“You, of all the temples, invoke the Concordat?” Lord Durugen cried. He spread a hand before his face to mime astonishment. “What offense has been given to the Temple of Hrii’u? We do not breach the Concordat but only retain what is our-”
The chamberlain’s accursed clappers cut him off. He had gone a step too far, perhaps, but the point was made. And it left room for later appeasement of his visibly righteous anger. Thus far, the ship sailed smoothly.
Lord Muresh gestured, and the chamberlain now pointed to another, the occupant of the yellow-draped dais at the far eastern end of the hall, Lord Siinum hiMraktine, newly appointed Grand Adept of the Temple of Belkhanu, Lord of the Excellent Dead. Here was an ally. A fool, no doubt, but a friend. Lord Durugen hoped he had his lines right.
Lord Siinum waved a heavy, hairless hand, beringed with stones of amber and topaz. His voice was smooth and mellifluous. “My Lords, let us consider what transpires after death. Our faith states that the soul of a man requires precisely 1,326 years to traverse the Isles of Dead, thence to pass on to the Paradises of Teretane, or to emerge into the Heavens of the Gods there to be joined with their supernal essences. It is thus as our colleague, Lord Durugen, opines: whatever may have been the faith of the occupant of this tomb in this sphere, uncounted millennia have since elapsed, and he has passed beyond our ken. The shelter of the Fifth Form of Gyanu, and hence that of great Hrii’ii, is now unneeded and inoperative.” He paused to wipe his fingers fastidiously upon his brocaded yellow robe, then picked out a saffron-dyed document from those before him. “According to the Sayings of Chi’utlena of Kheiris, therefore, ‘Such spirits are of no consequence to the living, and their worldly goods revert to their inheritors, or if long concealed from the view of these, then to those who later come upon them.’ The clause at the end is of significance here.” He sat down. He had actually done quite well.
Lord Durugen extended a hand for permission, but the clappers snapped again at Lord Mirigga. He began softly, a logician patiently explaining a point to his students. “Specious, my Lords, not worthy of rebuttal! Once the shadow of Lord Hrii’ii falls upon a thing, it is his for all eternity! The portrayals upon the walls of the tomb chamber are there for just this purpose: to show the faith of the occupant and to command the attention of the patron deity for all time to come! The texts, the symbols, the prayers-all are there to call upon the protection and holy sanctity of Lord Gyanu, and hence of Lord Hrii’ti, whose Aspect He is! No, we must appeal to the Concordat, my Lord, which stipulates that no temple may attach or confiscate the goods of another. Without this, we would soon return to the Time of the Wrath of the Gods, when priest slew priest, and the land ran scarlet with blood.” The extended hand made a sharp slashing motion, and his voice rose. “If we are wronged in this, shall we not once again see such days?”
This time it was Lord Durugen who was allowed to interrupt.
“Were this to become precedent, my Lord, chaos would rise up like an Akho, ‘the Embracer of Ships,’ from the ocean deeps! We know of things emblazoned with the emblems of Thumis in the treasure-houses of the temples of Change.” He smiled and pointed a rhetorical finger. “Ohe, then, would the priests of Sarku give up the trove they uncovered in the ruins of the city of Hmakuyal?” The occupant of the earth-brown dais bent down to confer urgently with those below him. “Would the priesthood of Vimuhla, Lord of Fire, hand over the booty they excavated from the catacombs beneath Tumissa?” Now it was the turn of the priest on the flame-orange dais to mutter with his subordinates. “No? Then I think my point is made, my Lord.” He resumed his seat with the pleasant air of one who has just relished a good dinner. “When one bird flies up, all others look to their own nests,” he thought. That ought to toss Mirigga’s specious arguments out upon the dungheap! Too many pots belonging to others would be broken if the Temple of Hrii’u were allowed to smash this one!
Several others were on their feet. The chamberlain singled out the woman who sat upon the emerald green dais of Lady Dlamelish, Mistress of Demons.
Until now Lady Timuna hiReretlesa, High Priestess of the Goddess in Bey Sii, had seemed to pay no attention to the debate, instead extending a slender foot to caress the bare back of the pretty priestess on the step below her, or to rub the shaggy upcurving ears of the great doglike beast that squatted by her side. Lady Timuna wore little to conceal her middle years: a girdle of silver chain about her thickening waist, from which depended strips of silky green Giidru- cloth. Some of these latter were attached by links to her jingling wristlets. Her thick, oiled, black hair was bound with silver wire, and its braids hung down over her broad collar of green jade and her heavy, rouged breasts.
What, Lord Durugen wondered, could she have to add? Her Goddess served the ephemeral, physical pleasures of the moment, the hedonism of the “now.” She had no more place in this debate than her Renyu — beast did!
“The Tunkul — gongs will call us all to the noon rituals-and to lunch-if we do not make an end of this.” Her voice was a throaty whisper. “Let those who wish be convinced of precedents, theology, and learnedly logicked arguments. We of the Goddess agree with our colleague, Lord Mirigga; yet the rule-parsers of the temples of Stability raise such a storm of paper and quotations that naught can be come at. Let us therefore propose a compromise. Lord Durugen’s precious relics relate to the Llyani and thus to the powers of the ancients: things of import to the Imperium and hence to all of us, for it is from the breast of the Empire that we suckle the milk of prosperity.” (The priestess below her strove to repress a giggle.) “Therefore, as in the tale of the Kuruku — beast and the Renyu,” (she reached back to caress the tapering snout of the beast on the dais) “let us throw the bone to neither but give it to the third party, the Mnor of the story-in this case, the Imperium. Give over these relics to. the High Chancery at Avanthar!”
Lord Durugen was on his feet. Who, by all the Pearl-Grey Aspects, had put this into her head? He doubted whether she had the wit to come to it herself. Was it the Imperialist Party in Avanthar, mayhap? The Temple of Dlamelish was no bedfellow- Lord Durugen repressed a smile at his own unspoken gibe-of Prince Mridobu. Not unless the Temple of Lord Ksarul, the backers of that Prince, was in league with Dlamelish’ sensuality-loving devotees! As unlikely as rain in the month of Firasul! Lord Ksarul’s doctrines centred upon the acquisition of knowledge, much like those of his counterpart, Lord Thumis, save that the black-robes wanted that wisdom for themselves alone, to gain personal power and mastery, and not for the prosperity of the land. No, Lady Dlamelish would not sit willingly at Lord Ksarul’s feasting. There was something else here!
Lady Timuna’s argument had to be refuted, of course. The Imperium could not be allowed to gain the right to confiscate temple properties whenever the Emperor so decreed!
“What have the purveyors of the pleasures of the body to do with this?” he asked. “Were we to hand over to the Imperium all those items in our treasuries which might be of interest, we should all be paupers in a trice! Moreover, it is through our study and our scholarship that these things are made useful; a curio-cabinet at Avanthar is no place for artifacts that may contain knowledge otherwise lost to us since the Time of Darkness!” “Then go to Avanthar and study them there.” This, drily, from Lady Timuna.