'I still have friends in the hills,' he answered. 'There is a chief of the Khurakzai who will keep you safely while I bicker with the Afghulis. If they will have none of me, by Crom! I will ride northward with you to the steppes of the _kozaki_. I was a hetman among the Free Companions before I rode southward. I'll make you a queen on the Zaporoska River!' 'But I can not!' she objected. 'You must not hold me--' 'If the idea's so repulsive,' he demanded, 'why did you yield your lips to me so willingly?' 'Even a queen is human,' she answered, coloring. 'But because I am a queen, I must consider my kingdom. Do not carry me away into some foreign country. Come back to Vendhya with me!' 'Would you make me your king?' he asked sardonically. 'Well, there are customs--' she stammered, and he interrupted her with a hard laugh. 'Yes, civilized customs that won't let you do as you wish. You'll marry some withered old king of the plains, and I can go my way with only the memory of a few kisses snatched from your lips. Ha!' 'But I must return to my kingdom!' she repeated helplessly. 'Why?' he demanded angrily. 'To chafe your rump on gold thrones, and listen to the plaudits of smirking, velvet-skirted fools? Where is the gain? Listen: I was born in the Cimmerian hills where the people are all barbarians. I have been a mercenary soldier, a corsair, a _kozak_, and a hundred other things. What king has roamed the countries, fought the battles, loved the women, and won the plunder that I have? 'I came into Ghulistan to raise a horde and plunder the kingdoms to the south--your own among them. Being chief of the Afghulis was only a start. If I can conciliate them, I'll have a dozen tribes following me within a year. But if I can't I'll ride back to the steppes and loot the Turanian borders with the _kozaki_. And you'll go with me. To the devil with your kingdom; they fended for themselves before you were born.' She lay in his arms looking up at him, and she felt a tug at her spirit, a lawless, reckless urge that matched his own and was by it called into being. But a thousand generations of sovereignship rode heavy upon her. 'I can't! I can't!' she repeated helplessly. 'You haven't any choice,' he assured her. 'You--what the devil!' They had left Yimsha some miles behind them, and were riding along a high ridge that separated two deep valleys. They had just topped a steep crest where they could gaze down into the valley on their right hand. And there was a running fight in progress. A strong wind was blowing away from them, carrying the sound from their ears, but even so the clashing of steel and thunder of hoofs welled up from far below. They saw the glint of the sun on lance-tip and spired helmet. Three thousand mailed horsemen were driving before them a ragged band of turbaned riders, who fled snarling and striking like fleeing wolves. 'Turanians,' muttered Conan. 'Squadrons from Secunderam. What the devil are they doing here?'