If the Torguud captain was aware of his silent shadow, he did not acknowledge it.
Now, as the sun began to slip toward the horizon, tickling the bellies of the white clouds with orange feathers, a crowd started to gather about the stones that had been laid in a large ring near the feasting area. Gansukh had participated in the gathering of the rocks from the surrounding hills, a boring and laborious task that had taken up a goodly portion of the morning, and as the rock haulers had been directed as to where to deposit their stones, Gansukh had gleaned a pretty good idea as to the eventual use of the circle.
An arena.
Much of the growing audience’s attention was on the two cages facing each other on opposite sides of the circle. In one cage, on the northern side of the arena, a burly man with a body patched in thick black hair, a great bushy beard, a hooked nose—broken more than once and never set right—and dark eyes nearly lost in a perpetual squinting scowl. In the opposite cage, a tall blond ghost of a man, sitting more often that standing. While his attitude was quite passive, his cold blue eyes carefully and exactingly watched everything. Two guards stood beside each cage, and more guards circled the ring, keeping back the growing throng of spectators. People in the mob jostled each other for a better view as they jeered at the captives and loudly proclaimed their bets on the fight’s outcome. The Khagan’s mighty ger had been moved a few hours ago so that it loomed over the circle of stones, and Munokhoi, Master Chucai, and a few other people—including one of ?gedei’s wives—milled about on the raised platform near the ger’s entrance.
On the western side of the arena—not far from where Gansukh stood, watching the spectacle unfold—enterprising gamblers kept tallies in the dirt and with bundles of sticks as bettors huddled around them, shouting to make themselves heard.
“Three oxen on the wild ape-man from the West!”
“Ten goats on the fair one!”
“Put me down for six copper pieces on the big fellow!”
Up on the platform, Munokhoi strutted back and forth, pleased with the attention being given to the proceedings. Gansukh was fairly certain the fights had been Munokhoi’s idea. It was the sort of demeaning spectacle that the Torguud captain would relish, and while he had little desire to watch, Gansukh stayed.
The crowd was getting noisier. Sporadic chants for the Khagan sprang up, but they had little strength and quickly petered out. Munokhoi’s pace became more agitated, and with a last glance at the closed flaps of the Khagan’s ger, he sprang off the platform. Stalking over to the hairy man’s cage, the Torguud captain sized up the fighter. Stroking his chin, he took his time examining the big man, circling the cage to study him while the prisoner watched him cautiously. Munokhoi abruptly grabbed the cage and rattled it hard, shouting like a demon right in the prisoner’s face. The prisoner did not startle; he stared at Munokhoi, and the lines of his face creased deeper as his scowl intensified.
Munokhoi laughed boisterously and turned away. With long, quick strides, he walked over to the gathering of gamblers. “Put me in for twenty oxen on that man!” he ordered.
It was the other man however, the pale man, who intrigued Gansukh. Though captive and caged, he was fascinatingly tranquil. He did not hang his head in despair, nor did he glower and rage at his captors. He sat still in the center of his cage with his legs crossed. If he was waiting for some future opening, some chance at escape, he betrayed no sign of it, but Gansukh was certain there were depths beneath that placid surface. A great warrior must always search for the enemy’s intentions and guard his own.
The dark-haired man was savagely strong. He growled at his captors like a dog trying to establish dominance. Gansukh could see why Munokhoi favored him. Strength, however, was not always a guarantee of victory. If the pale man was swift and clever, he could win the fight handily.
Waiting, Gansukh thought, and without realizing it, he had shoved away from the tent wall that he had been leaning against. “Twenty-five cows on the fair one,” he said, loudly and clearly enough to be heard.
Munokhoi whirled to see who had called out, and catching sight of Gansukh, his entire body went rigid. His grin was malformed, uneven and showing too many teeth.
Gansukh did not react in any way. “Twenty-five,” he repeated, his eyes flicking toward the gamblers.
Munokhoi was more than an annoyance; he was a very real danger. Gansukh couldn’t kill him outright, nor could he continue to ignore him. Lian would argue otherwise—at least she would have previously. After killing the Chinese commander, she had gotten very hard to read. Perhaps, she might condone the death of Munokhoi now.