Read Online The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) by Geraldine Harris - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Geraldine Harris
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said
Kerish dryly, “that you will be put to a great deal of trouble to melt it all
down.”
The words were almost lost as the chamber
reverberated with talk and laughter and snatches of discordant songs. O-grak
was watching the Prince's face. “Do you find my feast barbarous after the cold
courtesy of Galkis? Here we think it courtesy to let our guests do whatever
they want.”
Suddenly the noise lessened as a figure
rose up in the center of the circle of braziers. After a moment three more
women ascended like ghosts from the stairwell. There were hoots of welcome as
they sauntered among the tables with earthenware jugs of wine. The first woman
walked towards the Khan carrying a metal flagon that seemed almost too heavy
for her. Kerish looked into her pale face and saw that beauty was hiding there,
unwilling or afraid to appear.
“Wife,” said the Khan of Orze, “honor our
guests.”
Neeris bowed her head but instead of moving
to the right to pour out wine for Cil-Rahgen, she stood in front of Kerish.
Neeris stared at him so intently that for a moment her grey eyes were
remarkable. She whispered, “Give me your cup.”
As she held up the flagon Kerish glimpsed
the crimson jewels that had once circled his own wrist.
“Wife,” growled O-grak. “First you should
fill the warriors' cups.”
“I do. Surely one who does not fear the
jealousy of the Goddess is the bravest of warriors.”
Cil-Rahgen made a sign against blasphemy.
O-grak sucked in his breath and Kerish said quickly, “Lady, no one knows the
evil of jealousy better than I do, but to be served first by you is too great
an honor. I ask you to excuse me.”
Neeris hesitated for a moment and then
turned meekly to serve Cil-Rahgen. As she walked towards the next table,
O-grak's huge laugh suddenly erupted.
“Well, Prince, you nearly succeeded where I
have always failed and provoked her into disobeying me. Ah, what pleasure is
there in riding if you never have to use the spurs? I promise, I have tried to
explain the customs of Galkis to my wife, but she has no gift for learning. You
must forgive her confusion.”
“Teaching is also a gift,” said Kerish
curtly.
Neeris returned to fill the Prince's cup
last of all, tears clogging her pale lashes. Then she led the women out of the
feasting chamber.
Kerish watched in fastidious horror as
O-grak ladled honey into his wine. After a first incautious sip from his own
cup, he realized that the pale amber liquid was stronger than any Galkian
vintage. He drank as sparingly as he could but even so Kerish soon found that
the tower was swaying slightly and the painted leaves seemed to rustle.
“I believe I know why you paint your towers
like this,” he said suddenly.
“We don't need telling what pleases us,”
snapped Cil-Rahgen but Kerish continued dreamily, “On the island of Gannoth
there is a cave and on its walls the first men who came into Zindar carved
their history.”
“Came from where?” demanded O-grak.
“From across the Great Ocean,” said Kerish,
“from a land where they built houses in huge trees. Perhaps your towers mirror
those trees and were built to remind you of how you once lived.”
“It is said that the Goddess . . .” began O-grak
but Cil-Rahgen exclaimed, “Whenever I see the paintings they remind me of when
I was a child, but now I think about it, there never were such birds, or trees,
or flowers, in my childhood.”
“I felt the same,” murmured Kerish. “They
reminded me of something I didn't realize that I knew.”
For a moment the two men were linked by
astonishment and Kerish suddenly wanted to see the Envoy of Chiraz simply as a
person. He stared deep into Cil-Rahgen's eyes, and as if they were a door that
the Chirazian was too late to slam, Kerish thrust himself in and began to sense
a nervous presence, half conceited, half consumed with self-dislike. He seemed
a very young man, uncertain about almost everything, whose basic decency was
being ground away by
Kerish dryly, “that you will be put to a great deal of trouble to melt it all
down.”
The words were almost lost as the chamber
reverberated with talk and laughter and snatches of discordant songs. O-grak
was watching the Prince's face. “Do you find my feast barbarous after the cold
courtesy of Galkis? Here we think it courtesy to let our guests do whatever
they want.”
Suddenly the noise lessened as a figure
rose up in the center of the circle of braziers. After a moment three more
women ascended like ghosts from the stairwell. There were hoots of welcome as
they sauntered among the tables with earthenware jugs of wine. The first woman
walked towards the Khan carrying a metal flagon that seemed almost too heavy
for her. Kerish looked into her pale face and saw that beauty was hiding there,
unwilling or afraid to appear.
“Wife,” said the Khan of Orze, “honor our
guests.”
Neeris bowed her head but instead of moving
to the right to pour out wine for Cil-Rahgen, she stood in front of Kerish.
Neeris stared at him so intently that for a moment her grey eyes were
remarkable. She whispered, “Give me your cup.”
As she held up the flagon Kerish glimpsed
the crimson jewels that had once circled his own wrist.
“Wife,” growled O-grak. “First you should
fill the warriors' cups.”
“I do. Surely one who does not fear the
jealousy of the Goddess is the bravest of warriors.”
Cil-Rahgen made a sign against blasphemy.
O-grak sucked in his breath and Kerish said quickly, “Lady, no one knows the
evil of jealousy better than I do, but to be served first by you is too great
an honor. I ask you to excuse me.”
Neeris hesitated for a moment and then
turned meekly to serve Cil-Rahgen. As she walked towards the next table,
O-grak's huge laugh suddenly erupted.
“Well, Prince, you nearly succeeded where I
have always failed and provoked her into disobeying me. Ah, what pleasure is
there in riding if you never have to use the spurs? I promise, I have tried to
explain the customs of Galkis to my wife, but she has no gift for learning. You
must forgive her confusion.”
“Teaching is also a gift,” said Kerish
curtly.
Neeris returned to fill the Prince's cup
last of all, tears clogging her pale lashes. Then she led the women out of the
feasting chamber.
Kerish watched in fastidious horror as
O-grak ladled honey into his wine. After a first incautious sip from his own
cup, he realized that the pale amber liquid was stronger than any Galkian
vintage. He drank as sparingly as he could but even so Kerish soon found that
the tower was swaying slightly and the painted leaves seemed to rustle.
“I believe I know why you paint your towers
like this,” he said suddenly.
“We don't need telling what pleases us,”
snapped Cil-Rahgen but Kerish continued dreamily, “On the island of Gannoth
there is a cave and on its walls the first men who came into Zindar carved
their history.”
“Came from where?” demanded O-grak.
“From across the Great Ocean,” said Kerish,
“from a land where they built houses in huge trees. Perhaps your towers mirror
those trees and were built to remind you of how you once lived.”
“It is said that the Goddess . . .” began O-grak
but Cil-Rahgen exclaimed, “Whenever I see the paintings they remind me of when
I was a child, but now I think about it, there never were such birds, or trees,
or flowers, in my childhood.”
“I felt the same,” murmured Kerish. “They
reminded me of something I didn't realize that I knew.”
For a moment the two men were linked by
astonishment and Kerish suddenly wanted to see the Envoy of Chiraz simply as a
person. He stared deep into Cil-Rahgen's eyes, and as if they were a door that
the Chirazian was too late to slam, Kerish thrust himself in and began to sense
a nervous presence, half conceited, half consumed with self-dislike. He seemed
a very young man, uncertain about almost everything, whose basic decency was
being ground away by
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