groaned aloud. AH of his being cried out against meek surrender to this arrogant, white-painted Prince of demons and bones! Nevertheless, Harsan’s training in priestly logic led him through the maze to the one inescapable conclusion: there was nothing to be had, in the end, by refusing Dhich’une’s demands. Between Vridekka and the Legion of Ketl, they would squeeze it all out of him as the vintners pressed Mash-fruil to make brandy.
His thoughts went round again to Prince Dhich’une’s arguments. A Prince of the Empire could clearly claim legal jurisdiction over the artifacts. He could be overruled, of course, by orders from Avanthar. But, in the name of Belkhanu’s Seventh Isle, how long would THAT take? Even if the priesthood of Thumis went howling like Zrne- beasts to the Great Council of the Temples, to the governor, to the Emperor himself, it would likely be days- nay, months-before any action might be taken. The Prince would have the Man of Gold, and Harsan’s skull would be picked clean by the river fish before anyone would come to the Tolek Kana Pits to inquire.
Even as he thought of this, Harsan cursed himself for a moral coward. A person must base his life upon “noble action”; thus thundered the epics, the books of admonitions, and the age-old traditions of Tsolyani society. The soldier, the official, the priest- even those who sacrificed lives each day to grim Vimuhla or Chiteng-behaved as they did because of a belief in their principles and a willingness to stand up for them. Anything else was “ignoble”: weakness, sophistry, self-deception, indolence, or downright cowardice. “An honest tyrant is better than a hypocritical altruist, ” as it said in the Pandects of Psankunel the Knower. Perhaps it was the strangely powerful imperative contained in the Globe of Instruction; perhaps it was something within Harsan himself. Yet he knew instinctively that such as Prince Dhich’une must not-must never-attain the secrets of the Man of Gold.
Were the others who sought the Man of Gold really any better? a niggling little thought asked. The greedy priesthoods? The squabbling political factions? The other Imperial heirs who jockeyed for power and waited for their aging father to pass on to the Isles? No matter. This was not a choice between one Rertyu and another, fighting over the same bone. This lay between Harsan and himself. He made up his mind.
He would resist.
Eventually torchlight bathed the chamber once more. The Prince had returned.
“What, then, have you thought, Priest Harsan?” Prince Dhich’une asked amicably.
Harsan licked dry lips. “I–I can tell you nothing more, mighty Prince.”
The Prince sighed and made a sign. “Alas for the courage of youth. Vridekka!”
Two men of the Legion of Ketl took hold of him and bound his wrists to the metal link once more, this time over his head so that he lay upon his back on the coarse wooden table. The mind-seer leaned over him and stood gazing down into his face. The rheumy eyes loomed larger and larger beneath their scraggly brows.
Dizziness-
“Great Prince, I see within his mind. But he cannot speak. Just below the surface there is a defence like a buckler of iron.”
“Circumvent it.”
“I shall try, my Lord. If I can discover where the Man of Gold lies, it may be possible to trick his unconscious mind into still further admissions.”
Harsan hung in emptiness. Vertigo seized him for there was no up and no down in this place. Whichever way he turned two huge eyes confronted him, driving out all else, becoming the one, the all, the beginning, and the end of being…
A voice called from a great distance. “Harsan,” it cried, “think not of the Man of Gold! You have concealed it well, Harsan, and you are successful.” Relief flooded over him. “There is no need to fear; all is as it should be.” Were those eyes before him, or the two moons of Tekumel?
“Harsan,” the voice called again, “Harsan, priest of Thumis! Have you ever been to the city of Ch’ochi? Have you seen Ch’ochi, Harsan?”
He was mildly surprised to hear his own voice replying, as though from some cavern lost at the bottom of the sea.
“No. Never…”
“Tumissa,” the voice persisted, “do you like Tumissa?” “Yes. I pas sed by it when I came to Bey Sii.”
“Jakalla?”
“The great port city… I have never seen it.”
The list went on interminably. Within the egg of emptiness Harsan first became bored, then tired. The two voices prattled on somewhere far away.
“And Purdimal?” The strange voice asked, “What of Purdimal?”
“An old city, in the north… The swamps there…”
A veil dropped over the two staring eyes. Harsan’s universe shook and went swooping off into darkness. He knew no more.
Vridekka approached the dais. “Mighty Prince, the blockage lies here, in connection with Purdimal. When I mentioned the other cities his mind was as open and limpid as a summer blossom, but when I spoke of Purdimal it snapped shut, and there was the buckler of iron.”
“So.” Prince Dhich’une rubbed his bone-painted chin. “It is as I expected. The ancients lied when they set up guideposts pointing to Ch’ochi-or else the shrine at Ch’ochi may have been the place of the Man of Gold during the days of its use, and later it was taken to Purdimal. What know you of Purdimal, Vridekka?”
The mind-seer came close and whispered.
“Your musty tomes may have the answer. You may be right. I, too, have seen references to her, the Goddess of the Pale Bone, She Who Must Not be Named Aloud. If this Man of Gold is hers-or connected to her-then we have too little information. A citation here, a hint there
…”
“Ignorance is danger in this affair, mighty Prince. We know that worship of this goddess was banned, her shrines razed as if they had never been, her minions slain and scattered and driven from the very face of Tekumel. Worse than the Ssu and the Hliiss, who hate us more than-”
“But the power! The power! More than the world has seen in all the generations since the Time of the Gods! Now if the Man of Gold be a servitor of hers…!”
“Then we may well wreak our own doom, mighty Prince. My sources suggest that to loose her upon the world again may rock the very foundations of both Stability and Change! Not one of the Priest Pavar’s twenty deities she! Instead, she is said to be as much anathema to Hrii’ii, Lord of Darkness, as she is to Hnalla, Lord of Light.”
Prince Dhich’une seemed not to hear. “Another thought, Vridekka: why, think you, does the Baron of Yan Kor find such fascination in these Llyani relics? It cannot be their power alone, great though that may be. Scores of devices exist from the ages before the Time of Darkness, and from the Latter Times that followed. The vaults and treasuries of the Five Empires are stuffed full of such bric-a-brac. Only if the Man of Gold were urgent for his schemes would he take so much interest. He must own another piece of the puzzle. His ‘Weapon Without Answer’-?” “The Man of Gold may be an aid to it-or a hindrance?”
“If it be designed to assist the Baron’s black box, then we can withhold it from him, or mayhap make him pay more dearly for it than he wishes. And if it be an instrument made to combat his ‘Weapon,’ then-then we may not have to give Khirgar and the north over to his blind vengeance after all. Indeed, the tree may be felled so as to crush Yan Kor and not us.”
“Is it wise-?” the old man began.
“ ‘To plough stones is foolish when fertile fields lie at hand.’ ” An earth-hued hand crept out of the brown sleeve, thumb touching index fingertip. “We know that the Man of Gold lies-or lay-at Purdimal.” Thumb to middle finger. “There was the last stronghold of those who served the Goddess of the Pale Bone.” Thumb to ring finger. “The Man of Gold is therefore likely to be some device of hers, or an ally.” The thumb moved to the little finger. “And since the Baron Aid is interested, we guess that either he needs this instrument, or dreads its coming forth- more probably the latter, judging by his comportment at our last council. Either way we stand to win the throw, if only we can come upon this Man of Gold!”
“As you say, mighty Prince.” Vridekka drew himself up, his voice yet filled with doubt. “And now?”
“Awaken the priest. His cooperation is more necessary than ever.”
Harsan blinked. No time had passed. But here was the skull face of the Prince gazing down at him from a hand’s breadth away.
“You have aided us much, priest. You have our thanks.” The toneless voice held no hint of irony. “We know that your Man of Gold is in Purdimal-” the rigid mouth sketched a smile at Harsan’s appalled look, “-and we have
