“You are generous to a small merchant.” Shariir bowed again.
Piluliumas’s companion plucked at the sleeve of his tunic. He spoke in the language of the Alashkurru Mountains: “I still say these blades look like Gibli work. What will our gods do to us if we bring back blades from Gibil?”
“You worry too much, Luwiyas. Metal’s home is hard to tell,” Piluliumas answered in the same tongue. “Besides, he said they were from Aggasher.” The trader from the mountains shifted to the language of Kudurru: “You there, Zuabi—you said these swords were from Aggasher, not from Gibil?”
“Yes, I said that,” Sharur agreed. “I said it because it is so.”
Piluliumas looked happy. Luwiyas did not. “Will you swear in Enzuabu’s name that this is so?”
“In Enzuabu’s name I swear it,” Sharur said at once. Enzuabu was not his god. His only hesitation over the false oath was some small concern that Enzuabu might catch and punish him when he went back onto Zuabi territory. But, for one thing, Enzuabu would not hear an oath made in Imhursag, and, for another, Sharur, having escaped Enimhursag’s wrathful search in the night, thought he could escape Enzuabu, too.
Now Luwiyas bowed to him. “It is good. You have done us a favor. We will bargain with you for these blades.” Piluliumas nodded.
Sharur held up a hand. “A favor for a favor. Is this not right? Is this not just?” When the Alashkurrut looked alarmed, he smiled reassuringly. “Nothing great, my masters. You asked a question of me. I would ask a question of you. Is this not right? Is this not just?”
“Ah. A question for a question.” Piluliumas relaxed. “Yes, this is right. Yes, this is just. Ask your question, Zuabi.”
“I shall ask.” Sharur looked sly, as a Zuabi would in seeking information about a rival city. “Tell me, men of Alashkurru, why have your gods so harshly turned against the Giblut? Why do you need to be so sure that nothing you buy, nothing you trade for, comes from Gibil? I have seen this with other men from the mountains as well as with yourselves, my masters, but have never found the chance to ask about it till now.”
Luwiyas dropped back into his own tongue: “How much may we tell him?”
“We must tell him,” Piluliumas answered in the same language. “A favor for a favor, a question for a question.”
“Let the small gods speak, if they will.” Luwiyas still sounded worried. “They will know what may be said. They will know what must not be said.”
“They will know you are a man who runs from a lizard sitting on a rock,” Piluliumas said tartly. “But still, let it be as you say.” He returned to the language of Kudurru: “Trader from Zuabu, come see what we have brought to the land between the rivers. Trader from Zuabu, come hear the small gods we have brought from the mountains of Alashkurru. A favor for a favor, a question for a question: the small gods will answer you.”
“I will come,” Sharur said, hiding his worry. If the small gods the Alashkurrut had brought from the mountains recognized him as a man of Gibil, they would not tell him anything, or else they would tell him lies. If they, recognized him as a Gibli, they might do him far more harm than that.
Playing his role as a Zuabi to the hilt, he fussily packed up his own goods, muttering about thieves all the while. Luwiyas said, “Few steal in the market square of Imhursag. Few risk the anger of Enimhursag.”
“I am of Zuabu,” Sharur said. “I take nothing for granted.” The more he said he was from Zuabu, the more he made himself act like a Zuabi.
He convinced the two Alashkurrut. Laughing, Piluliumas spoke in the language of the mountains: “Zuabut will steal anywhere. They think their god protects all thefts. They may even be right.”
“He will not steal from us,” Luwiyas said, and set his hand on the hilt of his knife.
Sharur looked from one of them to the other, his face set in lines of blank incomprehension. Only when Luwiyas gestured for him to follow did he lead his complaining donkey after the two Alashkurrut. The men from the mountains had come down to Kudurru with guards and donkey handlers, as caravans from the land between the rivers went up to Alashkurru. .
The guards looked bored, as Sharur’s guards had looked bored up in the mountains. They were rolling dice in the dust of the market square, and tossing trinkets back and forth as they won or lost. They looked up at Sharur, decided he was harmless, and went back to their game.
“Here,” Piluliumas said. “We have brought Kessis and Mitas with us from their home; we have brought them with us from our home. They are small gods of Alashkurru; they are small gods of our land. They will pay a favor for a favor; they will answer a question for a question.”
One of the idols was carved from bone, in the shape of a dog. The other was carved out of a black, shiny stone, and looked something like a wild cat, something like a woman. Piluliumas and Luwiyas spoke together in their own tongue: “Small gods of the mountains, gods who watch your folk far from home, here is a man of Zuabu, a wise man, a worthy man, who would receive a favor for a favor, who would ask a question for a question asked of him.”
“I am Kessis. He may speak.” The bone lips of the dogshaped idol moved. The voice was rough and growly. As was the way with gods, Sharur understood even though the words were strange.
“I am Mitas. He may speak.” The half-cat, half-woman of stone had a voice of such allure, a fancy courtesan would surely have craved it.
“I thank you, small gods. I thank you, foreign gods. I am a man of the land of Kudurru. I am a man of the city of Zuabu,” Sharur said. Kessis and Mitas were only small gods. They were only, foreign gods. They would not know the difference between one city and another in the land between the rivers. Sharur very much hoped they would not know the difference between one city and another in the land between the rivers. He went on, “Here is my question, small gods, foreign gods. I have heard that the gods of Alashkurru have grown angry at the men of Gibil, the men of the city east of mine, and—”
“It is true,” Kessis interrupted.
“Oh, yes, it is true,” Mitas agreed. Her stone lips skinned back from teeth like needles.
Sharur bowed. “Thank you, small gods. Thank you, foreign gods. Can you tell me why it is true? Knowing this, we of Zuabu will gain great advantage over the Giblut.” Had he truly been a Zuabi, that would have been so. What theft could be greater than a theft of knowledge?
Kessis’s bone eyes rolled in their sockets. “He does not know,” the small god growled in astonishment.
“No, he does not know.” Mitas sounded far more desirable, but no less surprised.
“Shall we tell him?” Kessis asked: “Should we tell him? Will we anger the great gods if we tell him?” The dogshaped idol shivered. “I fear the anger of the great gods.”
“He is not a man of Gibil,” Mitas said soothingly. “He is a man of Zuabu.” Sharur stood very still, not wanting the small gods to think of questioning that.
“Maybe he will tell what he learns to the Giblut,” Kessis said worriedly.
Both small gods turned their eyes toward Sharur. He had to speak. He knew he had to speak. When he spoke, he spoke without hesitation: “By all the gods of Kudurru, I swear I shall not tell what you tell me to any man not of my city.” An oath to all the gods of the land between the rivers, unlike one to Enzuabu, would bind him. But he had managed to frame it in such a way as to make it serve his needs and deceive the small gods of Alashkurru.
“It is good,” Mitas purred. Sharur’s blood heated when he listened to her.