Conan the Cimmerian walked down the deserted alley grinning to himself. He'd just spent the night guzzling ale and enjoying the charms of at least two wenches serving at the tavern. While neither one of them were great beauties, they both made up in curves and enthusiasm what they lacked in perfect features.
He strode confidently through the morass of detritus and noisome fluids that littered the dark street. There were no torches lighting the way, only the dim starlight from above. That was enough for the barbarian to see as clearly as most city men could see on a rainy day. Even with all the ale he'd downed, he had no trouble discerning the two shadows moving furtively among the deeper gloom of the back alley.
His lips curled into a broad smile, his teeth gleaming against the deep shadows on his face.
"Ho Dogs!" he called out, "If you think to find me unmanned, you'll be sorely disappointed!"
He watched as the two men, believing themselves to be invisible until this moment, stiffened. Then they rushed at him from two directions.
Conan smirked at sight of the cudgels they wielded and side-stepped the first blow. Because he was feeling good from his revels in the tavern, he didn't bother drawing the saber from his broad girdle. Instead he slammed his fist up and under the man's jaw.
The would-be thief crumpled like a sack of wet linen. The pitiful whimper he let out before he went down distracted his partner. This man looked to him in the last second before his weapon was to fall on the barbarian's head. Before the blow could land he felt a vice-like grip around his throat. Then he was swung around bodily and held firmly against the daubed mud wall with the toes of his feet a full hand's breadth off the ground beneath him.
"Get back to your Mama's teat Dog!" Conan snarled into the man's face.
The attacker recoiled from the large man's grip and from the haze of beer-infused breath he exhaled.
"Mercy!" he squealed, "I beg you!"
"Mercy?" Conan snapped, "Such as you would have given me no doubt if I hadn't been ready for you!"
"Please Master!" the man pleaded, "I'll no more take up this path!"
"A likely story by Crom!" Conan said with disdain, "Next time I won't hesitate to use my blade on you! Now be off!"
The big barbarian tossed the man to the side like so much waste and walked on. He heard the man sputter in agony but didn't turn his head.
He walked leisurely to the end of the alley and turned toward the inn where he'd paid his accommodation for the night. As he did he stopped dead in his tracks.
Where he expected to see the battered doorway to the cheap clapboard building where he'd earlier paid three coins for his lodging, he instead saw a ghostly mist glimmering softly in the dark. It seemed to cover the whole rundown shack and he took an involuntary step back.
"Crom!" he whispered to no one in particular.
Thieves set to waylay helpless travelers gave him no qualms. Even a party of fully armed riders bent on skewering him alive would have offered him no more than a problem to solve with muscle and his trusty blade. But this glowing nimbus raised the hackles on the back of his neck. He had no doubt it was magic but he preferred to sidestep magic and sorcery wherever he could.
He took another step back and narrowed his eyes at the floating miasma in front of him. He decided he would sleep on the docks tonight. Devil take this glowing fog!
Then he heard a woman scream. The sound came from directly in front of him, from somewhere on the other side of the mist that blocked his way.
Conan drew his Saber and plunged through it without a second thought.
He blinked in surprise as he cleared the fog. In front of him was what appeared to be a road, though it was unlike any he'd ever seen before. There were no paving stones or even flags to flatten the route. The entire surface was already flat, unnaturally flat! It was black in color with a curious looking design painted with yellow patterns in various places. He could make no sense of it.
What further confused him were the magical globes held up by posts that lighted the whole area!
All this he saw in no more than a heartbeat.
"Crom!" he whispered, "What kind of land is this I've stumbled into?"
Then he concentrated on the scene being played out not more than thirty paces in front of him.
There was a woman, dressed in some sort of shift, though it was unlike any woman's garment he was familiar with. It was black and covered her upper torso even as it clung to her generous curves like wet cotton. She seemed to have lost her lower garment. The shift covered her only down to just past her generous hips. On her feet she wore gleaming black sandals with heels such as he'd seen the ladies wearing in the large cities of the far-east in exotic Khitai. They elevated the backs of her feet almost a hands breadth off the ground. He'd never seen a western woman wearing such things.
She was a fine beauty for all that with curves to make a man go mad with desire!
There were three men advancing on her. She was clearly frightened of them and she screamed for help once again.
The men were dressed in dark colored leggings with thin shirts and tunics that covered them to their wrists. Two of them were carrying what looked like knives, though they were the puniest knives Conan could recall seeing. The blades were barely two hand spans in length. The third man appeared to be unarmed.
They rushed her then and wrestled her down. While two of the men secured her legs the third ripped her shift away. The torn garment opened wide and revealed her bounteous charms. The men guffawed and pawed at her rudely. Finally they pulled a tiny pink colored garment away from between her thighs, then she was naked as the day she was born.
She screamed in outrage again and Conan stepped forward.
"Ho there, you scurvy dogs!" he shouted, "Three of you to take one woman? You're as cowardly a lot as I've seen in many a moon!"
He crouched into a ready position with his saber drawn and ready to rend flesh.
The men looked to him in amazement. They took in his leathern tunic and the breechclout beneath it and the bright red cloak slung across one shoulder. They saw also the Saber held in his hand. Then their leader grinned.
"Hey look at that!" he said with a laugh, "This guy's been to a Halloween party!"
The other two men chuckled and turned to him, each of them brandishing their blades at him threateningly.
"Get lost Pal!" one of them said, "Maybe you can have her when we're done with her."
Conan smiled broadly and narrowed his eyes.
"You think to drive me off with those little stickers?" he said, "Come and see how much I fear you!"
The two men laughed and looked at each other. The third man took a few steps toward them.
"Just kill him," he said impatiently.
"You can try Dogs!" Conan said lustily.
The man rolled his eyes and waved his two partners forward.
"Kill him!" he repeated.
As the men with knives crept toward him cautiously, Conan leapt forward and lopped the hand of one of them clean off. The man screamed and fell to his knees, the stump of his right arm held in his left hand. Conan's saber drove through the man's chest and he looked up and whimpered pitifully.
As he kicked the man backward to clear his blade the second man jumped toward him. Conan's elbow caught the man clean in the jaw and he dropped like a stone. Then he lay flat on his back without moving.
Conan looked up and grinned at the third man.
"What say you Dog?" he said, "Will you close with me?"
"Fuck this!" the man said fearfully.
He reached into a fold of his tunic and withdrew a small black object. He held his hand out at arm's length and then there was a resounding boom.
Conan's grin disappeared in a grimace of unexpected pain. He looked down at his arm and saw that a bloody hole had appeared there. The pain was like that of being stabbed.
