"John Maddox Roberts - Conan and the Amazon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts John Maddox)

Conan and the Amazon by John Maddox
Roberts
One
The town was called Leng. It lay in the hill country of eastern Brythunia, not far from the borders of
Corinthia and Nemedia, at the convergence of two passes that allowed access through the mountains to
the plains that lay to the east, west, and south. Once, much traffic had traversed the mountains by way of
these passes and Leng had prospered. But trade routes had shifted, and for many years the greater part
of the town had lain derelict: a place for the occasional caravan to camp within waits to break the wind
that blew without cease among the hills. Herdsmen grazed their cattle and sheep on pastures that had
once been the sumptuous gardens of the wealthy merchants of Leng.
But now the town was beginning to fill up once more. Along the passes, in ones, twos, small bands
and occasionally larger groups, people converged upon the town from four directions. Many were
mounted, some on horseback and others on camels. But some were on foot, and among these, some
were chained neck-to-neck in slave coffles. Most of the new arrivals were men, but there were women
among them as well.
It was late afternoon when a lone figure strode over the crest of a final hill and looked down the
winding, dusty road into the town below. The red sun cast long shadows and stained the western side of
the taller buildings a lurid crimson. The walls of Leng were low, constructed of rough-hewn stone. Many
of the rugged blocks had toppled from the ramparts, leaving sizable gaps. The massive gates had rotted
away and left the town wide open to any who wished to enter.
Most of the buildings that yet stood were close to the ground, but here and there rose towers four
or five stories high, once the stronghouses of wealthy families. From several spots, plumes of smoke
drifted into the clear sky. A few late travelers entered the walls even as the watcher studied the city.
The man who stood atop the last slope was huge, with hard limbs and a scarred torso bared to the
cutting breeze. He wore high, fur-topped boots and a breechclout of wolfhide. Over his massive
shoulders was draped his only concession to the weather a short mantle of shaggy goatskin. His wrists
and forearms were wrapped in bands of heavy, bronze-studded leather, and he wore a matching belt
from which were suspended a long sword and a straight, broad-bladed dirk.
The wind whipped the traveler's straight, black hair around his face, which was angular, as scarred
as his body, and as deeply tanned. Only his burning, blue eyes moved as he looked over the town.
Nothing else about him shifted. Abruptly and decisively, he began to stride toward Leng.
A hundred paces from the town, me black-haired man, who had come from the north, fell in with a
small band of men approaching from the east They were well-armed and had a predatory look, but they
offered him no challenge.
"Greeting, stranger," said their leader, a man dressed in tunic and trousers of padded silk. Both
garments and wearer had seen better days, but he carried himself with a confident swagger. "I see that
yet another hard-pressed adventurer seeks the convivial delights of Leng!" The speaker wore a drooping
mustache and his features were slightly eastern in cast, but his hair was brown and his eyes were pale
green.
"I heard that a man without tribe or nation might sleep here of a night without facing a dungeon or a
hanging in the morning," the black-haired man said. "Other than that, the place has little else to
recommend it that I can see." He fell in to walk beside the other. "Is it in the east as it has become in the
north?"
"So it would seem. I am Kye-Dee, of the Northeast Hyrkanians. Turtle Clan. The new Kagan has
decreed an end to banditry and suppressed my clan, which has never sullied itself with degrading labor.
We heard of this place across the mountains where a man can be at ease, whatever his past. I do not
care for towns, but winter comes on apace, and even a bandit must have shelter."
 "I am Conan of Cimmeria," said the black-haired man. "I am a mercenary, lately in the employ of a
Brythunian border lord. He raised a rebellion against his liege and he lost." He put out a hand and took
that of the Hyrkanian.