Conan turned to Yasmina, his red knife still in his hand, his blue eyes smoldering, blood oozing from wounds on his thickly muscled arms and thighs.
`You are the Devi again,’ he said, grinning fiercely at the goldclasped gossamer robe she had donned over her hill-girl attire, and awed not at all by the imposing array of chivalry about him. `I have you to thank for the lives of some three hundred and fifty of my rogues, who are at least convinced that I didn’t betray them. You have put my hands on the reins of conquest again.’
`I still owe you my ransom,’ she said, her dark eyes glowing as they swept over him. `Ten thousand pieces of gold I will pay you-‘
He made a savage, impatient gesture, shook the blood from his knife and thrust it back in its scabbard, wiping his hands on his mail.
`I will collect your ransom in my own way, at my own time,’ he said. `I will collect it in your palace at Ayodhya, and I will come with fifty thousand men to see that the scales are fair.’
She laughed, gathering her reins into her hands. `And I will meet you on the shores of the Jhumda with a hundred thousand!’
His eyes shone with fierce appreciation and admiration, and stepping back, he lifted his hand with a gesture that was like the assumption of kingship, indicating that her road was clear before her.