DEEP IN ITS WHITECAPPED, EMERALD BAY, AT THE MOUTH of the mighty Bharma, Janareth lay in the sunshine, with white, red-roofed houses rising in tiers up the hillside amid the jade-green palms and dark cypresses, under the blue-and-white sky-bowl. A pilot boat, with the blue mermaid flag of Janareth fluttering from its masthead, came bouncing through the chop to guide the Talaris through the gap in the mole to the inner harbor.
Ships of many nations were anchored in this harbor or tied up at the quays. There were trim roundships from Vindium and Kortoli and Aussar and Tarxia. There were undecked craft from the Shvenic coast to the north, with their single square sails and high-pointed ends, like oversized canoes. There were several black-hulled war galleys of Janareth, long, low, and lethal. There was a huge, high-sided, square-ended three-master, with slatted yellow lugsails, from the Salimor Islands, far off in the Eastern Ocean.
Leaning on the rail and staring moodily at the craft, on the first day of the Month of the Wolf, Jorian gave a gusty sigh.
"At last we are getting back to a civilized clime!" said Karadur beside him. "Why sigh you?"
"I miss my wives. Nay, I'll take that back. I miss one of them:
Estrildis, the little yellow-hair. The others are fine girls and fun in bed, but she is the one I chose for myself."
"How came that to pass?"
"She was the wench I was wooing in Kortoli when Farmer Onnus made the mistake of trying to horsewhip me all day. After I had been king for three years, I learnt that she was yet unwed and got a message to her. I could not ride to Kortoli to claim her, as a proper hero of legend ought, because the Royal Guard would not let me over the boundaries of Xylar. But we managed. Some day I'll go back to Xylar and abduct her."
"If the Xylarians have not annulled your marriage and she have not wed some other man."
"I might snatch her anyway, were she willing. She was always my favorite. To preserve domestic harmony, I tried to hide the fact from the others, but I fear without complete success.
"Know, Doctor, that many a man has wished for a seraglio like mine, but I'll tell you how it works in practice. When the dames quarrel— which they do from time to time—the husband must act as judge and conciliator to settle their disputes. When they act in harmony—which occurs betimes—they get whatever they want from the poor wight by working upon him seriatim. And he must watch his every act, lest he give any one of them cause to think she has not been entreated so well as some other. If she do, then woe unto him! Scoldings, tears, complaints, and old scores raked up… Nay, if I ever achieve my modest ambitions to be a respectable craftsman earning a decent living, one wife will be plenty for me. But I could use at least one right now."
"Have you not been—ah—amusing yourself with Belius' maidens?"
"No, although how long I shall remain in this unwonted state of virtue is problematical. I haven't known a woman since I parted from that wild wench Vanora in Othomae."
"Your continence does you great spiritual credit, my son."
"Oh, bugger my spiritual credit! I've kept my hands off the poor little dears because it seemed unworthy to take advantage of their servile condition. Since I have, in a manner of speaking, inherited them from the Brotherhood of Rennum Kezymar, they could hardly have refused me."
"What is this mysterious plan you have for them?"
Jorian "winked. "For four whole days I've held my flapping tongue, although bursting with my wonderful scheme. I feared that, did I get to talking, Strasso or one of his men might overhear. Once our good captain is on his way back to Vindium, I shall be overjoyed to share the plan with you, Holy Father."
Sailors were furling the sail, whose yard had been lowered into its crutches. Captain Strasso and the skipper of a tugboat exchanged shouts as the tug, propelled by ten brawny oarsmen, pushed against the side of the Talaris by means of a cushion of rope draped over the stem, nudging the ship into dock at one of the quays.
As the Talaris inched up against the bumpers of rope along the quay and was made fast, a pair of officials climbed aboard. One questioned Captain Strasso, checking the entries of his manifest, while the other scurried about, asking Jorian and Karadur their names, vanishing into the hold and reappearing, and consulting in an undertone with his colleague. By the time the inquisition was over and the officials had departed, a swarm of touts, pimps, peddlers, beggars, porters, donkey boys, and would-be guides had gathered around the shoreward end of the plank, crying:
"Come, my masters, to the tavern with the strongest liquors, the loudest music, and the nakedest dancing girls in Janareth…""… my nice, clean sister…"
"… to view the newly discovered grave of the demigod Pteroun, the ruined Temple of the Serpent Gods, and other fascinating wonders of antiquity…"
"Succor the child of misfortune!"
"Buy my amulets: sure protection against the pox, the ague, and evil witchcraft…"
"Simha's Inn is so clean that not one bug has been seen there since the time of Ghish the Great…"
Wearing his haughtiest royal expression—which he had used as king of Xylar to get rid of bores—Jorian strode down the plank and addressed the tout for Simha's Inn: "My good man, I have with me twelve ladies of quality, traveling incognito to Trimandilam. They will remain in Janareth about a fiftnight Can your inn accommodate them in a style befitting their station?"
"Oh, my lordl But of course, my lord!" The tout bowed over his clasped hands again and again, as if worked by strings. "Do but deign to visit our worthy establishment…"
"Your performance had better match your promises," said Jorian, coldly eyeing the man. "Pick me a few porters of strong back and simple mind—four should do. What is the current porterage fee?…"
The waterfront of Janareth swarmed with the motley, many-tongued crowds of Janareth. Here were Novarians in short tunics and tight breeches; turbaned Mulvanians in skirts or baggy pantaloons of bright-hued silks; cameleers from the desert of Fedirun in brown robes and white head cloths; tall seamen from Shven, with lank, tow-colored hair and garments of sheepskin and coarse brown wool; slant-eyed, flat-faced men from far Salimor. There were semi-human slaves from the jungles of Komilakh, led on leashes. There were men of even more exotic racial types, whom Jorian could not identify.
Although Janareth paid tribute to the king of Mulvan, it retained self-government and still called itself a free city. The ferocious factional conflicts that flared up from time to time gave the Great King ample excuses for meddling, yet King Shaju had so far refrained. For one thing, the factions would instantly unite and fiercely oppose any such attempt. For another, conservative Mulvanians looked upon the great trading port as a necessary evil—a commercial convenience, but a repulsive one because of its mixed population of disgusting foreigners. They were glad it existed but also glad that it did not form part of their vast, orderly, minutely organized empire.
The tout cried back over his shoulder: "Beware! To the wall!"
Jorian and his companions crowded to one side as a cavalcade cantered through. The leader was a Mulvanian in scarlet silken garments, with a jeweled spray of plumes at the front of his turban. A squad of horsemen in spired, silvered steel caps, armed with light lances and little round shields, jingled after him.
"One of our local squires," said the tout after the horsemen had passed. "These landowners are always trying to worm and bluster their way into our governing council and so in time to rule the city—albeit they live out in the hills and come to town only for shopping and whoring." The man spat.
The following day, Jorian was eating his midday meal in the refectory of Simha's Inn when Captain Strasso came in.