Sung Ti offered Casca the use of one of the horses of his stables but the offer was graciously refused. Casca had grown fond of the tough shaggy horse that had carried him so far. He did accept, with gratitude, the present of a short dagger-a miniature of the sword Sung Ti had shown him. Sung Ti had informed the blade was quite old and was a little son to his own blade, made by the same master craftsman over a hundred years ago and had rested by the father blade for that time, but now was perhaps the time for the son to leave home and serve a new master, even perhaps grow into a full sword. Sung Ti's smooth face and dark eyes twinkled at his joke as he bade farewell to the stranger.
Riding a well paved road, the miles slipped behind as Casca entered the lands of Tzin.
Passing through more populated villages, the seal given him by Sung Ti proclaiming him an imperial messenger sped his movement rapidly. Everywhere the seal was honored and food and shelter given without question, though he did receive questioning stares from the people. At one village he had his hair trimmed back to the nape of his neck and had a hard time talking the barber out of shaving the hair on the sides, leaving only a mane that would tie in the back, a style that was becoming popular among the young warrior nobility. The reason for the mane was to give their enemies something to hang to if their heads were taken as trophies. Casca had no intention of losing his head and passed up the offer to make him more stylish, much to the barber's disappointment.
Many of the cities he passed through as he neared the home of the Emperor were walled with moats and strange-looking tiered structures. Straight lines and gently curving angles, sloping tiled roofs and temples, like the food, were designed to be in harmony with the land and surroundings, but built to last. Casca knew the structures to be solid, having built not a few fortifications during his years in the Legion and, although no engineer, he could see strength in the design.
As he came closer to the heartland, the land became more cultivated and caravans of merchants poured into the urban centers, bringing their loads on the back of two-humped camels and asses, horses and ox carts, loaded with those things which make a nation live.
Several times he was confronted by warriors on horseback, proud men in rich trappings of silk and gold, marvelous patterns of delicate scenes of the countryside and graceful flowers woven in threads of fine gold and silk, seeming not to be out of place on these warriors of the Tzin. Here art and war seemed to be in perfect blending. The courage of the warriors was clear and their affection for delicate and beautiful things did nothing to lessen their masculinity; indeed, it often served to accent the subtle danger that would come if one of these Asian equestrians was offended.
Fifteen
Casca entered the walls of the city Ch'ang-an after careful scrutiny by the officer in charge on the moongate entrance. After inspection of the seals on the letters from the King of Kushan and Commander of the Jade Gate, he provided an escort that led the foreigner through the streets of the city to the quarters where the emissaries of foreign courts were provided the hospitality of the Tzin Emperor until such time as the Son of Heaven could see them.
The escort was friendly and curious. Never had he seen anyone like this big man on the wiry mountain pony. The city of Tzin was well laid out with wide streets formed into walled blocks. There were over three hundred and fifty of these, each walled enclosure a smaller city unto itself with gates that closed at sundown. There being no traffic between the smaller cities, there was less chance for riot or revolt.
Inside, the wards were only narrow paths that had to be traveled on foot. Even the most noble visitor would have to dismount and enter on foot. The buck-toothed smiling guide informed Casca that Ch'ang-an was like all the other cities of the Emperor, laid out with the royal palace facing south so that all who approached would come from the north. To face south was a sign of superiority, none could have more than the Son of Heaven. Of course, there were rare occasions when the Emperor would, as a sign of respect or favor, greet a great man or loyal subject on an east or west line, but this was rare indeed and only happened twice that the guide could remember.
Entering a ward with walls forty feet high and sentries on guard, they passed through a rounded gate with bars that could lower instantly, leaving holes from which archers could fire. The tiled roofs and gardens within were laid out in a manner strange to his eyes. Placement of such common objects as a few odd-shaped rocks set on raked gravel gave an oddly comforting effect, even peaceful. Fragile as the small gardens appeared, they looked as if they would endure forever, captured in a moment of time, preserved for the ages.
His smiling host showed him to three rooms in which were graceful ink drawings and strange airy paintings, of almost ethereal quality. His guide bowed on leaving, saying others would come soon to see to his needs.
There were no chairs in the room. Casca sat on a large cushion to take his boots off, wincing at the odor. He had been told his horse was in the imperial stables and his gear would be brought to him later. The absence of his sword bothered him, but he had been left with the small belt dagger of Sung Ti as a sign of trust. Leaning back, his eyes blinked once and then closed.
He was awakened by the rustling of silk robes. As his eyes snapped open, a gentle face appeared in focus, eyes like those of a mountain doe, hair piled high on her head, held by combs of jade and ivory set with long pins, jeweled with sapphires on the tips.
The girl smiled shyly as she too looked at the barbarian from beyond the edge of the world. Hesitantly, she motioned for him to follow her.
Leading him with graceful tiny steps, she took him through a series of paneled and paper-walled rooms to a tiled bath of lapis lazuli, indicating for him to enter the water. As she helped him remove his clothing she looked at him curiously, then motioned for him to enter the steaming water.
Sighing deeply, Casca lowered himself into the water to his chest. After the long months on the trail the hot water was ecstasy. The girl rolled up her long sleeves and began to wash his back with perfumed oils and soap. She was soon joined by three others, each as beautiful and curious. Among them they left, to Casca's delight, no part of his body un-scrubbed.
Rising from the bath, he was given clean fresh robes with emblems in ideograms he could not understand, but which obviously provided him an identity for whatever status he had in this palace of delights.
The girls chattered merrily among themselves, comparing his anatomy and exclaiming over the wealth of scar tissue that crisscrossed his body. The deep scar on his chest seemed to fascinate them almost as much as the hair on his chest, which they had competed for the right to wash and giggled at the feel while wondering among themselves what it would feel like next to their own skin, for the men of their race had no such thing. Even if the big nose was ugly, he was somehow not unappealing.
The girl who had first come for him almost fell over when Casca asked her in her own language if she would like to find out how the hair on his chest would feel next to her own smooth bosom. Giggling, she hid her face behind one long silk sleeve and beckoned for him to follow her again, this time returning him to his noms where he found all his gear was gone and even more clothes awaiting his approval.
For the first time, the girl spoke directly to him, her voice like one of the melodic wind chimes he had seen hanging from the tree branches in the courtyard: 'Food will be brought soon, barbarian. Your clothes are being burned. They are not fit for this place. You are being shown the honors and courtesies required by law to be given to an imperial messenger from another king-no more and no less. I am Mei Cho, a slave, and perhaps I will be permitted to serve you while you are in residence in this garden.'
Giggling she stammered, 'You really are so very ugly.”
Laughing still, she fled outside and disappeared down a tiled walkway.
Three days Casca waited, growing ever more restless but still not permitted to leave the confines of the garden. At night he watched the rocks and sand; they seemed to want to tell him something, if only he could see. Twice men of the court had come and questioned him politely as to what he had encountered on the trail of the silk road, making notes on what looked like papyrus, writing with long graceful strokes.
On the third night, while sitting on the bench placed so that one could view the garden, he sat watching the light from the moon cast shadows over the garden, lighting one place and casting another into darkness. A shadow crossed him. Standing, he turned around to see a young man wearing only a simple robe of gray linen watching
