The king sank back on his gilded couch, muttering, but the yedka continued to scan the ragged coastline. Had her eyes deceived her? Was that a sail she glimpsed before it disappeared behind a rocky islet on the fringe of the cluster? The Turanian ships drew closer with every oar stroke.
She stiffened and pointed. The sail had reappeared.
"Look, my lord!" she cried. "Yonder is a prize for your ships! A pirate! We have surprised them!"
The yedka was not the only one who spied the corsair. Swift orders were shouted. The crew prepared for battle, while signals were run up to warn the sister vessel to do likewise.
The overseers moved among the benches to check the fetters chaining the rowers. Stacks of arms were readied by the mast, and the ship's soldiery ran to their stations. Archers climbed into the rigging to suitable points of vantage, while groups of burly seamen, armed with grapnels, stood by at the gunwales.
Though Conan's sharp eyes could not discern the details of these preparations, he knew that they began as soon as he let his ship be sighted. The pirate ship was long since ready for battle. Despite the heavy odds against the pirate crew, all trusted their barbaric captain implicitly. Men who had sailed with Conan years ago told fantastic tales about former sea fights and the ingenious ways the Cimmerian had turned the tables on his foes.
"Prepare to go about." The sharp voice of their captain cut like steel through the din.
The order was a shock to the crew. Here they were, ready for the attack, with the greatest captain in the world to lead them—and what did this captain do? Prepare to run like a rabbit! Bewildered, they went halfheartedly to their chores. Conan noticed their listlessness and snarled:
"Be swift, you mangy rascals, or I'll have your backs raw under the lash! Do you think I'm fool enough to fight two war galleys, each with twice my strength, on the open sea, when I have a better plan? Do not worry, lubbers, we shall have a feasting of swords, that songs will be written about. Now go to it!"
Fired with new enthusiasm, the men sprang into the rigging. Soon the ship was speeding towards the inner parts of the Zhurazi Archipelago.
The Zhurazi Archipelago is made up of two large islands surrounded by a great number of smaller isles. The strait between the two main islands is a long, narrow channel, and for this Conan guided his ship.
There was grim expectation in his mien as he viewed the Turanian galleys following astern, their oars laboring with all the power that could be wrung from the slaves.
King Yezdigerd paced the poop, armed in silvered Turanian mail and a gold-spired helmet He bore a round, emblazoned shield on his left arm; a long scimitar hung by his side. The cruel and gloomy Turanian monarch was also a fierce and intrepid warrior, who loved to take part in a good fight in person.
"See how the yellow hyenas flee!" he cried. "Will they play games with us? They will lose the wind among the islands, and then our oars will make them easy prey. Faster!"
Meanwhile the admiral conferred in low tones with the shipmaster, who argued his point with many gestures and head shakings. The admiral, looking doubtful, went back up to the poop. He said:
"Your Majesty, these waters are unsounded. We have no charts we can trust, and the shipmaster fears we shall ground. I suggest we circle the islands and catch the corsair in open sea."
Yezdigerd's voice swept aside the misgivings of his admiral with a sweeping gesture.
"I told you the rascal will be an easy prey in the lee of the islands. Let the whips be plied to bring us every ounce of speed. We shall snap our jaws about the pirate soon enough!"
The king seemed to have reason for his expectations. The slender corsair was now barely halfway through the strait, making laborious headway. The Turanians, seeing their victim as good as caught, shouted with glee.
Dismay reigned among the pirate crew. Their progress was slow, and the Hyrkanian ships were closing in with every stroke. Rolf stood silent, with the taciturnity of the northern barbarian, but Arms pleaded with his captain to make some move to evade the impending doom.
"Captain, the Hyrkanians will reach us long before we emerge! We cannot maneuver in this narrow way, and their rams will splinter us like an eggshell. Could we not warp her ashore with the boats? We might put up a fight in the jungle. Tarim! We must do something!"
Conan, his calm unruffled, pointed at the oncoming war galleys. In the lead came the Scimitar with white water boiling up around her bow and her ten-foot bronze ram. She seemed a very angel of doom, descending in swift anger upon the wrongdoer. Close behind followed her sister.
"A pretty sight, by Ishtar," said Conan calmly. "Good speed, too. The slave drivers must be plying their whips with vigor.
His voice changed its tone from light banter to stern efficiency. "What are our soundings now?"
"Five fathoms, captain, and slowly increasing. We have passed the throat of the shallows. A wonder we did not scrape our bottom off!"
"Good! I knew we should get through. Now look at our pursuers!"
The Scimitar, bearing down upon her prey at full speed, suddenly stopped dead. A cracking of timbers and snapping of cordage resounded between the islands. Cries of dismay rent the air as the mast snapped off at the base and toppled, shrouding the decks in folds of canvas. The oars began backing to get her off, but her speed at the time of grounding had been too great. The unseen sandbank held her fast like a clutching octopus.
The other galley was a little more fortunate. When the leading vessel struck, he promptly ordered the oars to back water. But the oars were unevenly applied in the confusion and the galley veered to port towards the shore. She was saved from the cliffs only by another sandbank, into which she plowed deeply. Boats were launched and lines paid out to prepare for the arduous task of warping her afloat.
The throng on the deck of the corsair howled, shook their weapons, and made uncomplimentary gestures at the Turanians. They cheered Conan, and even the pessimistic shipmaster voiced his frank esteem.
"Those galleys will be days in getting afloat," said Artus. "I doubt the bigger one will ever sail again; her bottom must be half stove in.
"So, captain, whither do we sail? Khoraf, where the slavers put in with the fairest women of the South? Rhamdan, where the great caravan road ends?"
Conan's voice was tinged with scorn as he swept the throng with his ice-blue glance. "We have Turanian ships here, my friends. We have not escaped Yezdigerd; we have caught him in a trap! I promised you a feasting of swords. You shall have it." He paused, looking upward. "The wind freshens; we are coming out of lee. Set a course to round the larboard island!"
Eager hands sprang to the lines as all realized the full genius of Conan's planning.
King Yezdigerd paced the poop of his shattered flagship in blazing anger. Some of it he vented upon the seaman at the sounding post and the steersman, by having both beheaded forthwith. There was no immediate danger of sinking, for the hull had settled firmly upon the reef. But the hold had quickly filled with water from many sprung seams, indicating that the ship could probably never be saved. And the trick played upon the king by the escaping pirate infuriated his always irascible temper.
"I will hunt that dog to the ends of the earth!" he shouted. "The whole thing smacks of that devil Conan. I'll warrant he is aboard. Will Khogar never get his cursed tub afloat?"
Thus he raged while work progressed on the Khoralian Star. As the long day wore on, the crews slowly coaxed the ship off the sandbank by inches, by tugging and having with the ships' boats. The captain of the Star was deeply preoccupied with directing this work when his attention was drawn by the warning cry of the lookout.