Read Online Dark of the Sun by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online

summon the gods to receive their worship, which asked for protection from the dangers of battle. The odor of incense was strong, and the shine of lamps and tapers made the tall windows of the temple glow. When the chanting began, Zangi-Ragozh moved away, knowing that as a foreigner he would not be welcome at the celebration. He made his way down to the Heavenly Flute, which had the look of an exclusive dining establishment. Ducking in through the hanging over the door, Zangi-Ragozh approached a tall desk and identified himself, presenting a business card and saying, “The landlord of the Inn of the Immortal Peach sent a messenger a little while ago, bespeaking the talents of Jo-Hsu.”
    “Indeed he did. Are you the man who asked for her?” The landlord looked Zangi-Ragozh over carefully; he was as tall and angular as the landlord of the Inn of the Immortal Peach was rotund. “I was told you are a foreign merchant. Beng’s boy described you.”
    “Yes, I am a foreign merchant,” Zangi-Ragozh agreed at once. “And I am presently here on my way to Chang’an.”
    “A foolhardy thing to do, but still, I suppose, someone must begin, or the disputes will spread farther.” The landlord waved his hand toward the central corridor of his establishment. “Take the door on the left, the one standing open. Two bars of silver buys Jo-Hsu and a musician for the night. Food is extra.”
    Zangi-Ragozh handed over the two silver bars from the wallet on his belt. “There will be a third bar in the morning if we are undisturbed. In the meantime, send in whichever tea Jo-Hsu most prefers.”
    Scowling, the landlord put the money away. “If Jo-Hsu calls for help, I will send my men in to protect her, silver or no silver.”
    “Of course, of course,” Zangi-Ragozh said. “A wise precaution, especially with someone unknown to you.” He removed his hat, pulled off his cloak, and draped it over his arm before proceeding down the corridor as the landlord had indicated, entering a good-sized room with two broad couches, three chairs, a table, a small folding screen, and a slightly raised platform on which Jo-Hsu would dance. A fire had been laid and only recently kindled, so there was a little smoke in the room, and a persistent odor of charring sap. He draped his cloak over the back of the longer couch and closed the door through which he had entered.
    A maid came in from the far end of the room bearing the tea-tray. She set this down and withdrew in silence with no acknowledgment of Zangi-Ragozh’s presence.
    Zangi-Ragozh walked around the handsome chamber, seeming to be looking at its decoration, in actuality trying to locate the peepholes he was certain were hidden in various parts of the walls. He had counted three of them when a middle-aged woman in a nondescript gray sen-mo and carrying a two-stringed instrument came into the room, nodded to Zangi-Ragozh, and sat down on a small stool, where she began to tune up.
    A wooden gong sounded, and the side door was opened to admit a slender young woman in a long-sleeved sen-lai of jade-green silk embroidered with golden peonies. She turned to Zangi-Ragozh and fitted her hands together. “This person is Jo-Hsu,” she said.
    “I am Zangi-Ragozh,” he replied as he acknowledged her greeting.
    “You have requested me to dance for you,” she said a bit doubtfully.
    “Yes. I have heard you are a true artist,” he said, and made himself comfortable on his chair.
    “Shall I start now with a dance of my choosing or is there something you would rather begin with?” Jo-Hsu asked, and as Zangi-Ragozh nodded his permission to start, she took her place on the raised floor, shook out her sleeves, and signaled to the musician. Apparently they had agreed upon what to perform, for the music began without any discussion. The first few notes were jarring, but then the melody became plain, and the dancer began to move, following the traditional movements of the Spring Dawn dance with precision and