Gohar stood on the west bank of the middle one of the three great rivers of the land. The mouth of the river was blocked by a sandbar too shallow for oceangoing ships, unless it was dredged regularly. The Goharans carefully dredged a narrow channel, right under the walls and fortresses of the city. Its hundreds of ships could pass through the channel, anchor or tie up along the river, take aboard cargo, and be completely safe from enemies or bad weather in the open Sea.
North and south along the riverbank ran the quays and shipyards, and behind them the warehouses and the lodgings of Gohar's twenty thousand sailors. Behind them was the old walled city, a huddle of wooden houses looming over dark narrow streets, still holding more than two-thirds of Gohar's people.
To the west of Old Gohar were the new quarters, where the streets were broad and tree-shaded, and walled gardens hid the houses of merchants, wealthy sea captains, and nobles of the court. Here also were the royal palace and pleasure gardens, reaching down to a mile-long stretch of white sand beach.
Still farther out was a semicircle of barracks and small forts, stretching from the seacoast around to the river and the naval arsenal. It had been so long since anyone attacked Gohar by land that its richest citizens were happiest in the open, sheltered only by the ring of barracks and forts.
The galley carrying Blade went straight through the channel and started threading its way through the maze of anchored shipping beyond the sand bar. The rowers kept up a fast stroke, relying on the helmsman to avoid any collisions. Several times Blade held his breath as the galley bore down on a loaded barge or a light skiff, missing it by only a few yards. Then they were through the heaviest of the shipping, bound upriver for the arsenal.
One of the galley's officers pointed at a broad street running up from the waterfront. «That's the Warrior's Way, the oldest street of Gohar. Some thought you'd be going up along it in a procession, to honor your part in the victory. But the Emperor said no procession. He's getting frugal in his old age, it seems.»
«So the Bloodskin prisoners are going straight to Shell Island?»
«Yes.»
Khraishamo wouldn't have to use his knife to keep from being marched through Gohar as a trophy of the convoy's victory. Blade hoped he would now be able to resist the temptation to kill himself at least until he'd reached Shell Island and looked around. With his strength and wits, Khraishamo might find the place a good deal less than escape-proof.
By the time the galley was tying up at the pier of the arsenal, an escort was already waiting. Twenty horsemen in silvered mail surrounded a line of five two-horse chariots. Blade was hurried ashore and pushed into one of the chariots as if he were perishable cargo, to be rushed to shelter as fast as possible.
As he climbed into the chariot, Blade realized that he'd been hurried away from Blue Swallow without any chance to change clothes or even shave. He didn't particularly want to approach the Emperor looking more like the survivor of a shipwreck than an envoy from the future. He also definitely wanted to see how strong his position among the Goharans was, even before he met the Emperor. His life might depend on what kind of orders he could give and have obeyed.
«Hey!» he shouted to the commander of the escort. The man's horse reared and the officer nearly fell off. The Goharans apparently hadn't invented the stirrup. If they had good bows they doubtless used horse archers instead of cavalry charging home with lance or sabre.
The officer rode over to Blade. «Yes, Lord?»
«I am going to the palace. Is that true?»
«Yes, Lord.»
«No need to call me lord each time. Just answer my questions.»
«Yes, I, — . Yes.»
«Good. And when we reach the palace, I am to go straight before the Emperor?»
«Yes.»
Blade shook his head. «Not before I've bathed, shaved, and found some proper clothing.»
«But, Lord Blade, the Emperor's orders-«
«Are now changed, as far as I'm concerned. I'm sure the Emperor didn't know I would look like this, or he'd have changed the orders himself. I will not appear before Thrayket as I am now.»
«But-«
«Captain, let me ask you this. You know who I am, and where I come from. Are you willing to have me return to my own people and my own time and tell them that the soldiers of Gohar are so stupid that they will even obey orders which make no sense?»
The officer seemed to be struggling with several impulses, one of them being to draw his sword and run Blade through. Blade softened his voice. «Captain, I am sorry to have been harsh. I fear I am not the best man to send across the years.
One with a smoother tongue might have been better. But I am here, and must do my best. Do you really think the Emperor will be pleased if I come before him looking as if I'd just escaped from Shell Island?»
The captain's anger seemed to fade, and at last he shrugged. «Certainly the Emperor wishes to see you. But he has also said we should hear your wishes.» He took his hand from his sword. «Very well. I shall send a man ahead to warn your servants.»
The messenger rode off in a cloud of dust, and then the chariots and their escort were moving. Blade hung on, thinking over what he'd learned. He had at least the position of a man whom no one wanted to openly offend until they knew a great deal more about him. So he was going to have to play the Mystery Man, concealing anything which might be considered a weakness, until he had a few reliable friends and allies. This was an old game he'd played for high stakes in half a dozen different Dimensions. If he hadn't learned to play it well, he wouldn't be riding toward Emperor Thrayket's palace now.
The road from the naval arsenal was paved and lined with carefully planted and pruned trees, but beyond the trees was open countryside. Blade saw villages of squat wooden huts with thatched roofs, green fields, and more fields of squat wooden huts with thatched roofs, green fields, and more fields on terraces rising up the foothills of the mountains to the north. Sometimes they passed mounted men with bows slung across their saddles or carts drawn by red-brown beasts, which looked like a cross between a water buffalo and a rhinoceros.
After about half an hour they came to a long blue-painted wall, and turned through a well-guarded gate into a garden which seemed to go on forever. The chariots and horses slowed down, crunching softly along gravel roads and across bridges over sluggish streams and the arms of ornamental ponds. Eventually they stopped at a small villa of whitewashed brick, with a roof of pink tile and bronze screens in place of windows.
The escort commander turned to Blade. «If you still wish to bathe and dress before seeing the Emperor-«
«I do.»
«Very well. Here is the house the Emperor ordered given to you while you are among us. You may use it as you see fit, and we shall wait for you. But be quick, in the name of the gods!»
«I shall be as quick as I care to be, Captain,» said Blade, climbing out of the chariot. He was not going to be hurried or pushed around, even by the Emperor's orders, if he could avoid it.
The villa had six rooms, three large public ones and three small bedchambers, plus a bath, all luxuriously furnished. A gray-haired man with three fingers gone from one hand took Blade's weapons, while two girls in flowing yellow robes led him to the bath.
Blade realized he probably should hurry, but it was hard to resist all the delicious sensations of his first hot bath in weeks. The herb-scented water steamed, perfumed oil and rough sponges scoured away dirt and sweat and salt, the girls perched like two bright-feathered birds by the side of the bath and handed him everything he asked for.