by Gary Gygax
Some of the self-propelled manifestations ended their existence in deafening pyrotechnic bangs, the explosion heralded by an eye-searing flash of pure white light, the concussive shock following jolting any living thing within a yard. Others clung to what they blundered into, burning with such intense heat that whatever they touched ignited, if that thing was combustible at all. A few delivered jolts of electrical energy, or flared into smokey exudations of poisonous fumes. The most deadly were the ones whose star-shaped conclusion sent forth tiny spears of light which burned through armor, flesh, and bone.
Fully a quarter of the thugs were caught in that display and killed by the rainbow of brightly colored death. As many others, or more, were wounded, temporarily blinded and deafened, or otherwise hors de combat. Yet too many remained, and their leaders seemed unharmed. There was confusion, but no long delay. The rest of the attacking thugs rallied and returned to finish their work. A voice which could only belong to Aghasur bellowed for Kali's aid to assist in bringing the two down. The heka-bender among them let loose a bright light to mark Setne and Rachelle's position, for in darkness the multitude of attackers was now at a disadvantage against alert defenders unless they could distinguish friend from foe.
As that glare fell upon the two beleaguered figures, it showed Rachelle crouched, sword and dagger ready to cut down those before her. The magister, likewise illuminated, was also armed with his staff. The time allowed to them by his casting's deadly effects had enabled them to recover from the magickal transition and prepare for the assault which now came. Amazon and wizard-priest were ready for battle, revealed in their true forms—pale-skinned and beautiful girl of the Levant, towering ^Egyptian with shaved skull and green eyes which defied the stranglers who approached.
Perhaps they might have bested the two-score thugs, but before any such determination could be made, there came another wailing cry. The sound was as unnerving as the first had been, but its ululations differed. The rush of near-naked worshipers of the black goddess was halted. The thugs stopped, spun, and ran from the clearing as if pursued by devils.
Rachelle blinked and shook her head. The magickal light from above was fading slowly, but she could see a hundred feet before them. Two dozen corpses lay scattered nearby. Shadowy forms of the injured were disappearing into the gloom beyond where the witchlight's sphere made penumbrae, marking its perimeter. "They ran off!" she cried in jubilation. "Your blazing dweomer did it!"
"Ran off they did, Rachelle, but I doubt panic and fear caused that flight. It certainly wasn't my casting. They had rallied and were about to melee with us."
"If not in fear of another of your castings, Setne, why did they run away rather than attack us?"
"That, my dear, is another mystery we must solve, isn't it?"
BEFORE THE PEACOCK THRONE
A shrunken band of no more than two score followed their horsed leader and the sahibah to the outskirts of the capital city the following afternoon. Despite their awe and evident gratitude at what the pair had accomplished, not one of the company volunteered congratulations or words of any sort, even though the company had been saved from certain death. Thugs strangled all betoo, those non-initiates to the cult of the terrible goddess, Kali. The dead were her prize. All the victims possessed became the reward of the thugs. It was no wonder that Thugee was so popular with criminals of the Hindic realms. . . .
The native pilgrims and travelers were frightened and remote because they had seen that Inhetep and his amazon companion were not like them at all. The two were, rather, foreigners: the one towering head and shoulders above them, red skinned and green eyed, the other with a milky complexion and curly hair. They were strangers and imposters, regardless of good will, persons of no caste whatsoever. They spoke when the magister addressed them, but were tight-lipped, replying only in appropriate monosyllables. Rachelle observed this strange behavior in puzzlement. This changed to actual astonishment soon thereafter. When they were still not within sight of the city, their charges melted away without a word. Thus abandoned, Rachelle and Setne rode on to meet the great maharajah.
The view of the famed city of Delhi was breathtaking to Rachelle. Here was her first chance to see a great Hindi city from a distant and favorable perspective. They had come ashore in Bombay at night, of course. Jaipur was no grand metropolis, nor was Alwar. Little save slums, dusty roads, and the insides of hostels had she seen, except in Jaipur and Alwar, which were simply unremarkable. First, the whiteness struck her; the rising walls built along natural heights to shelter the buildings packed within. Next came the bastions and wall towers: massive rectangular works of great antiquity, with turret followed by turret to make them rise to a commanding position over gate and salient. Finally, the spire crowned domes and tiered monuments were visible over the walls. The westering sun's rays turned the tiled edifices to shimmering red-gold jewels.
"What is the history of this place, Setne?" There was no little awe in her voice.
"As far as I know," he told her, "there was some sort of town here for a thousand years before Delhi came into being. This place is a natural crossroads, a center for trade passing in the directions of the compass. It was invading westerners, though, that created the city you see."
"Tell me more."
"You know that the waves of early invaders, the Aryan tribes who came as conquerors, were absorbed." It wasn't really a question, but Rachelle said she knew. "Then Farzians came, defeated the natives, and settled in, constructing a capital for their new empire here. They were soon attacked by hordes from Bactrokush commanded by Babylonians, and those new invaders became brief masters of this realm. The Farzians joined the Hindis, or vice versa, to overthrow the latest conquerors. They succeeded for a bit, but then the Babylonians were back with Afghanis to stiffen their hosts. They stayed in control for a century. Then more Farzi came, aided the natives, and after a long and bloody period of warfare the more-or-less native faction triumphed. Since then, the territory has been nominally Hindi—that is, no other invasions from beyond the borders of the subcontinent have taken the place."
She smiled when he told her that. "Palu Ea suffered such a defeat and hasn't struck back?"
"The 'Divine Way' cause did indeed get booted from here some seven centuries past. It still rankles, though, I am certain. There have been periodic invasions launched into Hindic lands, 'holy crusades' to spread Babylonian 'truth' pass through Kabul to fall upon Sindraj or Delhi's kingdom—all to no lasting avail. There remains a large minority of non-Hindic peoples. More recently, the proselytizing priests of Babylon have managed to convert some of them, even a few Hindis, to their beliefs."
"The Utchatu is aware of this, naturally."
"Naturally," he drawled. "They even considered the effect of the faction as a fifth column in case of another invasion."
She looked sharply at him. "What about as a party supporting an insurgent candidate, a claimant to the throne who espouses Palu Ea?"
"No. That's a possibility which wasn't considered—at least not when I was there. A most interesting idea, my dear, in light of what we know."
By this time their mounts had carried them so far along the upward curve of the road that the palace gate was before them. Inhetep expected to be stopped, questioned, possibly even detained for higher authorities when he mentioned the commission of the maharajah. Instead, the sentries on duty got one look at the two and saluted.
"You are the /Egyptian called Inhetep Magister?" asked the one in charge.
"I am the magister," Setne agreed. "This is my associate, the Sahibah Rachelle. We are expected?"
In answer to that, the soldier shouted, and a troop of a half-dozen men formed up before the two riders. He hesitated only a moment before bowing. "Oh yes, Sahib Magister—for many days we have been alert for your arrival." He glanced at Rachelle, consternation apparent, for he had no instructions regarding her, that was plain, but his other orders precluded him from questioning her accompaniment of the long-awaited foreigner. He
needed to get them to the king instantly! "Now you must follow the honor guard to the palace. His Resplendent Majesty the maharajah demands your immediate conveyance to him."
Rachelle understood the exchange and said in /Egyptian, "If our coming has been anticipated for many days, Setne, I think that we should be prepared for a somewhat difficult reception at the royal palace."
"Just what I was thinking," he said in low tone. "I'm mentally preparing a range of reasons which should take care of things and not sound as if I am making excuses. If the conversation comes round to Trade Phoenician so as to pump you, let me lead, but jump in whenever you like." Inhetep smiled. "You have a knack at handling situations and people alike."
The streets of Delhi were packed with people, but the throngs made way in haste and fear before the marching soldiers. Because the palace was set in the old part of the city, the procession had to pass through much of the new town and then go uphill to the citadel, which housed the maharajah's splendid court, audience and administrative halls, and his dwelling place. Along that rather lengthy way, both of the riders noted that the folk they passed looked at them with a strange mixture of curiosity and hatred. Was this merely because the two were such evident foreigners? Or was there something more?
The palace guardsmen were snappier, better armored, and more numerous than the regulars who manned the city's gates and walls. From the overbearing manner in which the officer at the massive entrance to the royal palace compound treated the escort, and the soldier's attitudes in return, it was evident that there was no love lost between the two bodies of military. The guards knew they were superior in dress and pay, and treated the regulars as distinct inferiors.
"I don't like their manner," Rachelle murmured to the wizard-priest as the charge of the special guests was passed from the soldiers to the royal garrison.
"Nor I, but such attitudes are common in many states of /Earth," Inhetep said in a half-apologetic tone.
Rachelle wasn't satisfied. "In the despotic and tyrannical ones, anyway. The status accorded to these popin—"
"Hush! We are about to enter the palace grounds. Remember, this whole society is rife with castes within castes." Considering the relative stratification of most states, ^Egypt very much included, that advice was heavy with meaning. It did not speak to the amazon's criticism, however, as both well knew.
Nonetheless, Rachelle stopped speaking and observed. The guards officer gave them a relatively deep bow in greeting, directing his obeisance and words to Inhetep. "Hail, Sahib Inhetep Magister. A runner has been sent to the palace to bear the news of your arrival. Come with me now, please." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and barked commands. A full dozen guardsmen fell in before and after the two riders, all marching in precision. When in place, the squad slammed the butts of their spear-like pole arms onto the pavement, coming to rigid attention as they did so. The officer strode to the head of the column, called out an order, and led the column off. Even though they had only to go a short way, a short walk across the forecourt and through a passage piercing a massive tower to get to the palace's courtyard, it seemed a very long process to the amazon.
At the entrance to the palace, they were met by a silk-robed, huge-turbaned major domo bedecked with many jewels and toting a heavy-looking mace of office which likewise glittered with cut stones. His train of guardsmen were even grander than the escort of Inhetep and the amazon, the interior soldiery sporting silvered armor and nodding plumes atop their helmets. "You are dismissed," the functionary said. The officer of the regular guards seemed disappointed at the curt instruction but voiced no word of protest. While he was getting his command turned around, the palace official looked over the two arrivals at his post. From his expression, the majordomo wasn't exactly impressed, or at least had expected something different from what he saw. "You are the Inhetep Magister commanded to appear by his Resplendent Majesty, aren't you?"
Setne watched the man in the huge turban for the space of many heartbeats before replying. "I am he whom your ruler begged to attend him. You will address me as Sahib Magister, my companion as Sahibah Rachelle. Announce us thus."
"I am the Premier Majordomo. Yahadura Dhiki! Nobody but his Ma-—"
"Addresses you so," Inhetep filled in as the man's mouth dropped open. "There is no need for you to introduce yourself to us; we have no interest in learning the hierarchy of servants in this palace. But you see, fellow, you are obviously wrong a second time. I have and continue to address you as one of lesser station, because you are just that. Now stop delaying us. The maharajah should not be kept waiting—111 have to mention how you kept us from immediately attending His Magnificence."
The venomous glare was hooded in an instant, replaced by a servile posture and tone. "This way, please, Dearly Received Guests. You understand of course, Sahib Magister, that I merely performed the duty demanded of me in ascertaining that you were indeed the maharajah's long-awaited, most noble visitors from distant ./Egypt." Without more ado, he hurriedly got their escort arranged and fluttered along at the magister's side, just a fraction of a step behind, until they came to the big panels of the throne room doors. As they approached, these ivory and gold inlaid panels were thrown open by more of the fancy guardsmen. Inhetep and Rachelle stopped immediately after crossing the threshold. Revealed before them was the splendor of the famed court of the Peacock Throne.
Yahadura Dhiki now stepped well ahead of the two, calling out in his best voice, "The
Sahib Magister of /Egypt and the Sahibah Rachelle present themselves most humbly before the power of the Peacock Throne and his Resplendent Majesty Guldir Sivadji."
Perhaps he would have gone on with the string of honorifics attached to the maharajah's crown, but Sivadji Guldir crooked his finger. The majordomo prostrated himself. Hissing to his charges to do likewise, he instructed them to crawl the length of the runner to a place before the throne where the maharajah would tell them when they might arise.
Ignoring those whispers, Magister Inhetep gave a full bow, with the courtly flourishes proper for a prince of Pharaoh's mighty realm. Rachelle was watching Setne out of the corner of her eye. Taking her cue from him, she made a low curtsy. Then both walked stiffly to stand three paces from the seated monarch, repeating their gestures of respect in abbreviated fashion. "Your humble servants, Resplendent Majesty," the wizard-priest said as he lifted his head from that second bow. He kept his eyes on the monarch, calm and level. Gold was everywhere. It was the least of the splendors there. Inhetep was not to be distracted by the marvels of mosaic tiles, masterful paintings, or even the multitude of faceted gems which encrusted the peacock-shaped seat of state in glittering array.
"You are given Our permission to approach," the ruler of Delhi said, granting that leave ex post facto. If he was unaccustomed to their mode of acknowledgement of royalty—and the /Egyptian court now followed /Eropan style, so it was unlikely Sivadji Guldir had ever seen such acts before—the maharajah seemed entirely unruffled by their actions and satisfied that proper homage had been given. This acceptance of something less than the Oriental prostration was explained a moment later, though, when he went on: "Welcome, True Prince of the Triple Kingdom, grand priest and wizard—and to you too, Lady, I extend Our gracious greeting. Is the fame which has reached Us justified?"
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Inhetep responded, while Rachelle made a third curtsy to accept that benison. "I am unable to answer the question, I fear, for I have no intelligence in respect to the information Your Majesty has received. I can say only that I try my best."
"You have Our leave to address me as Maharajah Sivadji. We expect your best to answer Our requirements! Do not disappoint Us. We are already annoyed at having to wait so long. Explain your delay in answering Our . . . missive."
"As you command, Maharajah Sivadji." Inhetep was forthright, his voice calm and with no hint of apology as he told the monarch, "There were certain matters which had to be attended to in order to prepare for our departure—things
most necessary to assure that our services would indeed answer Your Majesty's requirements. It was also my considered opinion that when all aspects of the matter were weighed in balance, time could be traded for positive assurance."
Rachelle was watching the whole time. She had taken an instant dislike to the maharajah, finding the fat man toad-like in appearance. He was oily skinned and repulsive. This ugly grossness was repeated in the corpulent eunuchs behind him and the fawning, scantily clad women reclining at his feet around the be-jeweled seat. She did her best to mask her thoughts and conceal her growing revulsion. However, when his thick lips uttered their next words, the amazon's eyes glittered with a fire as hard as the stones of the maharajah's throne.
"You will stand on that assurance, and answer to Us if you cannot do so!" He then let his beady eyes slide from Inhetep to Rachelle. They moved slowly, staring at her head and going leisurely down her body, lingering at breast and thighs, before returning to look at the magister once again. "But We are sure you understood that already. Enough for now. You are stained from your long and possibly unnecessary travel across Our kingdom—improperly garbed for continued audience. Leave Us. After you have bathed and put on robes appropriate for the occasion We will sup with you." Maharajah Sivadji tugged at a pendulous earlobe before waving to signify the dismissal was to be obeyed. "We are pleased that you brought your charming companion along, Prince Magister. She is your ward, adopted in your house, is she not?"