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.Muhbaras could now see that she wore a long-sleeved gown thatcovered her from throat to ankles without concealing the grace andsuppleness of the body under it.One could not make out details, but onewas left in no doubt about the beauty of the woman standing there.The Lady raised her hands, and her sleeves fell back to the elbows.Shewore thin silver bracelets on either wrist, the one on the right wrist setwith emeralds or some other like-colored stone, nearly as fine as sandgrains.Muhbaras could not help catching his breath at the gesture.Thoseraised hands could be the first step in a spell—"Fair and noble captain, there is nothing to fear.""Perhaps I have nothing to fear," Muhbaras said."But what of you? AmI worthy to treat you as you deserve?"The Lady bit her lip, and Muhbaras was astonished to see that she washolding back laughter.The Khorajan felt a sudden urge to step forwardand take her in his arms while she laughed against his shoulder.He reminded himself that laughter was part of being human, not all.The Lady might laugh like a girl, and still torment those about her like themaddest of despots grown old in vice and corruption.Both were in her.Both would be in his embrace.Muhbaras felt his temples throbbing."You are worthy," the Lady said softly."You are worthy of a bettersetting for our—" she hesitated and seemed to be flushing '—our meeting."She carried no staff and wore no amulets or other magical devices thatMuhbaras could see.All he saw was three passes of those long-fingeredhands, exquisite fingers with nails the color of the desert sky at dawn,fingers that seemed very ready to be kissed—Golden light flooded the chamber, dazzling Muhbaras for a moment.Hefelt heat on his face, then on his feet, then all around him.It faded, but didnot entirely disappear."You may open your eyes," the Lady's voice came.Muhbaras did.The walls and roof of the chamber were now a vaultingof fine blue tile.The floor was the finest of golden sand.In onecorner—where the smelly furs had been piled—rose a pavilion, a crimsonand blue silk canopy supported by four rosewood posts, each carved in theform of a different marvelous beast.Muhbaras thought he recognized aleopard, a serpent, an otter, and a dragon.Under the canopy lay a pile of silk cushions, and beside the cushions alow table, plain ebony on ivory legs.Golden dishes of cakes andsweetmeats covered it, making a circle around a silver jug of wine.On the cushions lay the Lady of the Mists.She wore nothing except herbracelets, and her hair flowing like silken threads over her bare shouldersand down across her breasts.All the beauties Muhbaras had expectedwere there for him to see—and now to touch.He felt his blood race and realized that he, too, wore nothing.The firststep toward the pavilion was as hard as if he wore iron boots, but thesecond was easier, the third easier still.Before long, he was sitting beside the Lady.Her head was on hisshoulder, and he was nibbling a honey cake that she held up to him.Thelast of the cake vanished, and he found himself licking her fingers."The honey tastes real," he said."You taste real.""It is.I am," she said.Her voice was unsteady."All that is here, all thatwill come to us here, is real.""It seems too beautiful.""You doubt my beauty?" she said, sitting up so that he could seeeverything.He looked—and saw in her eyes what could only be fear.Desire and tenderness swept through Muhbaras.Here was the Lady ofthe Mists, sorceress with mighty magic at her command and mistress oflife and death over all the valley.Here also was a frightened maiden,tasting desire for the first time, offering herself to a man that she mightfulfill that desire— and finding that all her magic was no help whatever.Ifshe had schemed for weeks to make Muhbaras ready to greet her as manto willing woman, she could not have found a better way.Muhbaras closed the gap between them and lifted her fingers to his lips.He licked off the rest of the honey, then turned her hand over and kissedthe palm of the hand.Presently his lips crept up past the brace-let, and itwas not long after that before she opened her arms and all the rest of herto Muhbaras.He thought that he had never heard a sweeter sound in his life, than thefirst time she cried out in delight.It was almost enough to make him forget the cries of Danar in his lastagony at the Lady's hands."Omyela will not be pleased at waiting," Bethina said.She was walkingbeside Conan, bow in hand and quiver over her back.They were togetheron pretense of going hunting, close enough to the camp not to be indanger, far enough that no unwanted ears might hear their talk."I was not thinking that she would have to," Conan replied."If she isready to ride out tonight—""You would go against Khezal?" Bethina asked.Conan grinned."Quick to see, aren't you?" he asked."I am not a green girl, and my father allowed me to sit in the councilmeetings of the tribe from my fourteenth year," Bethina said, with dignity."Pardon," Conan said."I would go against Khezal if I had to.But I'm notsure that riding north is as much against his orders as he said.""If it is not, he could be making a puppet of you," the woman said."Ifyou succeed, he can claim the glory.If you fail, he can say you disobeyedhim, and your enemies in Turan will rejoice at your death.""Khezal will have to change more than most men before he intriguesthat way," Conan said."The most I think is that he's trying to guard hisback from his enemies in the Great City."But you're right.He may be trusted, but no doubt there are royal spiesamong the Greencloaks.I need my Afghulis, and they need to be out ofKhezal's reach, so we need to find a path for them.""Let me talk to Omyela," Bethina said."Giving her a chance to trick aTuranian is better than offering her a sack of gold."The Lady of the Mists was a clean maiden, but either magick or goodfortune made her first union all pleasure and no pain.Or so it seemed toMuhbaras.Of his own pleasure, he could not speak, for there were no words in anytongue he knew that would do it justice
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