'Aye. Men who had fled from the tyranny of Constantius. Most of them have been living the lives of outlaws in the deserts east of Khauran, and are gaunt and hard and desperate as man-eating tigers. One of them will be a match for any three squat mercenaries. It takes oppression and hardship to stiffen men's guts and put the fire of hell into their thews. They were broken up into small bands; all they needed was a leader. They believed the word I sent them by my riders, and assembled at the oasis and put themselves at my disposal.' 'All this without my knowledge?' A feral light began to gleam in Olgerd's eye. He hitched at his weapon-girdle. 'It was _I_ they wished to follow, not _you_.' 'And what did you tell these outcasts to gain their allegiance?' There was a dangerous ring in Olgerd's voice. 'I told them that I'd use this horde of desert wolves to help them destroy Constantius and give Khauran back into the hands of its citizens.' 'You fool!' whispered Olgerd. 'Do you deem yourself chief already?' The men were on their feet, facing each other across the ebony board, devil-lights dancing in Olgerd's cold gray eyes, a grim smile on the Cimmerian's hard lips. 'I'll have you torn between four palm-trees,' said the _kozak_ calmly. 'Call the men and bid them do it!' challenged Conan. 'See if they obey you!' Baring his teeth in a snarl, Olgerd lifted his hand--then paused. There was something about the confidence in the Cimmerian's dark face that shook him. His eyes began to burn like those of a wolf. 'You scum of the western hills,' he muttered, 'have you dared seek to undermine my power?' 'I didn't have to,' answered Conan. 'You lied when you said I had nothing to do with bringing in the new recruits. I had everything to do with it. They took your orders, but they fought for me. There is not room for two chiefs of the Zuagirs. They know I am the stronger man. I understand them better than you, and they, me; because I am a barbarian too.' 'And what will they say when you ask them to fight for Khauran?' asked Olgerd sardonically. 'They'll follow me. I'll promise them a camel-train of gold from the palace. Khauran will be willing to pay that as a guerdon for getting rid of Constantius. After that, I'll lead them against the Turanians as you have planned. They want loot, and they'd as soon fight Constantius for it as anybody.' In Olgerd's eyes grew a recognition of defeat. In his red dreams of empire he had missed what was going on about him. Happenings and events that had seemed meaningless before now flashed into his mind, with their true significance, bringing a realization that Conan spoke no idle boast. The giant black-mailed figure before him was the real chief of the Zuagirs.