Pug turned to a nearby guard and motioned for permission to speak. The guard nodded once, and Pug said, “Master, what god resides here?” as he pointed to the temple where Hokanu prayed.
“Ignorant barbarian,” answered the soldier in a friendly manner, “the gods do not abide in these halls, but in the Upper and Lower Heavens. This temple is for men to make their devotions. Here my lord’s son makes an offering and petitions to Chochocan, the good god of the Upper Heaven and his servant, Tomachaca, the god of peace, for good fortune for the Shinzawai.”
When Hokanu returned, they started off again. They made their way through the city, Pug still studying the people they passed. The press was incredible, and Pug wondered how they managed to stand it. Like farmers in a city for the first time, Pug and Laurie kept gawking at the wonders of Jamar. Even the supposedly worldly troubadour would exclaim about this sight or that. Soon the guards were chuckling over the barbarians’ obvious delight at the most mundane things.
Every building they passed was fashioned from wood and a translucent material, clothlike but rigid. A few, like the temples, were constructed with stone, but what was most remarkable was that every building they passed, from temple to worker’s hut, was painted white, except for bordering beams and door frames, which were polished deep brown. Every open surface was decorated with colorful paintings. Animals, landscapes, deities, and battle scenes abounded. Everywhere was a not of color to confound the eye.
To the north of the temples, across from one of the parks and facing a wide boulevard, stood a single building, set apart by open lawns bordered with hedges. Two guards, dressed in armor and helm similar to those of their own guards, stood watch at the door. They saluted Hokanu when he approached.
Without a word their other guards marched around the side of the house, leaving the slaves with the young officer. He signaled, and one of the door guards slid the large cloth-covered door aside. They entered an open hallway leading back, with doors on each side. Hokanu marched them to a rear door, which a house slave opened for them.
Pug and Laurie then discovered the house was fashioned like a square, with a large garden in the center, accessible from all sides. Near a bubbling pool sat an older man, dressed in a plain but rich-looking dark blue robe. He was consulting a scroll. He looked up when the three entered, and rose to greet Hokanu.
The young man removed his helm and then came to attention Pug and Laurie stood slightly behind and said nothing. The man nodded, and Hokanu approached. They embraced, and the older man said, “My son, it is good to see you again. How were things at the camp?”
Hokanu made his report on the camp, briefly and to the point, leaving out nothing of importance. He then told of the actions taken to remedy the situation. “So the new overseer will see that the slaves have ample food and rest. He should increase production soon.”
His father nodded. “I think you have acted wisely, my son. We shall have to send another in a few months’ time to gauge progress, but things could not become any worse than they were. The Warlord demands higher production, and we border on falling into his bad graces.”
He seemed to notice the slaves for the first time. “These?” was all he said, pointing at Laurie and Pug.
“They are unusual. I was thinking of our talk on the night before my brother went to the north. They may prove valuable.”
“Have you spoken of this to anyone?” Firm lines set around his grey eyes. Even though much shorter, he somehow reminded Pug of Lord Borric.
“No, my father. Only those who took council that night—”
The lord of the house cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Save your remarks for later. ‘Trust no secrets to a city.’ Inform Septiem. We close the house and leave for our estates in the morning.”
Hokanu bowed slightly, then turned to leave. “Hokanu.” His father’s voice stopped him. “You have done well.” Pride plainly showing on his face, the young man left the garden.
The lord of the house sat again upon a bench of carved stone, next to a small fountain, and regarded the two slaves. “What are you called?”
“Pug, master.”
“Laurie, master.”
He seemed to derive some sort of insight from these simple statements. “Through that door,” he said, pointing to the left, “is the way to the cookhouse. My hadonra is called Septiem. He will see to your care. Go now.”