on both sides with a mounted horseman in front to break trail through the swarms of people crowding the morning streets. Casca reclined on one elbow and watched the passersby between the curtains.
At least he was off to an auspicious beginning.
At the horseman's command the streets emptied to either side of the litter and its escort, leaving a clear path for them to travel. This was a city that obeyed without hesitation. In due course, after many turnings and twistings, he and his bodyguard came to the inner city where the King and his court resided in opulent Oriental splendor reminiscent of Xerxes the Great. Tall columns and walls decorated with glazed bricks depicting hunting scenes and mythical animals brightened up the way. Once inside the walls of the inner city, the hubbub of the outside was effectively cut off and only came through as a distant murmuring. A light thump and the litter was set down. With some regret, Casca eased himself from his transport, and made a note to buy one for himself one day.
The Persian court official who had come for him showed him into a hallway lined with tall pillars of carved stone that held a massive roof painted with the glories of Persia's past. The Persians loved color almost as much as did the nobles of the court of Chin.
Only the Romans seemed to have an affection for sterile cold edifices. He supposed that it gave them the illusion of being firm and righteous, not giving in to frills. Passing numbers of the beautifully armored Warriors of Shapur, he admired the discipline in them, there was no sign of ass-grabbing at all. These were professionals who took pride in their profession. In short time he was completely lost in the maze of halls and passages that they passed through until they came at last to a halt. Casca's escort opened a door admitting him to a large, comfortable room with a sleeping cot made soft with down-stuffed cushions of red. On a table food waited; obviously his arrival had been anticipated. His host bade him take his ease, that he would be sent for in due time. The letters from Tzin were not returned. His host explained that a formal translation would have to be made of them and a copy entered in to the court records, at which time the King would look them over before deciding to receive the emissary from Chin.
Before leaving, Casca was requested to surrender his sword, though allowed to keep his knife. He was told that there was nothing personal in the disarming of him, it was just policy and his weapons would be returned afterwards. Backing his way out, Casca was left to attack with eagerness the rack of lamb cooked in mint and sage. There was nothing he could do now but wait for the King to send for him and who the hell could tell how long that would take. Kings moved in their own peculiar time-frames and the urgencies of lesser beings were seldom worthy of any consideration.
But then, kings, priests, and whores all wanted to do everything their own way. Kings, because no one else was really important to them; priests, because they wanted you to think they were important; and whores, because time was money. Cascaappreciated the whores' reasons more than the others.
After about an hour, the door to his chambers opened and a slave girl entered to take out the dirty dishes. Not a bad-looking piece. He eyed her up and down; she smiled back shyly at the scar-faced, blue-eyed barbarian who was leering at her with such obvious interest. As his eyes moved down to her thinly covered breasts, she could feel the nipples harden. A little reluctantly she left with her dishes and wondered if the stranger would send for her this night. As she went out of the door Casca noted that two sentries had been assigned to his room, one on each side, and from the looks on their faces neither one had much of a sense of humor. Well, he knew the type. There would be no use in trying to get any information out of them. Their minds were so locked up with being what they thought was the epitome of the good soldier that they probably went to the crapper by the numbers.
He spent three days in his chamber with his meals being brought in by the same girl. He did manage once to talk her into a quickie, which, though fast, was still quite satisfying. The rest of his possessions had been brought to him the day after he had been taken to the palace. Since that time he had not been permitted to leave his rooms or even go out into the hallway. So like all men in forced isolation, he did the only thing one can do- he slept, waking for a time to eat and stretch, then, after a few hours, dozing off again. Anything to help use up the hours until he would be sent for.
On the morning of the fourth day an official, wearing a high-ridged plumed helmet of steel overlaid with bronze, came for him. The two sentries formed up, one on either side, with the officer leading. He was again taken through a labyrinth of hallways and corridors until he was admitted to an antechamber where a number of other visitors, diplomats, and emissaries were lined up, giving their names and their business to the court scribe who interviewed them. Casca waited his turn in line behind a Median governor who was trying to get a government subsidy to build some new public office buildings.
Casca wore the best of his two silk robes he'd brought with him. He knew that they would give him some stature in the eyes of the court officials; they were worth their weight in gold. When his turn came he stated his business as being ordered by the Son of Heaven, the Emperor Tzin, to deliver his message of good will and affection to His Royal Highness, the King of Kings of Persia, Shapur II. Also, to advise his royal cousin of the new threat developing from the savage tribes who inhabited the great wastelands of the steppes. The Huns were on the move again. Casca made sure the scribe included in his notes that he was a noble of the court of the Peacock Throne.
After he and the others had waited for some time they were finally led through one last corridor of the massive carved stones that reached ten times the height of a tall man, passing even more of the palace guards until they were finally admitted to the presence.
The Magnificent Hall of the King of Kings outshone anything Imperial Rome had ever conceived and was only second to the Court of the Imperial City at Chang-an. Massive carved bas-reliefs of winged bulls combined with vividly painted frescoes of kings hunting lions from chariots. Others depicted the kings of Persia and their conquests over the barbarian tribes. One showed the Emperor Valerian being forced to kneel, head bowed before his captor, Shapur I, Shahan shah Eran ut an Eran, King of Kings of Persia and non-Persia, one of the greatest of the line of Aryan kings.
In the hall, a thousand nobles lay prostrate on their faces before the throne; Casca and the new supplicants were made to do likewise. The feel of the stone floors was cool to his chin. Bronzed braziers gave off aromatic wisps of incense to be whisked away by the black slaves fanning the royal person, while his Vizier performed the ritual to open this day's hearings. In a high nasal voice, Rasheed cried out the glories of his master and called down from the sky the blessings ofAhura-mazda upon this proceeding and all those herein. Shapur II waved his hand and permitted those prostrate before him to rise and set eyes upon him.
Shapur sat upon a throne of alabaster; on either side the winged bulls of Assyria guarded the royal person from evil spirits. Casca whistled under his breath-Shapur was one hell of a man by anyone's standards. Instead of a staff of office, he held a sword whose point rested between his gold-sandaled feet. His sword arm was bare and Casca had the feeling that it wasn't too unusual for the King to administer justice himself, as he kept his sword clear from the robes that covered him to the knees. His robes were of woven silver thread and purplesilk, fringed with tassels of braided gold. His legs were bare except for a set of boots similar to the Romancaligulae. Both arms and legs were strong and knotted with muscle. The face of Shapur rested not under a crown, but under a warrior's Helm of Iron, set about with silver bands. A nasal guard raised to rest on the crest of the helmet.
Shapur's face was dark from years of campaigning: lean, with the muscles in his jaws constantly working; a thin, yet sensuous mouth with no humor in the lips. He watched everything and everyone with the gaze of a predatory bird. Unblinking, pitch-black eyes missed nothing. When he spoke his voice was not loud, but every word could be clearly heard to the farthest extremities of his court. It was the voice of one born to lead, the voice of Shapur II, King of Kings, and you could bet your ass no one who ever saw him would argue about it.
Casca stood silently as one petitioner after another was led before the King, his case to be disposed of in short order. Casca quickly learned the King had no time for the long flowery greetings and blessings so common in the Chinese court. When the petitioner started to drone he was quickly cut short and made to move on to his case without any hesitations. Shapur gave his judgments in the same voice, and each man who stood before him could not help glancing repeatedly at the bared sword in his master's hand. Several were sentenced to death for one offense or another. These thanked their lord for his kindness and went off to an appointment with the headsman's ax.
One who had stolen from the taxes was given anunusual sentence. Shapur, eyes piercing through to the soul of the thieving tax official, spoke softly. 'You, who I have trusted, love gold more than me. When you came to me and asked for my favor your words were like gold and that shall be your punishment.' The thief was led off, sobbing, to the torture chambers, where the royal inquisitors melted down ingots of pure gold, forced open the man's mouth,
