accompaniment of drums and blaring horns; a long recitation of the martial virtues expected of
the perfect warrior was read out by a temple guard; the chief priest spoke at great length about
the evils of foreign gods and the superiority of Holin. All Tashi could see was the dead man
sprawled before her, receiving no honor because he had committed the sin of being beaten.
130
Finally, at the end of the ceremony, the chief priest held up a hand for silence.
"Now we come to the Choice. One here among us has followed the demon goddess all her life
but today, Holin, in his mercy, has given her this chance of salvation." He nodded to two
assistants. They stood before Tashi, the one on the right hand holding warm clothes and a loaf of
bread, on the left, a birch rod. "Choose service to Holin and your trials will be over; refuse and your mortification will continue until you are cleansed of your errors." He paused, then asked,
"Penitent, who is the Supreme God?"
Silence fell in the temple. Tashi closed her eyes, wondering if her voice had fled. She had to say
something.
133
"I am the Mother's servant." Her voice was surprisingly loud in the hushed temple.
"Blasphemy!" shrieked the priest. The crowd murmured and hissed at the kneeling figure in her black robes. "Take the witch back to her cell!" he ordered.
Two guards seized Tashi roughly under her arms and towed her back the way she had come.
Behind her, the chanting began again as the priests hurried to purify the temple after the
pollution caused by her words.
Once back in her cell, Tashi dashed to her water jug and rubbed frantically at her bloodied
cheeks. She felt dirty long after she had cleaned the marks off.
Please, she begged the Goddess, please may they leave me in peace!
She was not to get her wish. The chief priest and his
131
entourage followed on the completion of the service. He bore the birch rod in his hands, his
expression unforgiving. Tashi backed against the wall, feeling the priests' hostility like a physical
blow as they crowded into her small room.
The chief priest curled his lips in disgust and threw the rod at her feet.
"You've chosen the way of discipline. You will learn to fight and submit as becomes a warrior of
Holin."
134
Tashi held out her empty hands. "My religion is one of peace. I will not fight."
He ignored her. "Your trainer will remain with you. Everyone fights eventually."
With a swirl of red robes, he was gone, leaving a single priest behind.
Glancing up at him fearfully, Tashi saw that it was the man who had so efficiently wielded the
mace to kill his opponent. He now wore a robe fastened with a linked belt and a breastplate
made of gold, spoils of his victory and a sign that he had graduated to the highest level of
warrior-craft.
About fifty years old, he had the scarred face and hands of a professional soldier. He regarded
his pupil for a long silent moment then pointed to the rod.
"Pick it up," he ordered, drawing from the fold of his robes a similar instrument.
Having no idea what to expect, Tashi scooped the rod up from the floor. She had decided to
obey any order that did not conflict with her principles.
"Penitent, all Holin's followers must learn to fight for him and to submit to him as a good soldier does to his commander. You will quickly feel the penalty of 132
refusing an order from me, your master, if you refuse to give battle when told to do so.
Therefore, I say, 'Fight!'"
The warrior-priest launched himself at her, swinging the rod down in an arc like a sword slash.
Instinctively, Tashi raised her arms across her face. The blow whipped across the back of her
135
hands. She yelped.
The priest gave a cold smile. "I think you understand now. I will keep on attacking until you fight back." He raised his rod again, expecting her to launch her counter-strike.
"I will not fight for your god," Tashi retorted, turning quickly so that the next blow fell on her back. The sting made her gasp.
"That is blasphemy." The man bent the rod in his hands, his eyes glittering with battle-fire. "The Warmonger wants strength and blood from his followers, not weakness and cowardice."
"Then I won't follow him."
The third blow hit her ribs with a crack.
"You must fight back or I will beat you until I have no more strength to raise my arm."
Tashi believed him, but either she let him break her body or crush her will.
She took a step forward, held her rod between her two hands and snapped it over her knee. She
threw the pieces to the ground.
"I am fighting back, sir, in the only way my faith allows."
He raised his arm to strike again but Tashi did not flinch this time.
136
133
"I did as you asked: I fought, but still you would hit me?" she asked, steeling herself for the blow.
The priest slowly lowered his rod, his expression one of reluctant admiration.
"You have strength, witch, but it is in the service of the wrong god. I will return tomorrow to
continue our lessons," he said, tucking the rod away in his belt.
Ramil had decided that he stood the best chance of escape if he ingratiated himself with Fergox.
If he could earn the man's trust, it was likely the guard on him would be relaxed sufficiently for
him to slip away and make his preparations. To do so, he would have to start acting as if he
accepted that he was a guest rather than a prisoner. On hearing from the two soldiers who were
his permanent escort that Fergox usually spent the morning sparring with his warrior priests,
Ramil went in search of his host. Their information had been correct: Fergox was duelling in the
practice courts adjoining the temple, an arena surrounded by a wooden barrier. As Ramil
approached, he could see warriors testing their skills on the sawdust-covered floor. Fergox was
in the very middle, stripped to the waist, sweat running down his back, a few cuts to his torso,
but he was getting the best of the fight. With a skilful swipe of the sword, Fergox had his
opponent on his knees, blade pointing to his windpipe.
"Submit to me, and thus to the Great Holin," Fergox panted. There was a hungry look in his eye, as if he hoped to have the excuse to finish the thrust.
134
"I submit," said the priest, letting his blade fall to the ground with a clatter.
With a tight laugh, Fergox dropped his sword and stepped back.
137
"Honor to the Mighty Holin," he chanted.
"Honor to his name," replied the man, completing the ritual. He looked immensely relieved to be walking away with his life.
Fergox reached for a towel held out by one of his servants, wiped his face with it, and slung it
around his neck. He then saw Ramil leaning against the barrier.
"Good morning, Prince Ramil. I trust you slept well?"
Ramil bowed. "Indeed, sir."
"Would you care to fight?" Fergox gestured to the rack of weapons inside the court--swords,
spears, mace, and staff. "I like to practice with at least three partners each day to keep up my
skills."
Ramil vaulted over the barrier. "I do not pretend to match you in experience or strength, my
lord." It did not suit his plans to risk getting injured just to show off his swordsmanship. "Would target practice be an acceptable competition between us?" He chose a short spear, the sort he