At his side Han nodded emphatically.
"Then it is right, as Han Ch'in said, to kill this man?"
"Not right, Father. It could never be right. Necessary." The boy's face showed no emotion. His features were formed into a mask of reason. "Moreover, it should be done in public, for it must be seen to be done. And it must be done dispassionately; without malice and with no thought of revenge—merely as evidence of our power. As a lesson."
Li Shai Tung nodded, profoundly satisfied with his youngest son, but it was his first son he addressed. "Then it is as you said, Han Ch'in. We must kill him. As he would have killed us."
He turned and looked back at the man in the cage, something close to pity in his eyes. "Yes. But not for revenge. Merely because we must."
HAN ch'in laughed, then clapped his hands, delighted by the gift. "But Father, they're marvelous! Just look at them! They're so strong, so elegant!"
The four creatures stood in a line before the royal party, their long heads bowed, their broad oxlike bodies neatly clothed in rich silks of carmine and gold. Nearby, their creator, Klaus Stefan Ebert, Head of GenSyn—Genetic Synthetics— beamed, pleased beyond words at the prince's reaction.
"They are the first of their kind," Ebert said, giving a slight bow. "And, if the T'ang wishes it, they shall be the last."
Li Shai Tung looked at his old friend. Ebert had been one of his staunchest supporters over the years and, if fate decided, his son would one day be Han Ch'in's general. He smiled and looked at the ox-men again. "I would not ask that of you, Klaus. This gift of yours pleases me greatly. No, such marvels should be shared by others. You shall have a patent for them."
Ebert bowed deeply, conscious of his T'ang's generosity. His gift to Han Ch'in was worth, perhaps, two hundred million yuan, but the T'ang's kindness was inestimable. There was no one in the whole of City Europe's elite who would not now want such a creature. To a more mercenary man that would have been cause for great delight, but Klaus Ebert counted such things of trivial worth. He had pleased his T'ang, and no amount of money could buy the feeling of intense pride and worthiness he felt at that moment.
"I am deeply honored, Chieh Hsia. My great joy at your pleasure reaches up into the heavens."
Han Ch'in had gone closer to the beasts and now stood there, looking up into one of their long bovine faces. He turned and looked back at Ebert. "They're really beautiful, Shih Ebert. Strong, like horses, and intelligent, like men. Do they talk?" Ebert bowed to the T'ang once more, then went across and stood beside Han Ch'in. "They have a form of language," he said, his head lowered in deference to the Prince. "Enough to understand basic commands and to carry trivial messages, but no more than a human three-year-old would have."
Han Ch'in laughed. "That depends on the three-year-old. My brother Yuan could talk a counselor to a halt at three!" Ebert laughed. "So it was! I remember it only too well!" Li Shai Tung joined their laughter, then turned to General Tolonen, who was standing to his left and slightly behind him. "Well, Knut, are things ready within?"
The General, who had been watching the exchange with real pleasure, turned to his T'ang and was silent a moment, listening to a voice in his head. Then he bowed. "Major Nocenzi advises me that all the guests are now assembled and that full security measures are in operation. We can go inside."
The ceiling of the Great Hall was festooned with broad silk banners that hung in elegant sweeps between the dragon-encircled pillars. Huge, man-sized bronze urns were set at inter-
vals along the walls, each filled to overflowing with giant blooms. Beneath the banners and between the blooms the floor of the Great Hall was filled with guests. Han Ch'in stood at the top of the steps beside his father, looking down on everything. Two colors dominated, red and gold; auspicious colors—red for good fortune, gold for a future emperor.
At their appearance the great buzz of conversation died, and at a signal from the T'ang's Chamberlain all below the steps knelt to the T'ang and his first son, their heads lowered.
Tolonen, behind them, watched the huge crowd rise again, a low buzz of expectation rising from their midst. Then Li Shai Tung began to descend, his son three steps behind him.
Li Yuan was waiting at the bottom of the steps to greet his father formally with a full k'o t'ou. Behind him stood his uncles—his father's brothers and half-brothers—and with them a dark-haired Hung Moo; a slender, handsome man, unfashion-ably bearded. An "Englishman" as .he liked to term himself. These were the T'ang's chief advisors. As Li Yuan rose, so the three brothers bowed, bending fully to the waist before they straightened up. Only the Hung Moo remained unbowed, a faint smile on his face. The T'ang smiled, acknowledging all four, then turned to let Han Ch'in come up beside him.
Tolonen, following them, paused halfway down the steps and looked out across the mass of heads. Everyone who was anyone in City Europe was here today. Representatives and heads of corporations, chief magistrates and administrators, ministers and executives, men of power and their consorts. Li Yuan was the only child there.
Below the steps all formalities were over for the moment.
"Have you seen them, Yuan?" Han asked eagerly. "They're huge. Three times your size!"
Li Yuan's eyes lit up. "Is it true what Hsueh Chai said? Do they smell?"
In answer Han Ch'in bent down and whispered something in his brother's ear. Yuan laughed, then glanced guiltily at the Englishman, who was now deep in conversation with the T'ang. "Like Hung Moo," Han had whispered. And it was true of most. But some—like the General and Hal Shepherd—refrained from eating milk-based products. They smelled like Han, not beasts.
"What will you do with them?" Yuan asked. "Will you give them to Fei Yen?"
Han Ch'in looked aghast. "Gods! I never thought! What will she say?"
"You could always ask her. After all, she'll be here anytime now."
Han Ch'in made a face, then laughed again. Both knew what ritual lay before him. All that bowing and nodding. All that c/i'un tzu insincerity as he and his future wife accepted the best wishes of almost three thousand loyal subjects.
He was about to make some comment on the matter when all about them the crowd grew quiet again as Fei Yen appeared at the head of the stairs on her father's arm. This time, as she descended, the guests remained standing. Only the T'ang and his eldest son bowed to her, honoring her.
Li Yuan gazed at Fei Yen, stilled by the beauty of her. It was as though a craftsman—a master artisan—had given her some final, subtle touch—one single deft and delicate brushstroke— that made of her perfection. Her hair had been put up, its fine coils of darkness speared by slender combs of ivory shaped like dragonflies. Beneath its silken splendor her face was like the radiant moon, shining cold and white and brilliant, the fineness of her cheekbones balanced by the soft roundness of her chin and the unmarked perfection of her brow. She wore a simple erh tang of red jade and silver in each lobe and a ;ying lo of tiny pearls about her neck, but in truth her face needed no adornment.
He stared at her as she came down the steps toward him, fascinated, drinking in the sight of her.
Her ears were tiny, delicate, her lips like folded petals, softly roseate, as if awaiting the dawn's moist kiss, while her nose was so small, so fine, the roundness of the tip so perfect, it seemed unreal, like porcelain. All this he saw and noted, pierced by the beauty of it, yet all the while his gaze was drawn to her eyes—to those dark, sweet, almond eyes that were unearthly in their beauty. Eyes that seemed to stare out at him from the other side of the heavens themselves, fierce and strong and proud. Eyes that seemed to burn within the cold and fragile mask of her face, making him catch his breath.