Conan the Barbarian

EPILOGUE

CONAN STOOD ON a hill overlooking a desolate Hyrkanian plain. Tamara stood beside him and Artus waited at the base with the horses. The sun beat down mercilessly, and heat made the land shimmer—though the Cimmerian was certain that the shimmer was not from heat alone.

Tamara smiled. “Yes, Conan, the monastery is out there. I can feel it. I can find my way through the wards.”

“So you will go.”

She reached up and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I have considered what you suggested, but I feel I must.”

He nodded. “You are very loyal to your master.”

“It’s not just him.” Tamara took his hands in hers and turned them over, exposing the chain scars. “Master Fassir told me about Khalar Zym in a roundabout way. He said that there were madmen in the world who saw patterns as portents in almost anything. Those sorts of men were the kind who kidnap children and make other children orphans. He left the monastery to save me from the consequences of such a madman. His burden passed to you. And now I must accept it from you. Somewhere, out there, will be a child who is sought as I was sought. As Master Fassir saved me, so I shall be able to save that child.”

“That child will be very lucky.” Conan smiled. “And the world as well, for your effort.”

Tamara squeezed his hands and looked up into his eyes. “You could come with me.”

“I do not need saving, Tamara Amaliat Jorvi Karushan.”

“The monastery is a place where you can find peace, Conan.”

The Cimmerian pulled her into his arms and gave her a kiss, then released her and took a step back. “I was not born for peace, Tamara. I am a Cimmerian. I have a sword at my side, a horse to carry me to conquest, and enemies who need to be slain. It is my life, my friend, and I could never know any greater joy.”