'Not if there were three thousand desperate Hyborian horsemen fighting in a solid wedge such as I could teach them,' answered Conan.
'And where would you secure three thousand Hyborians?' asked Olgerd with vast sarcasm. 'Will you conjure them out of the air?'
'I have them,' answered the Cimmerian imperturbably. 'Three thousand men of Khauran camp at the oasis of Akrel awaiting my orders.'
'What?' Olgerd glared like a startled wolf.
'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?'