bone, and as she watched, she saw him cast a glance
across his shoulder. As if it were a signal for which they had been waiting, the Bamulas all