“But we are not of the empire,” said a man.
“So much the better,” said Abrogastes. “Our blood is fresh, and hot. We are young, and the heat of our youth is upon us. We are a newer, more ambitious, more adventurous, more determined, stronger people. I will not be content until I ride my horse into the throne room of Telnaria, and wash my blade in the blood of the emperor!”
“Beware, milord!” cried a man.
“I have not gone mad,” said Abrogastes. “What is required is courage.”
“We are only warriors,” said a man.
“Such,” said Abrogastes, “stand at the beginning of all dynasties.”
Abrogastes rose to his feet.
“Milord,” said the clerk.
Men gasped, for the clerk had drawn forth, from a chest at the back of the dais, a long, purple robe, of the imperial purple, trimmed with white fur, from the pelt of the ice bear.
He draped this about the shoulders of Abrogastes.
Abrogastes himself fastened the large, golden penannular clasp.
The robe was so cut, in two leaves, that its length fell before and behind, leaving the arms free.
In such a way a sword may be wielded.
“Such robes may you all wear,” said Abrogastes.
Men regarded one another, wonderingly.
“Let rings be distributed,” said Abrogastes.
The men who had brought the rings, in the iron-bound coffer began to distribute them.
They were large, and of gold, such as might be worn on the upper arm, or wrist.
Men drew back, fearing to accept them.
“Do not be afraid, my brothers,” said Abrogastes. “See. I do not ask that you kneel before me, and accept rings from my hand. These are tokens of the feast, and of my good will. Surely those who have accepted rings from me know who they are, and many of you, I know, have accepted rings from another. I ask no forswearing of allegiances. We are all brothers. These are gifts. No obligation attends them.”
“Our thanks, milord!” called a man.
The rings then were distributed, though some were accepted with reluctance.
It is a serious thing, the taking of rings.
There was, you see, as Abrogastes well knew, something in the nature of an implicit understanding involved in such an acceptance, even though it might be formally denied.
Abrogastes then resumed his seat upon the bench, between the pillars.
“Bring gifts!” he called.
Men rushed out and returned with rich gifts, drawn from chests, some of which required four men to bear. There was rich cloth, much of it cunningly woven, and satins and brocades for free women, and subtle silks, many diaphanous, with which to bedeck slaves, and there were jewels, of a dozen kinds, and golden wire, and brooches, buckles, strap ends, coins, plates, vessels, candelabra, lamps, swords, daggers, bracelets and necklaces, many such things. Much of this was heaped upon the tables. Men, and others, grasped these things, taking them to their places, putting them about themselves, thrusting them into their belts and garments.
Abrogastes watched, with satisfaction.
He witnessed men, and others, accepting his gifts, even eagerly.
Too, he was the lord of the Drisriaks, the foremost tribe, the largest and fiercest, of the Alemanni nation. To accept gifts from him was not the same as from some minor lord.
Abrogastes called to himself, while the gifts were being distributed, the chief of the lads in the bright livery, with the switches, and spoke with him.
He then, the lad, went to the prone women, crowded together, radiated in their semicircle about and before the spear, and, with deft, significatory touches of the supple wand in his hand, brought three to their hands and knees and herded them, with a touch here and there, unobtrusively, on an arm, or flank, to a position before the dais, to the left, before the bench of Abrogastes. These were the three blondes who had, often, even on the Alaria, served as display slaves, the sort with which a barbaric court might be bedecked, as an indication of the wealth and power of a rude sovereign, one of a powerful, ruthless people among whom the complete mastery of slaves was a commonplace. At a nod from Abrogastes, a keeper chained them, the three of them, hand and foot, to a ring, it set in the side of the dais.
This business was not muchly noticed by the men at the tables, boisterous, vying, arguing, reaching out, gathering in their gifts.
“There is more than enough for all!” cried out one of the distributors of this largesse.
The leader of the display slaves, shackled with the others, looked at Abrogastes fearfully, hopefully. She pressed her lips to her manacles, looking above them, timidly, to Abrogastes.
A wave of hatred and jealousy swept through the small, exquisitely curved body of Huta, but then she put down her head in fear, in misery, and moaned.
On her own throat there was not so much as a collar.
The eyes of the hound, green, and alight with fire, that crouched to the right of Abrogastes, were upon her.
At the merest word from Abrogastes, she knew the hound would be upon her, and tear her to pieces, its muzzle and fangs awash with blood, it feeding eagerly before the dais.
Huta looked to the scales, and to the pointer, indicative of the weightier burden borne within the pan of death.
She shuddered, and pressed the right side of her cheek into the dirt, against one of the broken reeds, or rushes.
Muchly did she envy the display slaves their shackles.
It seemed, at least, they had been found worth chaining, that they would be kept.
“Behold!” called Abrogastes, rising from the bench, and gesturing expansively to the side, where, from an entrance, men filed in, bearing oblong boxes.
“What is this, milord?” called a man, a Buron, from his home world of Safa Minor.
“See!” laughed Abrogastes.
The boxes were torn open, the boards splintered by swift, prying bars.
“Aii!” cried feasters, for within there were Telnarian rifles.
Such weapons were superior to those of most border troops, many of which, given the losses of resources over more than a billion years, were reduced to primitive weaponry, suitable for little more than the ordering, and pacification, of peoples scarcely less advanced than themselves. A quarrel, an arrow, may be reused, and, indeed, many charges, and the forcings of ground, had as their main intent the recovery of just such missiles from the field, some gathering them up, others maintaining the hurdles or shield walls behind which this harvesting might take place. A cartridge, on the other hand, once expended, is gone. A gallon of fuel burned is lost. A bomb, once exploded, has done its work, its reality then vanished in the debris of its birth and death. In these times, you see, a rifle might be worth a kingdom, and an unexploited world, newly discovered, rich in minerals and arable soil, worth a star. Resources, once carelessly conceived as if they might be infinite in nature and quantity, used upon occasion even to shatter and destroy worlds, had proved, over billions of years, finite, potentially exhaustible, and many were scattered, remote, and to most intents and purposes inaccessible. Small wonder then that simple metal, which might be fashioned into blades, and wood, that gloriously renewable resource, which might be fashioned into arrows and bows, began again to appear in the mixed arsenals of a million worlds.
“Beware,” laughed Abrogastes, as men eagerly seized these precious devices, “one must learn to use them!”
“Do not unlatch that catch,” said one of the more civilized of the feasters, to a second Buron, one to his left, fumbling with the contrivance.
“They are loaded,” cautioned one of the fellows who had distributed the weapons.
“Each contains but a single charge,” said a man, inspecting a spring-actuated loading panel.
“Outside, to be distributed,” said Abrogastes, “there are a thousand charges for each weapon.” Men regarded one another, marveling. Such a weapon, with only five charges, might suffice for the governance of a city. A single charge might crash the wall of a building.