Read Online Arena 13 #2 THE PREY by Joseph Delaney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joseph Delaney
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haggling.
‘The Trader is vital to the economy of the city. He’s our only source of lacs. Without him the Wheel and its arenas wouldn’t exist. He has a phenomenal mind – he remembers everything,’ Tyron continued. ‘The Indexis inside his head, and our credit-worthiness, including the funds we have immediately available, have already been cleared through the Protector’s Executive in anticipation of his visit. We have extensive documentationconfirming this, stamped with the Protector’s seal, and we’ll present it to the Trader for verification before negotiations begin. Our payment is authorized immediately on our return to the city; the following day, goodsare delivered by barge to the depot on the edge of Gindeen for us to collect. Now, watch and learn.’
I nodded and followed Tyron and Wode into the tent.
I’d not expected to actually meet the Trader, thinking that we’d be greeted by underlings, but to my surprise I saw a circle of wooden chairs set out in the tent. Seated in one was the Trader, a large red-haired and red-bearded man whose face was covered by a silver mask.
The Trader who’d given me the blue ticket had looked very similar. He’d visited Mypocine and asked to watch some stick-fighting. I’d won, and that prize – the ticket – had won me the right to be trained for Arena13.
Could it be the same man? I wondered. It was impossible to tell because of the mask, but it seemed likely.
‘This is Wode, and this is Leif, my trainee,’ said Tyron, introducing us both.
He quickly got down to business; Wode and I were silent spectators. Tyron had told me that he wanted better quality items than those he’d bought previously – particularly new wurdes of Nym to develop sentience ina lac. But the Trader didn’t offer any advice. It seemed a strange way to do business; the conversation between him and Tyron was very complex and difficult to understand.
Wurdes were each capable of being combined with other wurdes, and included primitives embedded deep within them – units of syntax that had been developed long ago by the pioneers who created the art ofpatterning.
Tyron’s theory was that the wurdes so far supplied to Midgard lacked the language primitives that formed the building blocks of sentience; primitives that he’d been labouring for years to develop himself. The wholedialogue took a form not unlike the opening moves of combat in Arena 13. Each participant was seeking an advantage, tentatively probing the defences of his opponent. But then, after a while, I saw it in another way.
It was not what Tyron took away with him that was truly important here, it was what he was learning
‘The Trader is vital to the economy of the city. He’s our only source of lacs. Without him the Wheel and its arenas wouldn’t exist. He has a phenomenal mind – he remembers everything,’ Tyron continued. ‘The Indexis inside his head, and our credit-worthiness, including the funds we have immediately available, have already been cleared through the Protector’s Executive in anticipation of his visit. We have extensive documentationconfirming this, stamped with the Protector’s seal, and we’ll present it to the Trader for verification before negotiations begin. Our payment is authorized immediately on our return to the city; the following day, goodsare delivered by barge to the depot on the edge of Gindeen for us to collect. Now, watch and learn.’
I nodded and followed Tyron and Wode into the tent.
I’d not expected to actually meet the Trader, thinking that we’d be greeted by underlings, but to my surprise I saw a circle of wooden chairs set out in the tent. Seated in one was the Trader, a large red-haired and red-bearded man whose face was covered by a silver mask.
The Trader who’d given me the blue ticket had looked very similar. He’d visited Mypocine and asked to watch some stick-fighting. I’d won, and that prize – the ticket – had won me the right to be trained for Arena13.
Could it be the same man? I wondered. It was impossible to tell because of the mask, but it seemed likely.
‘This is Wode, and this is Leif, my trainee,’ said Tyron, introducing us both.
He quickly got down to business; Wode and I were silent spectators. Tyron had told me that he wanted better quality items than those he’d bought previously – particularly new wurdes of Nym to develop sentience ina lac. But the Trader didn’t offer any advice. It seemed a strange way to do business; the conversation between him and Tyron was very complex and difficult to understand.
Wurdes were each capable of being combined with other wurdes, and included primitives embedded deep within them – units of syntax that had been developed long ago by the pioneers who created the art ofpatterning.
Tyron’s theory was that the wurdes so far supplied to Midgard lacked the language primitives that formed the building blocks of sentience; primitives that he’d been labouring for years to develop himself. The wholedialogue took a form not unlike the opening moves of combat in Arena 13. Each participant was seeking an advantage, tentatively probing the defences of his opponent. But then, after a while, I saw it in another way.
It was not what Tyron took away with him that was truly important here, it was what he was learning
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