“Kamadhong, where I was a lieutenant in the monarch’s guard,” Janchan said.
“And why did you leave so favored a position?”
Janchan grinned ruefully. “The colonel of the guard had a mistress who was wont to cast lingering glances on young lieutenants who were not exactly ugly. I fear she cast one glance too many on this lieutenant, for my commission was canceled rather abruptly and it was intimated to me that Kamadhong could do without my presence. I came hither, hoping to repair my fortunes.”
Unggor was watching him thoughtfully.
“Why to Ardha, rather than Phaolon, which would have been a briefer journey for you to undertake?” he inquired keenly.
“Briefer, yes, but perhaps costly in the long run. For rumor had it among the guardsmen of Kamadhong that the Jewel City would ere long suffer siege or invasion at the hands of the Ardhanese.”
“All the easier, then, to procure employment,” Unggor said shrewdly. “A city in danger of war pays well for swordsmen.”
Janchan was sweating under his garments, but maintained a frank and casual manner. The captain of the King’s Guard was no fool, and mere gratitude would not prove sufficient to allay his suspicions. It might have occurred to him that the assassination attempt had been a ruse, designed to enable an agent of his enemy to procure a position within the palace.
Janchan met his gaze openly. “I prefer to enlist on the winning side,” he said. “I am chivalrous enough to lend my sword to an unequal struggle, but heroism has its limits and in war I prefer to stand with the victor.”
Unggor burst out laughing, and slapped his knee with his good hand.
“An honest answer, and one I understand.” He grinned. “Well, swordsman, unfortunately the Royal Guard is reserved to those of noble Ardhanese birth; but I am free to choose my own personal entourage, and you may join my retinue if you desire. Clothing and quarters are paid for by our royal master, and your salary is ten gampoks the quarter. What say you to this?”
“A hungry man is a willing worker,” Janchan observed. “My Captain, I am yours to command!”
Janchan entered the royal service without further ado and was assigned quarters in the guard barracks near the palace enclosure that same morning. Unggor’s chief lieutenant, a tall, dour-faced warrior call Ultho, saw that he was equipped with full kit and mess tokens and bedding, and left him to his own devices until the noon muster. Janchan had a small cubicle to himself in the central hall of the barracks, and its furnishings consisted of a woven-reed pallet and a small taboret, with a wall cupboard for his gear. This gear consisted of a gilt cuirass and plumed helm, a long surcoat of yellow silk with the black emblazonry of Akhmim on its breast, and a change of tunics, likewise yellow and black. When he was on guard mount or parade duty, he would draw from the armory buckler, spear, and war boots.
The personal entourage of the captain of the Royal Guard was a handpicked squad of about a dozen warriors, drawn from all levels of Ardhanese society, the prime requisite of their position being weapons expertise, war experience, and their personal loyalty to their chief. Janchan found this refreshingly informal after the tight aristocratic caste system familiar to him from his days in Phaolon; the Jewel City had a rigid aristocracy in which name and breeding counted for everything, and one’s station in society was a matter of birth rather than excellence. There were certain elements to the Ardhanese civilization he found preferable to the static culture of Phaolon, he was forced to admit.
His duties were neither arduous nor complicated. Every third day he stood night-guard before the apartments of his captain, and was required to accompany Unggor when he went abroad in the city or attended the court, to shield him against the ever-present danger of assassination. Thus Janchan had several opportunities to observe at close hand the Tyrant of Ardha, whom he had never seen. This Akhmim, who had been such a fanatic enemy of the Phaolonians, was a tall, gaunt man with cold eyes and a vicious mouth, with a sharp tongue and suspicious manner. He chafed visibly at the stalemate into which the wiles of Arjala had placed him, and Janchan accompanied Unggor to many palace councils devoted to plans for the disruption of the Temple Faction.
This Arjala, he learned, was hereditary archpriestess of the Temple, and was considered the avatar or reincarnation of the Goddess, and had been from birth. The Goddess in question was rarely worshiped in Janchan’s homeland, Phaolon, and he was thus unfamiliar with her cult. She was a nameless divinity, like most of the higher Gods of the Laonese, who consider that to know the True Name of any being gives one a certain degree of control over that entity. Hence most personal names used by the people of the Green Star World are in the nature of pseudonyms, their True Names being closely-guarded secrets. To know the True Name of a God would be an impiety of the highest degree, of course.
To be the Goddess Incarnate, and thus supreme head of the Ardhanese religion, would be power enough to suit the most ambitious appetite, Janchan thought. But Arjala would not be satisfied until her temporal authority matched her spiritual power, and the queenship of Ardha was her dearest desire. At present, she and Akhmim were evenly matched in their power struggle; but before many days had passed, this balance of power was to change in a surprising manner…
The Flower Boat Festival drew near, and the palace guardsmen were issued special adornments for the occasion. This event celebrated the birth of the Divine Dynasty which ruled both The World Above and The World Below; the Festival consisted of processions, feasts, regattas, and religious rituals. As Akhmim had very special reasons for wanting to flaunt the royal authority before the rival factions, he spared no expense to insure that his procession should outshine all others, especially that to be led by Holy Arjala.
The treasury was opened, and the Royal Guards were outfitted with stunning accouterments; each was to wear a cuirass of solid xorons, which are sparkling yellow crystals.
Their helms were to be fashioned entirely of the precious black metal the Laonese call arbium, and they were to wear cloaks of woven metal adorned with rows of alternately yellow and black sequins of precious metal. The cumulative effect should be stunning; each guardsman would be wearing the equivalent of the wealth of a subprovince. As for Akhmim, the monarch himself would ride in the procession in a shell-like chariot drawn by matched dhua and carved from pure sparkling kaolon. Janchan’s comrades felt certain the processions of their rivals would make a poor showing against so ostentatious a display; in particular, the Temple procession was expected to suffer by comparison.
Matters turned out otherwise, though, as they often do.
The day of the Festival dawned bright and clear. Trumpets rang from spire and tower; banners unrolled on the breeze their rich heraldic imagery; children strewed the streets of Ardha with blossoms. Glittering in the dazzle of sunlight, the Royal procession rolled from the palace enclosure and entered the major avenue of the city, which was known as the Ptolian Way.
At the same moment the gates of the Temple were thrust ajar and Holy Arjala rode forth in a mighty chariot covered with sparkling jewels. She was a stunningly handsome woman, her white-gold mane floating behind her like a silken banner, her breasts cupped in hollowed, enormous rubies. She bore the attributes of the Goddess, a jewel-studded Wheel and a stylized Thunderbolt of precious azure jaonce. In her train walked a hundred virgins, a hundred priests, and her personal guard of a hundred warriors, robed in scintillant mail. Vast bowls of incense were borne to either side of the procession, their fumy vapors fragrant on the fresh morning air.