[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Well, you are right well and heartily met, as Mother Diocaster is my witness!
He introduced his wife, a charming little lady whose whiskers added, if anything, to her coy beauty. Her
clothes, too, although simple were richly jeweled. I could not fail to notice the affection between these
two, and, also, the affection and respect accorded them both by the tough warrior Djangs. O. Fellin
Coper handled them with the casual unthinking courtesy of a man habituated to absolute authority
tempered with concern for those that fate had put into his hands. Also in the unburned room were two
other mouse-faced diffs like himself, lesser in rank and importance but still treated with grave gruff
respect by the Djangs, and a Djang woman, very much pregnant and very near her time, as I judged.
She lay on a pallet, pale-faced, her long fair hair damp, her face streaked with sweat. She was still
beautiful, despite the difficulty of the birth. Three Djang women were attending her but there was no
doctor with acupuncture needles in attendance. This did not seem right to me and so I mentioned it to O.
Fellin Coper. His gerbil-like head twisted.
You are quite right, Notor Prescot. But when Mother Diocaster calls forth the babe at the appointed
hour why, then, the babe has to come whatever the circumstances.
A great bustle began as preparations were made for the Pallan to leave the inn. The pregnant Djang
woman was not of his party. Her husband had been burned in the fighting and had died. For a moment I
pondered, and then Ortyg Coper called to me from his decorated carriage which his men had brought
up.
I am returning to Djanguraj, Notor Prescot, and if the city was your destination before you fell among
these leemsheads, I would be most honored my wife and I would be most honored if you would
deign to take advantage of our carriage for the journey.
It was nicely said, and it explained why no one had commented on my nakedness. They assumed I had
been set on and was fighting the leemsheads to get my clothes and money back. To dispose of another
problem here and now, they also took me for a member of the Martial Monks of Djanduin, which would
explain my hairlessness.
My wounds had been seen to, and I was busy as any old mercenary would be. The dead Djangs yielded
clothes, weapons, and money. I rifled the dead men with as much compunction as I would sweep the
table of breadcrumbs. A paktun is a paktun, when all is said and done.
So it was that when I walked toward Ortyg Coper s carriage at the far end of the yard I was suitably
clad in a pair of gray trousers with an orange cummerbund and a white shirt. A lorica was collapsed and
slung over my shoulder. In a pouch lay enough shivers and obs to last, and there were three golden
deldys. No one, I thought, had seen that quick rifling of the dead. For weapons I took a thraxter, a pair
of stuxes, a djangir and a shield, which I draped about myself. At the last moment I picked up Kov
Nath s enormous sword, and so stepped into Ortyg Fellin Coper s elegant carriage for Djanguraj.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pallan O. Fellin Coper of Djanduin
We do not see many apims in Djanduin, Notor Prescot. Nor many other diffs, come to that. Ortyg
Coper glanced at me obliquely as the carriage rolled along the road and left a wide swath of white dust in
its wake. His bodyguard rode up front and well astern. I had noticed they rode totrixes, the awkward
six-legged riding animal of Havilfar, and carried long slender lances upright in boots attached to their
stirrup irons. So, went on Coper, looking out of the window at the passing fields of corn and marspear
and crops I did not recognize, it seems you are the Lord of Strombor and so therefore cannot be a
Martial Monk of Djanduin.
I lay no claim to being a Martial Monk, Pallan Coper.
The dangers here were obvious. This man was a Pallan, a chief minister of state, and, as he had told me,
one charged with the upkeep of the highways. He held a very real power. To judge by other parts of
Kregen I knew he would think nothing of having me thrown into a dungeon if it suited him or his master
the king, and the fact that I had saved him from the swords of Kov Nath s leemsheads would mean
nothing. So I had to tread warily, for all that he seemed a pleasant enough little fellow.
He brushed his whiskers in a finicky fashion.
Tell me of Strombor, Notor.
Had I been a man given to empty gestures I might have smiled then, for this was so clearly a cunning
opening ploy in a conversation designed to trap me into giving away my secrets. No further mention of
my nakedness its fact lay there between us but it was: Tell me of Strombor.
I considered. If this past was far enough back he would not have heard of Strombor, for that enclave
had been taken over by the Esztercaris in distant Zenicce. Had he heard of Zenicce? Had he heard of
Segesthes?
You know the continent of Segesthes, Pallan? The great enclave city of Zenicce?
He inclined his head.
Indeed. We have records in our libraries.
I said easily, Strombor is an enclave in Zenicce, and then I went on matter-of-factly. I, naturally,
consider Strombor the most beautiful and the best, even if not the greatest; but we are a rich people and I
am fortunate to be their prince.
His wife, Sinkie, fluttered up at this, but Coper gave me a sly sideways look and said: You saved my
life, Notor Prescot, and for this I am in your debt. I shall not forget. But there will be those in Djanguraj
who will ah wonder what a noble prince of a great house of Zenicce is doing, wandering naked
and hairless in Djanduin, so far from home.
Well, you couldn t say fairer than that.
How are arguments that touch a man s honor settled in Djanduin, Pallan Coper?
With the sword.
That will be quite suitable.
He chuckled then, this little mousy fellow, and stroked his whiskers in high good humor.
You are apim, Notor Prescot! You have, like me, but two arms. How do you think to face a Djang
champion, who has four arms?
About to say, I had thought you had witnessed that, I paused. To make that remark would be boorish,
despite its other and intended meaning.
So I said something about fighting as Zair willed (he like most Kregans accepted strange gods, devils,
and saints without turning a hair) and so we rolled on for a space in silence.
I found that to suggest I had been shipwrecked, an obvious stratagem, would not work, as the inn and
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]