"Others have other complaints, but they all come to the same thing. We are fettered hand and foot by these obsolete theological gyves. Our polis stagnates, whilst the other Twelve Cities advance in the arts and sciences. I could give you endless instances of the stupid oppressions of literature and the arts, the ban on free discussion, and so on. Why, only last month—"
"Pardon," said Jorian, not wishing to hear all the woes of the Tarxians. "I think I understand your complaints. Let us return to the statue. A carving of that size can't be carried out of the temple in one's pocket; so what will you do?"
"The Kist, which your good colleague has fetched hither so opportunely, contains a useful shrinking spell, which should be applicable in this case. It is better than the modern shrinking spells, which leave the weight of the shrunken object unchanged. If this statue weighs, say, ten talents, to shrink it to pocket size whilst its weight remained constant would leave it as hard to move as it now is. It might even cause it to crack its plinth, because of the concentration of weight in a small space. I must warn you, if you should be called upon to handle the statue, that the lessened weight leaves the mass unchanged."
"What's the difference?"
"Weight is the force wherewith the planet draws objects like yourself and Gorgolor to its bosom. Mass is the quality that makes an object resist a sudden change in motion, as in starting or stopping. The two maintain a constant proportion—save when interfered with by a puissant spell. If you run with the shrunken statue, think not that you can stop it in its flight as readily as you could a simple brick or stone. If you do, its momentum will toss you arse-over-apex."
"What's my part in this escapade?"
"That we must discuss this even, to make sure that every detail has been planned and every contingency anticipated."
"But I," said Jorian, "am weary of this whole business. What makes you think I'll have any part of your scheme?"
"Because, my dear Jorian, you are still subject to the geas that my fellow adepts put upon you. Hence you have really no choice in the matter. Whereas the geas compels you to help, in every way you can, in getting the Kist to Metouro, and whereas the only way you can do this is to fall in with my wishes, you defy me on pain of those torments of which you have already experienced small samples."
"Not if you no longer live," gritted Jorian, seizing the hilt of his sword and tugging.
As he did so, however, Valdonius shouted words of power, threw a handful of powder towards him, and made some quick passes. The Shvenic sword came out of the scabbard only a few fingerbreadths and then stuck fast. Jorian's powerful arm muscles swelled and knotted, and sweat furrowed the dirt on his forehead, but the blade would not budge. He finally let go with a gasp. The sword snapped back to the bottom of the scabbard with a click.
"You see?" said Valdonius, chuckling. "But come! I am not your foe, so let us make your sojourn here as pleasant as we can. That long-desired bath awaits you. You shall be not only scrubbed but also oiled, massaged, and perfumed like one of the good spirits of the Mulvanian heavens. And I have sent for a washerwoman to cleanse and mend your garments and a barber to give you the look of a civilized mortal and not a club-waving cave man from the Ellornas.
"As for the remaining form of recreation, which I know is in your mind from the glances you gave my maidservants, I fear you must needs wait until you have left Tarxia. Relations between the sexes are governed by strict regulations here, and casual fornication is not permitted even to sailors from the ships that call here. This fact makes Tarxia an unpopular seaport, notwithstanding the profits to be made here."
"Has this government actually succeeded in stopping all lechery and harlotry?"
"Practically speaking, yes. The only ones who get away with such, illicit amusements are certain members of the priesthood. Our dear old theocrat is always promising to end this abuse, but somehow he never seems to get around to it."
The following evening, they approached the temple of Gorgolor with Valdonius bearing a lanthorn. In a low voice, the magician explained:
"We are in luck. The theocrat and his hierarchy have been disputing whether to send missionaries to Mulvan or Shven. So, when I told them you had just come from those lands, they arranged an audience at once. You had better review what you know of the religions of those countries."
"I know not much," said Jorian. "Had I been warned that such questions would be asked of me, I could have inquired; but now 'tis too late."
"Well, make up what you do not know, but make it plausible. This audience cost me a pretty penny, and I would have my money's worth."
"They charged for it, even though it's to their advantage?"
"Certes! The first principle of the cult is that every operation shall pay for itself and more. Why else maintain so strict a monopoly in supernatural matters?"
"What's the status of the other gods?"
"At first, after the fall of the Ignadian dynasty, the rule was one of toleration for all faiths. In fact, the promise of such liberty was one tactic whereby the priesthood of Gorgolor—theretofore an obscure minor god—attained power. You have tried kings, they said, and the kings became tyrants; you have tried democracy, and the republic became a cauldron of anarchy and mob rule. There remains but theocracy: rule by the holy gods through their virtuous and moral vicars.
"The Gorgolorians had not long been in power, however, than they began to arrogate unto themselves a monopoly of the supernatural. First they enacted stringent laws against witchcraft. Then a few small, eccentric cults were suppressed. Then the priesthoods of Zevatas and Franda and the other major gods were placed under the orders of the high priest of Gorgolor, who thus became the theocrat.
"Then the theocrat announced a series of revelations from the gods. Each revelation enlarged the power and glory of Gorgolor and shrank those of the other gods. At last the other gods were reduced to mere lackeys of Gorgolor. One by one their temples have been converted to other uses or torn down, and their statues have been destroyed or hidden away on one pretext or another, until they no longer have any separate cults apart from that of Gorgolor."
"I wonder what the gods themselves think of this," said Jorian.
"So do I. Nowadays the other gods are not even named separately in the rites to Gorgolor, but are merely spoken of collectively as Gorgolor's attendant spirits."
"What if a Tarxian tried to revive the worship of Zevatas?"
"They would burn him as a heretic. You as a foreigner are allowed to exist here, but for a limited time only. If you wished to settle permanently, you would have have to accept the True Faith. Now let us see: How shall I introduce you? I told the priests little about you."
"I am calling myself Maltho of Kortoli," said Jorian.
"Not distinguished enough; Maltho is a common name. How about Lord Maltho of Kortoli?"
"Kortoli has no nobility. Save for the king, it is a one-class polis. I persuaded the Mulvanians that I was a Kortolian noble, but that might not work with these priests."
"Well, then, Doctor Maltho?"
"If you like. I did once take a course at the Academy in Othomae, when I soldiered for the Grand Bastard."
"What did you study?"
"Versification. I once harbored an ambition to be a poet."
"Then you shall be Maltho of Kortoli, Doctor of Literature from the Academy of Othomae. Now, we shall arrive just after vespers. As soon as that is over, most of the priests will go about their own business; hence they will not much infest the temple.
"Your audience will be in the theocrat's palace. The theocrat is Kylo of Anneia, who aside from his office is not a bad fellow. I take him for a perfectly sincere and rather simple-minded old man, who believes all the moonshine his priests dole out to the faithful.