'Yes?'
'Know this. Should you make the slightest sign to cast a spell, you will be killed before you can complete it. Is that understood?' The voice spoke the last with great emphasis.
'It is understood,' Koja answered clearly.
There was a drawn-out scraping noise as the gates were unbarred. It ended with a loud clunk, and then the massive wooden halves began to swing open. With grunting strain, a team of soldiers pushed the gate open wide enough for the riders to pass through.
'Do not draw your weapons,' Koja charged his men, 'or we will all surely die. Remember, your task is not to get me killed.'
Inside the gate was a company of archers, their weapons nocked and ready. The men stood tensely, lined up on one side of the street instead of both, so their arrows wouldn't accidentally kill their own men if there was a fight. The soldiers wore simple cotton robes, dyed in blues and reds. Koja suspected the robes covered armored suits of leather and mail. Each man wore a pointed cap decorated with the brilliant green plume of some strange bird or beast.
At the far end of the line stood their commander. He was easily identified by the gleaming suit of metal scales he wore. Each scale had been polished to a sheen, so that the officer sparkled wherever he went. In the noonday glare, his armor was almost blinding. 'Welcome, lama of the Red Mountain,' he said, bowing slightly.
'I am honored to be welcome,' Koja replied, using his best diplomatic skills.
Koja cautiously urged his horse through the gate, not wanting to venture too far into the city. He was still very uncertain about the reception he might receive.
'You and your men will leave your horses here,' instructed the gleaming commander. 'Then you will accompany me to the governor.'
Koja translated the officer's words. There was some grumbling from the men about leaving their horses. Koja pointed out that if they did not, they could not go any farther. Reluctantly, the troopers dismounted and handed their steeds over to grooms, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
'Follow me,' ordered the commander with little ceremony. 'Watch, fall in.' The archers slung their bows, drew heavy curved knives called krisnas-a favorite weapon of Khazari warriors-and took positions on either side of Koja and his escort. The swarthy, robed Khazari eyed the shorter Tuigan suspiciously and kept their weapons ready.
As he marched through the streets, Koja studied the city.
Although he'd never been to Manass, its houses were much like the ones of the small village he grew up in. They were larger here. Most had one or two stories and were built from carefully stacked rocks. The narrow side streets were clogged with goods left outside-jars too large to put anywhere else, half-finished baskets, even outdoor looms. Doors and windows lined the street and curious eyes watched him from the shadows.
The streets remained empty as they marched through the town, but the rickety wooden balconies that thrust out from many buildings did not. Curious children and veiled women crowded on these, threatening to bring the precarious structures crashing down with their weight. Koja saw few men until the procession rounded a corner and entered a large plaza.
This was obviously the heart of Manass. At the plaza's far side was a broad, low building, whitewashed and brightly painted with bands of sutras done in vermillion, cobalt, yellow, and green. Koja recognized the writing and the style. The scriptures were from a sect of the Yellow Temple, rivals to the Red Mountain in power. He read them to himself. 'Bohda of the brilliant, five-flame heaven, master of the thirteen secret words, brought to the mountain by the King-Who-Destroyed-Bambalan, so bow to the east…' The rest of the verse continued around the building, out of sight. Koja guessed that the inscription was a charm used to ward off evil magic and the evil spirits of the mountains.
The front of the building was dominated by a low portico that ran its entire length. Men, dressed in armor- heavily padded coats of yellow and red that reached to the ankle-and carrying wicked looking staff-swords, formed a wall at its base. More men, equally armed and armored, stood in the narrow streets that entered the plaza, blocking the other routes into the city. Sitting on the portico, near the center, was a group of five men.
Koja bowed to the officials. Foremost of the five was a tall, slender man. A banner behind him portrayed a multi-armed, sword-wielding warrior-the King-Who-Destroyed-Bambalan. This ancient hero was the founder of Prince Ogandi's line and was now revered as a a savior by the people. The figure was the official seal of Khazari. Koja assumed the slender man was the town's governor.
Just behind the governor was a man in loose, draping robes of red and blue. Stains and holes marred the brilliant colors of his clothing. His hair was thick, long, black, and unwashed. In his hand he held a thin iron rod, four feet long, hung with chains and metal figurines. Koja guessed he was a dong chang, a wizard-hermit from the high mountains. Most of these men led reclusive lives, seeking only to perfect their magical craft, but sometimes they ventured out of their cold caves and returned to the civilized world. Koja shuddered slightly when he looked at the man. There were many stories about the dong chang, few of them pleasant. It was rumored they were actually dead creatures, kept alive by their own meditations and practices.
The third man was clearly a scribe, as indicated by the writing materials spread around him. Koja quickly passed over him to study the remaining men on the stand.
The last two on the porch were a surprise to Koja, even more than the dong chang had been. It was obvious to Koja that neither man was Khazari. They wore the long, tight-fitting silk robes of Shou Lung mandarins, the bureaucrats of that great empire. One seemed quite aged, while the other was more youthful, just verging on middle age. The elder had a thin mustache and a fine, wispy goatee, both carefully groomed. His hair was balding and faded, and his eyes drooped in heavy wrinkles. Age spots marked his cheeks and hands.
The younger man's features more clearly showed bis Shou heritage. His face was not swarthy like those Khazari around him. His hair was black and straight, bound in a long queue. He wore a small round hat with a long yellow tassel. His face was serious and hard.
As Koja studied these men, the guards that accompanied him from the gate slowly fell back, forming up in two lines to block the street they had all just come up. His own men moved to form a horseshoe around him, open at the front. Their hands went instinctively to their weapons.
'No fighting!' hissed Koja when he noticed their movement. 'Keep your weapons sheathed.'
'We shouldn't die like the staked goat before the tiger,' urged one of the men under his breath. 'Better we fight.'
'If you do not touch your weapons, the tiger will not strike,' Koja whispered back. 'You will fail the khahan if we die. Wait.' The troopers stood still, but not a man lowered his hand.
'You claim you are Koja of the Khazari,' said the governor from his seat. 'You must be willing and able to prove this…'
'I am,' Koja assured the man, standing as straight as he could.
'It will cost you your life if you're deceiving me. Manjusri, make the test,' the governor ordered, signaling his wizard to the front.
The dong chang stepped forward and raised his hands, presenting the iron rod toward Koja. The priest's guards went for their swords. Koja grabbed the wrist of the nearest man. 'Wait,' he ordered. The wizard waved the rod in circles and murmured a deep chant. His eyes were closed. There was a sudden puff of wind that fluttered the magician's robes and tossed his hair about. Suddenly, it stopped. The hermit opened his eyes.
'He speaks the truth, Lord,' the wild-haired wizard pronounced. The gaunt fellow returned to his place behind the governor.
'Well then, Koja of the Red Mountain, I am Sanjar al-Mulk, commander of this city in the name of Prince Ogandi. State your message to me as if it were to him.' There was no tone of warmth or friendliness in the man's voice, only a faint trace of sneering contempt and disgust for the priest in front of him.
Koja swallowed nervously and crossed his hands in front of himself. 'I am a Khazari-'
'Come forward. I cannot hear you,' ordered Sanjar. Koja walked closer to the porch and began again, shouting a little louder.
'I am a Khazari, like those of you here. I bear you greetings from Hoekun Yamun, khahan of the Tuigan, who styles himself Illustrious Emperor of All Peoples. He has sent me to you, my people and my prince, to deliver a message. The words of the khahan of the Tuigan are this: 'Submit to me and recognize my authority over your people or I shall raze your city and destroy all those who refuse me.''
