The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate

II—The Rim of the World

While the king's barber and bath attendant made Bessas presentable, Myron talked with his former pupil. Since he was sure the attendants did not know Greek, he spoke in his native tongue.

"... so you will be liberated on condition that you procure these two rarities," said Myron. "How does it strike you?"

"It sounds like a quest for the fabled castle of Kangdiz," said Bessas in slow, heavily accented Greek, "but it's better than being buggered by the Ionian." He called the stake by its Persian nickname. "I am no puling infant but, by Mithra, the touch of that damned toothpick unmanned me!"

"Your Greek has deteriorated," said Myron. "It's mè, not moi."

Bessas gave a low rumble of laughter. "Same old Myron! It is well that you're not going on this journey. Else, when some savage chieftain is making up his mind whether to chop our heads off, you would correct his speech and get us slain for sure."

"Oh, but my dear fellow, I am too going!"

"What?"

"Yes; the king has already given his permission."

Bessas groaned. "What in the name of the Seven Guardian Stars put that thought into your mind?"

"For nearly thirty years I have taught in Shushan and other cities of the Empire: first as Arsaces' slave, then as a freedman. You, who are young enough to be my son, have undergone desperate adventures all over the eastern marches of the Empire. Before I die, I intend to experience some action and adventure, also. And I mean to see some far countries and learn new truths, that the Milesians shall remember my name. To the crows with trying to beat culture into these insolent brats!"

"But look you, O Myron, you must be an old man of fifty. How could you survive such a rigorous journey?"

"First, I am not yet fifty, albeit near enough to it. Second, I have kept up my physique in our little gymnasium in Shushan."

"Wearing a breechclout so as not to shock our Persian modesty, I trust," said Bessas with a grin. The first attempts of the Hellenes of Shushan to keep up their athletic customs had caused a mighty scandal, because of the innocent Greek attitude towards nudity.

"And third," continued Myron, "I was in condition to run all the way from the palace to the drill field this morning, to rescue you from the spike. Lastly, who else in his right mind would accompany you at all, let alone seek to do so?"

"You have a point," rumbled Bessas, "and I admit you are cleverer than I in many ways. Even if you weren't, I could hardly deny the man who has just saved my life. Still and all—"

"Furthermore, your mother urged this course upon me."

"Oh. That's different. No paint or powder!" he commanded the attendants. "But put on more of that scent. By the claws of the Corpse Fiend, 'twill take a quart of perfume to cover the prison stench!"

As the attendants rubbed more salve on his hairy chest, Bessas went on: "Well, our next step is to find ways and means. Who is to pay for this daft jape?"

"Rise!" said the king.

Having slept and rightly arrayed himself, Xerxes was now more impressive than he had been at the meeting before the dawn. Over a purple shirt with white dots he wore his best robe, the great purple-dyed kandys, heavy with golden embroidery representing gryphons and other monsters in combat. Rumor said that this garment, woven by the most skilled embroiderers of Babylon, had cost twelve thousand talents. Jewels winked from the golden earring in his left ear and from the rings on his fingers. A tiara of thin gold, adorned with a circle of upright golden feathers, rose from his head.

"May the gods give the Great King life!" said Myron. "Your slave has explained to Bessas the conditions of the commutation of his sentence."

"Do you accept, O Bessas?" asked the king, popping his still bloodshot eyes at the Bactrian.

"Your slave accepts," said Bessas.

Xerxes smiled a wry little smile. "And think not to flee, once you are over the borders of the Empire. I hold your mother as security for your return."

"You—" Bessas started to burst out violently but choked back his words. His lips writhed and the veins stood out on his forehead with passion. Myron feared for a moment that Xerxes would punish the Bactrian for lese-majesté, so patent were his feelings even though he spoke not a word.

Then Bessas' pock-pitted face fell. Myron, keenly watching, was sure that Bessas had had some such plan of escape in mind.

"Your slave understands," the young man choked out at last. "But how are the costs of this journey to be met? Whereas Lord Sataspes is rich, I have nought but my pay as troop leader."

Xerxes frowned. "I thought you possessed an estate in Bactria."

"Nay, Majesty. The Toktarians overran that part of the land when they slew my father."

"Oh, I see. Your father was that Phraates. Well, My Majesty will authorize you to draw ten darics from the treasurer."

"Ten? That will not take us far, sire. You speak of a journey of thousands of leagues."

"Well, fifteen then, but no more."

"Great King!" said Myron, terrified at his own daring. "My master truly wishes this expedition to succeed, does he not? Well, no obstacle is so great as inability. What good will it do to struggle through hundreds of leagues of wild, exotic lands, only to be stranded for want of resources? To be safe, we shall require at least fifty—"

"Twenty-five, and not a shekel more," said Xerxes. "If Bessas succeed, I will not only pardon him; I will also see that he gets back his father's barony. And I will give him a document to this effect. By presenting this document he can borrow such further sums as he needs from the bankers of Babylon, putting up the estate as security."

"But sire!" said Bessas. "To recover our lands would take an army—"

"Do you question the Great King's power, sirrah? Anyway, even if it prove impracticable, I can always give you life tenure to an equivalent tract from the crown lands, to provide for your needs. Nay, not another word of this. Is the King of All Kings a Tyrian haggler?

"Now go your ways. Aspamitres shall furnish you with documents to commend you to the satraps and authorize you to draw food and fodder from the royal stores. May God befriend you; for you will need the favor of Auramazda on this journey."

The Daduchid mansion stood near the base of the great platform of Persepolis. As torches flared against the dark of the evening, the lordly owners sat in their counting room. Costly hangings covered the walls, and weapons hung from the undraped strips between the hangings. Yellow lamplight winked from jewels and golden filigree on the hilts of swords and daggers. A rich rug, whose pattern depicted the hero Haoshyaha destroying the wizards of Hyrkania, covered the floor.

Bagabyxas, ranking member of the clan, commander of one of the six army corps, member of the Council of Seven, and fourth most powerful man in the Empire, was about Myron's age. He was a lean, sinewy man with a sharp, narrow face, who moved with smooth control. Although he painted his face in the manner of a Persian gentleman, he gave the impression of hardness, shrewdness, and immense controlled power.

Zopyrus son of Bagabyxas was much like his sire, albeit younger and heavier. He ran his fingers through the curls of his beard as he spoke:

"You may talk of temporizing and accepting an indemnity, Father. Were Tamyra a grown woman who had enticed that blackguard, I might be so persuaded. But a child of eleven! Nay, this is a matter of honor—of my honor and the clan's. I should count myself worse than a woman, did I not strive to sunder these men's god-detested souls from their stinking bodies."

"They may both perish on their expeditions," said Bagabyxas. "Why not leave it to the gods—"

"Because, by the hairs of Auramazda's beard, I want revenge!" roared Zopyrus. Leaping up, he paced like a captive leopard. "I am fain to see their blood flow, to relish their screams of pain, to play stick-and-ball with their heads, to hang their fresh-flayed hides on the wall. If fate prevent me from putting them to the torture myself, I will work through others. Now do you understand?"

"Aye. But how will you catch the departed Sataspes? A stern chase is a long chase."

"I know one in Shushan who can overcome the barriers of time and distance."

"Mean you Ardigula of Baghdad?"

"Aye. Know you him?"

"I have heard of him and not to his credit. We risk our souls in dealing with this demon-worshiper."

"I fear neither man nor demon."

"He who hugs hot coals to his bosom will surely have his raiment scorched," persisted the older man. "Were it not better to wait until Sataspes be on his way back and hire men to waylay him?"

The younger Persian snorted. "How could we post men at the right time and place, not knowing when or whence the man will come? Nay, tins is the only way left to restore the honor of the house of Daduchus." Zopyrus seated himself again, held a pomegranate to his nose, and inhaled. "What stirs my bile the most is the king's letting these scum off without even sending word to us. If Xerxes—Ahriman smite him!—had not given the scoundrels these tasks to perform, I had sought them out and slain them myself. As it is, I shall make arrangements to dispose of Master Bessas on my way to Shushan."

"No deeds of blood in Persepolis!" said Bagabyxas.

Zopyrus grinned. "Fear riot. I shall merely collect the debt of gratitude owed me by Puzur the Ouxian."

When Myron opened the door of Hutrara's wineshop, the blast of noise and the smell of sweat and stale beer struck him in the face like a blow. The place was jammed. All those within appeared to be drinking and shouting at the same time. Some, having brought their suppers, were eating as well. At last Myron made out Bessas' heavy, pock-marked visage in a distant corner.

"Make room for my friend!" roared Bessas.

When those on the bench beside him did not respond, he pushed against the nearest with his shoulder, so that all slid down the bench and the last man fell off the end. The fallen man scrambled up with a curse, feeling for his knife. Then he recognized Bessas and subsided.

"Heed these knaves not," said Bessas. "Squeeze in here and have some beer. Greek or no, you had better learn to like beer, for that's all they have in Egypt."

"Thank you," said Myron, "but I think it were desirable to go out to talk. One must shout to make oneself heard here, and we would not reveal our plans to everyone from Karia to Carthage—"

"To Ahriman with your Greek moderation! This is my last chance for a decent carouse, and I mean to make the most of it." Bessas wiped the froth from his mustache, closed his eyes, and silently moved his fingers and lips. Then he spoke:

"We can return to drink anon, when the crowd has thinned," said Myron. "If you become intoxicated now, you'll not understand me when—"

Bessas made a vulgar noise. "Either drink here with me, or go jump in the Kurush."

"So you don't care what befalls your mother?"

Bessas glowered at the older man. "May you be kin-less! You would think of that. I'll come."

The Bactrian rose with a belch and staggered towards the door. Outside, he said:

"Because I obey you this time, do not think that you are the leader. This is my expedition and I command it, do you understand?"

"How did you do for money?" asked Myron.

They climbed the stair leading to the top of the city wall and, leaning their elbows on the crenelations of the parapet, looked out over the plain. The sky had cleared. A narrow stripe of gold and apple-green along the jagged western horizon told of the departure of the day. Overhead the stars had come out; a silver scimitar of a moon hung a hand's breadth above the western peaks. Bats wheeled overhead as the darkness deepened. From the cultivated fields that spread out before them came the buzz and chirp of insects and the cries of night birds. Jackals yelped in the distance.

"I got the twenty-five darics out of Vaus," said Bessas, "and I talked another five out of my battalion commander as an advance against my pay. I had to argue my throat sore to get part of it in gold, so as not to have to haul ten pounds of silver all over the world. Those knaves in the treasury love to give up their gold as Xerxes loves the Athenians."

"Have you nothing saved up?"

"A few shekels only, and those I must leave with Norax to buy things for Mother." Norax was Bessas' Sardinian slave, who had lighted the way to Myron's house for Zarina. "If I had more money, I should have bought horses."

Myron slapped a mosquito. "It's too bad that all this had to happen when you had gambled away your horses."

"Yes, teacher. And twit me not on my follies, unless you wish a tumble from the wall. Oh, well, we may stumble upon a chance to loot the treasure of some foreign king or nobleman. But I have got us passage as far as Shushan, at least."

"How?"

"One of my brother officers agreed to let me take two of his horses to Shushan and deliver them to his groom there. Soon the court will move to Hagmatana for the summer months, and my friend will pick up his horses on the way thither. I promised not to race the nags."

Myron said: "I don't suppose they would permit you to take your Nisaean stallion?"

"Varuna, no! The king won't let one of those steeds out of his grip. My trouble is that a horse, to do me any good, must be nigh as big as a Nisaean. If you put me on some little pony, the beast drops dead within" the first league."

"We could have used that pair the king sacrificed to Mithra the day before yesterday."

"Grudge not the Lord of the Wide Pastures his meed. How fared you in the archives?"

"I obtained lists of towns as far as Meroê, in Kush, with notes on distances and dangers. Nobody seems to know what lies beyond Meroê. And I made a rough map of our route. Did you see your mother?"

"Aye." The Bactrian fell silent. Myron knew that his feeling for his mother was a subject on which Bessas would not wish to speak.

Myron began: "And I have a letter from a friend in Shushan, Uni the Egyp—"

He stopped as light, sound, and motion came from the Shushan Gate below them and a score of paces to their right. Torchlight flickered redly; fragments of words drifted up on the still night air.

Two horsemen rode out from the gate, one carrying a torch. They spurred to a canter and headed westward on the Shushan road. The torch flared as the riders began to move rapidly, then dwindled to an orange speck, like a sluggish shooting star. Myron said:

"I could swear I knew the leading horseman. But I cannot quite—"

Bessas grunted. "Dip me in dung if that be not Zopyrus son of Bagabyxas, with his beard in a bag! After he was so eager to see me impaled, I could not help knowing him, even by torchlight. And the other is his armor bearer."

"Would that I had your eyes!" said Myron. "I trust Zopyrus' errand has nothing to do with us. He would not gallop the length of the Empire to fetch us Hippolyta's belt, I'm sure."

"I like it not either. Whatever it be, it must be urgent, to set out at a run on a moonless night on these polluted roads. My fravashi tells me that we had better be off soon, too."

"How about equipment?"

"We'll buy it in Babylon, where they have proper markets. Let's catch some sleep and be off with the false dawn. You have no family to concern you, have you?"

"No. I have a woman friend, but a hasty farewell must suffice her. I must, however, make arrangements for my pupils and take time to gather writing materials."

"What for? I've galloped all over the eastern marches of the Empire and led troops of the king's horse without writing a word. Not that anybody can read my writing anyway."

"Bessas!" said Myron in a pained tone. "After all the trouble I took over your penmanship!"

Bessas clapped his smaller companion on the back. "Cheer up; I'm happy to be unlettered in half a dozen tongues. I find sharp steel of more avail in my trade than pen and parchment, and so will you on this journey."

"But somebody must keep a journal! Otherwise we shall never know if we are returning in time. Moreover, the king expects a report on the foreign lands we visit."

"Vaush; see you to it. One more thing!"

"What's that?"

"We must swear fidelity to each other, lest we break up over some petty quarrel halfway to our goal. I have not the sweetest nature in the world, and I know how fickle you Hellenes are."

"Ea! We are not! What makes you—"

"Ha! What of Pausanias the Spartan king? What of the treachery of the Samians at Ladê? Now, cut your arm a little and swear by all your gods that you will adhere faithfully to me and be my friend, helper, and defender, sharing in need and standing fast in danger, until our quest be done or until death part us!"

"If you like; though it's the man who makes us believe the oath, not the oath the man."

Each made a nick in his arm, sucked the other's blood, and swore a mighty oath. Far away a lion roared, and overhead great white stars shone coldly.

Next morning, in a glow of quiet self-satisfaction, Myron returned to his room from his farewell to his lady friend. He paid off his landlord, gathered his gear, and went to the barracks to find Bessas.

The Bactrian was not there. After waiting for a Babylonian double hour, Myron learnt that Bessas was bidding his mother farewell.

Zarina was settled in a room, small but not uncomfortable, in the palace of Darius. A pair of burly guards stood before the door. Inside, Myron found the lady and her son seated side by side on the bed and weeping. Zarina was saying:

"... if an old woman like me die a year sooner or later it matters not. But you are young; you must live out your life—"

"I will not live it out without you!" said Bessas. "If you die thus, I will die, too!"

"What is all this dismal talk of dying?" said Myron.

"My mother," said Bessas, "has a mad idea, to wit: after I have been gone for a few months, to give me a good start for the frontiers, she'll slay herself, thus robbing Xerxes of his hold over me. I tell her that, if she do any such thing, I will slay myself when I learn of it."

"It is the only way—" began Zarina, but Myron broke in:

"My dear Lady Zarina! We must all die, and let us hope we shall face death with fortitude. But let us' not hasten our terminus. I didn't save your son just to have the pair of you threaten each other with suicide. You remind me of a story I heard in Babylon."

"What is that?" asked Zarina.

"When I studied there under the astronomer Naburimanni, I once became despondent because I could not seem to master the arcane Babylonian art of long division. But, when I uttered some such foolish threat as yours, my wise old teacher told me this tale, of the times of the great King Nebuchadrezzar.

"It seems that a third assistant pastry cook in the royal kitchens was caught in the act of stealing a lamb, which was to have been cooked for the king's supper. So the king, full of righteous wrath, ordered that the felon be flayed alive the next day.

"As the thief was being led out to execution, the king passed by in his chariot. And the condemned man called out: 'O King! If you will grant me a reprieve, I will teach one of your horses to sing a hymn to Nabu, which will greatly please the god.'

" 'Are you mad?' said the king.

" 'Nay, sire,' said the thief; 'I do but make you a sporting offer.'

" 'How long would this course of instruction take?' said the king.

" 'Give me a year, Your Majesty,' said the thief.

" 'So be it,' said the king. 'But, if you fail, know that you shall die as before.'

"So the thief was established in a place near the stables, to begin teaching the horse. And one of the guards posted over him asked: 'What silly business is this, about teaching a horse to sing hymns? You know you cannot do it.'

" 'Well, perhaps I can and perhaps I cannot,' said the thief. 'But even if I fail, I have a year. And during that year the king may die, or the horse may die, or I may die; and in any of these cases I shall be better off. And who knows? Peradventure I shall teach the horse to sing hymns after all!'

"So, my dear but foolish friends, let us not anticipate more troubles than we must. Who knows? Perhaps we shall find our dragon and win Xerxes' gratitude after all."

Bessas and his mother dried their tears, smiled wan smiles, and embraced for the last time. Then Bessas followed his teacher back to the barracks.

Again, King Xerxes sat in Ostanas' chamber, facing the wizard across the table. On the table stood a small brazier with three bronzen legs, which ended in reptilian claws. In the brazier glowed a small fire of charcoal. Ostanas fanned the flame until the lumps of charcoal brightened from red to vermilion.

Then the magician began dropping jasmine seeds into the charcoal, one at a time. There was a delicate hiss and crackle. Otherwise all was silent, save for the breathing of the men and the click of the hyena's claws as it paced its cage.

A thread of blue smoke arose from the brazier, to curl back upon itself in coils and arabesques. At times the column rose straight to above the level of the watchers' eyes; then it broke into a mass of writhing coils. Ostanas' eyes gleamed beneath his shaggy white brows.

"What says the smoke?" demanded Xerxes.

Ostanas took his time. At last he said: "They may succeed; but only if the gods so will it."

Xerxes snorted. "A prophetic ambiguity worthy of Delphoi! How could you lose?"

Ostanas spread his hands. "Your slave does his best, but the world of magical science is not to be coerced."

"Can you give me the details?"

"I was coming to that, my master. I saw them returning with a monster. Yet something—perhaps my fravashi—told me that dangers hem their path and may destroy them ere they reach us."

"What shall we do?"

"The unseen powers have not yet informed me. I will seek enlightenment in dreams and consult the glittering stars."

"Speaking of dreams," said the king, "I had a hideous one ere I awoke. I dreamt that I lay on my bed, with one of my women beside me. A man stooped over the bed, raising a knife to plunge it into my heart. At first I weened it was my brother Masistes, red with blood. Then I saw that the face of the figure was but a mask, like those which actors wear on the Greek stage. I struggled, with one hand to hold back the knife and with the other to tear away the mask. But the mask would not move, whilst the knife came ever closer. I awoke screaming, with the eunuchs running to and fro in the chamber like frightened Indian fowl. What make you of it?"

"That will require study of the records of ancient oneiromancers. If my master—"

The king's private knock interrupted. Xerxes called: "Enter!"

A stout Persian, with a permanent smile and darkly darting eyes, stood bowing in the door. "Your slave, Great King!"

"Aye, Artabanus?"

"Your slave has been reliably informed that the persons after whom the King of Kings inquired—Bessas son of Phraates and Myron son of Perseus—departed according to plan, one hour after noon, on the Shushan road."

"Thank you, good Artabanus."

"The utmost appreciation is hereby expressed by your slave, that this small piece of information should have met with my lord and master's approbation. And now, if my unworthy self may present this report whereof I have spoken—"

"I want the King's Eye named Datas!"

"But, sire, this said report is considered to be of the utmost moment, dealing as it does with alleged unrest in die province of Egypt. Your slave estimates that it will not consume above two hours—"

"Curse you, get me Datas!" shouted Xerxes, almost in a scream.

When Artabanus had bowed himself out, the king said: "I know not why he so provokes me. The hazarapat is a brave warrior and a competent governor. Yet his way of wrapping every word in a thick layer of unctuous formality renders dealing with him repulsive. I verily believe he desires to slay me by boredom."

"We must maintain the royal dignity," said Ostanas.

"Certes, but Artabanus lays it on so thickly that I suspect him of laughing in his beard at me. And yet, he knows all the threads of authority and influence so well that I could not replace him."

"Of course," murmured Ostanas, "if Your Majesty took a more active part in administration, as once you did—"

"Ahriman take you, Ostanas; tell me not how to run my realm! If the quest prove successful, I shall have things to consider of more moment than these endless, tedious reports on unrest in Egypt, drouth in Chorasmia, nomadic raids in Bactria, and—"

The knock sounded again. This time the visitor was a man of less than average height, so ordinary-looking that he were hard to describe further.

"Your slave, Datas by name, awaits the Great King's command," murmured the man, touching his forehead to the floor.

"Good." Xerxes briefly described Bessas, Myron, and their quest, adding: "I trust not this Bessas. Not only is he a daring and hard-bitten rogue, but his father, also, was a factionary of my traitorous brother Masistes. So I wish you to follow them."

"Aye, Majesty?"

"You shall watch for three things. First: Bessas adheres to the outlawed cult of Mithraism, as did his father before him; Baron Phraates was a notorious coddler and fautor of heretics. Instead of joining the reformed and united true faith of Zoroastrian Mazdaism, he clings to the remnants of schismatic superstition. Were he some flea-bitten Syrian or Arab, that would not matter; but we cannot tolerate such heresy in an Aryan. I wish you to watch for evidence of his dealing with hidden Mithraists. Mayhap he will discover us their leaders, so that we can scotch this serpent of daiva-worship once and for all.

"Secondly, I hear rumors of a pretender: one Orontes, claiming to be a son of Cambyses. His emissaries approach daring and able Aryans to seduce them into conspiracy. Watch for signs of this plot, also.

"Lastly, some are displeased that Bessas should have escaped the stake. Bagabyxas the Daduchid, I am told, is one such. Knowing Bagabyxas, it would not astony me if he sought by subtle means to make away with Bessas and Sataspes ere they return. Watch for such an attempt and, if need be, do your utmost to thwart it. The final disposal of Bessas is mine, and I will not have one of my subjects take private vengeance upon him! Do you understand all?"

"Aye, sire."

"Then may God befriend you. Get yourself upon the road whilst the trail is still warm!"

As the agent departed, Xerxes turned again to the wizard. "Tell me, good Ostanas, why should any sane man wish to take my place as king? For twenty years I have striven to be a greater king than my noble sire; yet my loftiest schemes have gone awry." He held up a hand at Ostanas' protest. "Save your flattery, my friend. I would not admit this to any other, but I know fire from flood.

"I reformed the currency—and the plaints of the merchants that they can no longer make a profit are louder than ever. I reformed religion, uniting the quarreling sects of the Aryan faith according to the teaching of the Great Magus—and the Mithraists and Anahitists and others remain stubbornly outside the fold, worshiping in secret and plotting with would-be usurpers. I beat down two great rebellions, smashing mighty armies—and the barbarous brigands of Hellas cut two of my army corps to shreds and slay three of my brothers and my finest general. What have the gods against me?

"At first I worked myself nigh unto death, and the people said: What does this royal busybody, thrusting that long nose of his into our business day and night? Why does he not leave us alone to mind our affairs? Now that I rule through Artabanus and the rest, they say: What does the royal lecher, lurking slothfully in "his harem when he should be leading the Empire and smiting wrongdoers night and day? None values me at my true worth. Suspicion and hatred divide me from my family. Women have been my curse; I cannot wait to finish my new palace, to get away from the clack of their venomous tongues.

"Would the great Cyrus had remained a petty kinglet in the hills of Parsa, without imperial ambitions! Yet, having mounted the tiger, I must needs ride the, full nine circuits."

In the barren, rugged Ouxian mountains, where cold winds whistled through a vast blue sky and vultures and eagles circled forever on broad brown wings, a ring of hillmen squatted. They were a wild-looking lot with long tangled hair, ragged tunics, and patched pantaloons. One, however, was clad in new if dirty garments, with his hair confined by a low twisted turban. They listened to Zopyrus, who said:

"Tell me, friend Puzur, if it be not true that, when the Great King would have seated you on the stake, I prevailed upon him to let you go?"

"You speak sooth," said he of the turban. "And now, I doubt not, you wish a return for your boon. Have you fallen out with the Great King, so that you must hide in the hills?"

Zopyrus smiled thinly. "Not yet. I do but wish you to waylay a brace of travelers."

"As Lagamar is my witness, that were no favor at all!" cried the hill chief. "We do that anyway. Ask a boon worthy of Puzur the Ouxian."

"Fear not, this will do admirably. Moreover, you may keep all the loot that you find upon them, with one exception."

"And that is?"

"Their heads. These you shall send to me, at my house in Shushan."

"When will these travelers appear?"

"At any time, but I should think within the next day or two. Thus shall you know them ..."

Bessas and Myron rode up the valley of the Kurush. Rugged mountains towered to right and left in long brown ridges, running from southeast to northwest and seeming closer in the clear Iranian air than they really were.

Bessas wore a short Median jacket, baggy leathern riding breeches, and over his head a bashlyk, or cloth hood. This hood hid most of his beard and could be pulled up to the eyes at need. At his left side swung a straight horseman's sword of Indian steel, a full three feet long including the hilt. The teakwood scabbard bore a row of little silver tahrs, or Himalayan wild goats, and ended in a silver tiger's head. The pommel took the form of a gryphon's head of crystal. From his other side hung a dagger with a large turquoise roundel; a lacquered bow-and-arrow case bumped against his back.

With leathern trousers and boots on his legs and a bashlyk on his head, Myron looked like a Persian, except that his skin shone with fresh oil. As he rode, he felt pleased with himself for having kept his courage up, to the time of departure. This adventure was something of which he had long dreamt and talked. But, when it bade fair to come true, he approached it with hesitation and dread. A dozen times he had almost backed out; but now, thank Hera, he had taken the plunge.

He stared intently at the vast, dust-colored land, speck-led with the red and blue and yellow flecks of short-lived spring flowers. He gazed at the clouds and the birds and the mountaintops. He looked about him keenly for any odd fact or new phenomenon to add to his store of knowledge.

For Myron Perseôs was a collector of facts, as other men collected concubines or horses or gold. Sometimes he temporarily forgot them, as does a squirrel the nuts it has buried. But the facts were all there, locked away in his squarish skull, waiting for some reminder to call them forth. He secretly hoped that some day these facts would fall into a pattern—a pattern that should give a profound new insight into the nature of things and place his name with those of Thales and Herakleitos among the great lovers of wisdom. Although it had never occurred, and Myron sometimes feared he was simply not clever enough to build a noble edifice of thought from his myriad bricks of fact, he never completely gave up hope.

At the end of the first day out of Persepolis, Myron and Bessas crossed into the valley of the Ulai. Near its source the Ulai was a mere trickle, whose tributaries ran water only after a rain. The snows of winter still crested the higher ridges.

Once or twice a day a Persian post rider passed them, racing along at full gallop with his bashlyk pulled up to his eyes and his mailbags flapping against his horse's flanks. Now and then they encountered a string of camels, swaying slowly under high-piled loads, or a pair of road guards cantering by and watching the heights. Once they passed a knot of sullen peasants, lackadaisically filling holes in the road, while a royal officer barked himself hoarse at them.

Bessas set the pace by alternately cantering and walking. Betimes he stopped to let the horses graze, while he and Myron sat on stones and munched salt meat and hard biscuits. By the second day Myron could hardly walk, let alone mount and dismount. Therefore his giant companion had to give him a leg-up.

"A mule at a gentle walk is more my speed," groaned Myron.

"You need a few more calluses on your arse," said the Bactrian. "You'll have them by the time we get to Kush."

"Or else I shall be dead, as dead as Odysseus' dog."

"Ha! Shall I then bury you, burn you, or throw you away as do the Magi?"

"Do as you like. As Herakleitos says, a corpse is worth no more than so much excrement."

"Good for him!" Bessas sang:

Myron observed that, while his companion had been morose and irritable in Persepolis, under the strict routine of the Immortals, he became buoyantly and boisterously cheerful once they were out on the royal road, owning no master and bound for the rim of the world. The Bactrian cracked coarse jokes, at which he laughed thunderously. He lectured on his favorite subject: the care of horses.

"For look you, O Myron," he said, "I have seen you tie your horse to a low bush when the branch of a tree was to hand. In tethering a horse, the halter or reins should be tied, when possible, to a place above the animal's head. For it is the wont of the horse, when aught annoys his face, to strive to rid himself of it by tossing his head. If the halter be tied low, this jerk is likely to tear it loose or break it; whereas, if it be tied high, it is merely tossed out of the way, and the beast remains tethered.

"Now, in rubbing down a horse, one should start at the head and mane, taking care not to use any instrument of wood or iron on the animal's head; for here the skin, being stretched tightly over the skull, is easily injured ..."

They drew up at a fortified post of dun mud brick.

Here was a postal station, with remounts for the post riders. Here also was a tiny inn and the divisional guardhouse of the road guards. At Bessas' bellow, a groom took their bridles. Bessas leaped down, his heavy boots striking the ground with an earth-shaking thump. Myron slid off his mount, almost collapsed, and straightened up with effort.

In the inn, Bessas was soon deep in a jug of yellow beer with the officer in command of the road guards. The latter said:

"Bessas son of Phraates, of Zariaspa? Spit in my face if my cousin Arsames did not serve with you in Gandara, in the fifteenth year of King Xerxes ..."

They went into a long dialogue of pedigree and anecdote. Bessas boasted how he had once played stick-and-ball against the raja of Takshasila and scored five goals in the first chakkar. At last he said:

"Damn me for a mannerless barbarian, but I have not presented my companion, Myron of Miletos. Myron, meet my old friend, Troop Leader Ochus. Myron is a schoolmaster and, as the Hellenes put it, a lover of wisdom. Wishing to know all, he already knows a hundred times as much as I do, which is a right good start. Such a marvelous memory has he that oft he forgets his own name."

Myron and Ochus each said: "Your slave!" Bessas continued:

"How is the road from here to the Hujan plain?"

"The rains of winter tore many holes," said Ochus, "but the road commissioner will soon have them filled, if he can catch enough of these lazy Ouxian peasants and drive them to the work."

"They might work with more enthusiasm if paid," said Myron.

"Pay these baseborn clods? You must be mad, Greek," said the officer. "Once the holes are filled, you will have nought to fear, unless a lion steal your horses whilst you slumber, or unless Puzur choose the day of your passage for one of his raids."

"Who?" said Bessas.

"Puzur, chief of the nearest hill clan. He has taken up his old game."

Myron said: "Was there not some great to-do over Puzur about three years ago? Was he not arrested and later—"

"Aye," said Ochus, wiping the beer foam from his mustache. "Caught he was, for having robbed the Great King's mail and murdered the post rider. I looked to see him dropped into the ashes or sat upon the stake. A month later, however, he was back in his hills, having promised the king most solemnly to reform. Somebody said the Daduchids had pled for him. His reform endured for almost a year. Then, I suppose, his clansmen told him that they were starving and, unless he let them resume raiding, they would cut his throat and find a new chief."

"When will you catch him?" asked Bessas.

Ochus snorted. "Me, with sixteen road guards, catch the chief of a clan that musters above a hundred fighting men? And a man who knows every fold of the land like a mountain goat? Give your slave something easy, like snaring Keresaspa's golden sea serpent with a gossamer! I have wearied the commander in chief and the postmaster general with pleas for more men ..."

A reckless light danced in Bessas' dark, deep-set eyes. "By the snows of Mount Hara, fain would I wager with you that I could catch this Puzur, singlehanded!"

"Ha! That I should like to see! How much will you bet, and what time limit will you accept?"

"O Bessas!" Myron spoke in Greek, in his sharpest schoolmaster tone. "Have you gone insane, to forget your mission and all that depends upon it? Wagers, indeed!"

"Yes, teacher," grumbled Bessas. "I am sorry, Captain Ochus, but orders from the king prevent. When I return next year, if Puzur be still at large, we shall come back to this matter."

During the night, Myron awakened shivering, as the scanty fire had gone out. He became aware of a tumult among the animals in the corral behind the guardhouse: the neighing of horses, the braying of asses and mules, and the roaring of camels. When the noise died down, he heard the cause: the coughing snarl of a hunting leopard.

Unable to sleep, Myron walked briskly up and down the road in front of the guardhouse to warm his frozen limbs, bearing a spear in case the leopard were close at hand. And as he walked, he thought upon what he had heard.

An hour later, as the stars were dying and the sky was paling, Bessas was washing by the well, blowing like a porpoise as he buried his face in his cupped hands. Myron spoke:

"I have been reflecting on what I should do in Zopyrus' place."

"A Greek scribbler, taking the place of one of the greatest lords of the Persian realm?" Bessas, wringing water out of his beard, laughed with good-natured contempt. Then the Bactrian's countenance changed as he saw Myron's mouth tighten. "Forgive your slave, old man. I had forgotten my debt to you."

Myron fought down his resentment, as any Hellene living among the haughty Persians learnt perforce to do. "If I wished to destroy a man, and I knew he were going to pass over a road, and I had friends among the bandittical tribes thereabouts, I should ride ahead and arrange an ambush. Zopyrus has ridden ahead, and this Puzur is in his debt. Does it not seem logical—"

Bessas gave Myron a clap on the back that almost sent him sprawling. "Vaush! Though betimes your Greek logic drives me mad, I admit that it has its uses. Ochus! My lieutenant thinks there will be an ambush ..."

An hour later, Myron and Bessas rode out with a cold windy dawn at their backs. With them went two troopers of the road guard. Bessas ordered one of the guards to ride ahead to scout. When the man understood what was toward, however, he resisted leaving his companions. No matter how the Bactrian roared at him to get on, he persisted in reining in to let the others catch up. Meanwhile, where the slopes of the rugged brown hills allowed, Bessas ordered the second guard to ride up the heights from time to time to look about.

"This robber is no dolt," said the first guard, returning again to report. "He will send men down to the road before and behind us, to be sure of trapping us."

"Then—" began Bessas, but broke off to stare at the heights. "I think," he said, "that I saw a piece of cloth waved on the end of a stick. That were a signal. The tribesmen are probably clustered behind a hillock around the next bend or two; at least that is how such vagabonds do it in Gandara. Is there any way by which we could get behind them?"

"We have just passed a dell that leads away to northward," said the guard.

"Good. We will see where that dell goes."

"Troop Leader Bessas!" said the guard. "Would you attack this whole clan singlehanded?"

"Why not?" grinned Bessas. "If we can get behind and above them, we shall have the advantage."

"You are mad! I will have nought to do with this witless scheme!" The trooper set off at a gallop along the road by which they had come.

"Some day," said Bessas, "I will pull down that lousy craven's breeches and spank him with the flat of my sword. But then, he's not under my orders, and it is better to know the cowards before the fight than later. You!" he barked at the other guard, who rode up from his latest reconnaissance. "Are you rabbit-hearted like your comrade?" Bessas explained his plan.

The man paled but said: "Verethraghna aid us, what a conceit! Natheless, I will go anywhere you do, Captain Bessas."

Myron's heart rose into his throat. He thought, I am no fleet Achilles, alas; affrays like this affright me witless. But I must not let these foreigners see that a Hellene quails.

They rode up the dell but soon were forced to dismount. The dell narrowed to a ravine, along which they picked their way, squeezing past boulders and hopping from rock to rock. Bessas halted to listen.

"The Corpse Fiend take this wind!" he exclaimed. "A man can't hear himself think. But I hear horses coming down ... What are you staring at, Myron?"

"That insect," said Myron. "I have never seen one like it, and I wondered—"

Bessas gave a snarl of nervous exasperation. "Ahriman eat you! Here you're about to fight for your life, and you look at insects! Stay here, you two, and hold the beasts."

Bessas bounded up to the next bend. There he braced himself against the side of the ravine and pulled from its case his powerful Parthian bow, strung with tendons of stag. He took out a fistful of arrows and thrust them, one by one, into a patch of dirt. He slipped a leather bracer over his left wrist.

For a while he leaned unmoving against the rock. The wind whistled among the crags and made the grasses and mountain flowers nod. The horses stretched their necks towards scanty patches of herbage.

Suddenly, Bessas straightened up, bent his bow, and let fly. A hoarse yell sounded from around the bend. Before it had stopped, Bessas had whipped up another arrow from those in the ground and shot. A third and a fourth followed, then a pause.

"Come on up," said Bessas.

Around the bend, Myron saw three men in ragged coats and trousers lying in the bottom of the ravine. Each had an arrow through his ribs. These arrows had been driven with such force that little more than the feathering showed. Crimson stains were spreading on the tribesmen's jackets where the arrows pierced them. One man moved and groaned. Their horses had run back up the dell, then stopped to graze.

"I missed one shot," groaned Bessas. "In broad daylight, at less than twenty paces, I make a clean miss! I must be getting old. But then, a sudden gust carried the shaft aside. Kill that one who lives, trooper, and help me to get these arrows out. They are too good shafts to waste."

The road guard, awe in his face, thrust his spear through the wounded man. Myron- winced, though he knew that this was how things were done, that the hill-men would have used him the same way, and that it was not his place to tell Bessas how to manage military matters. Feeling a little shaky, he said:

"Those are the men who were going to take us from behind, as the monkey took the miller's wife. Now what?"

"You shall see," said Bessas.

They followed the Bactrian on an hour's scramble. Then Bessas said: "Hist! We are almost in sight of them. Tie the horses and come on, keeping your heads down. Remember what I told you about tethering high, Myron!"

Soon Myron cautiously thrust his head above a sharp-edged ridge. Before him, the slope fell away gently. Then the ground rose again to another ridge, lower than the first. In the distance beyond, blue mountains towered.

Just behind this more distant ridge, thirty-odd hillmen clustered. The wind whipped the loose ends of their ragged garments. A better-dressed man stood behind them on an outcrop, peering over the lower ridge with fists on hips. Bessas whispered:

"Methinks our road is just beyond the second rise, and the fellow in the turban is our man. Trooper, I am going out to take that rogue. Cover me with your bow as I re-turn, in case the others come after me. Myron, take my bow—"

"I'm no archer, alas!" said the Greek.

"Oh, fiends! Take the spear, then. If I fail, prick a couple of the knaves as they come up, and they may give you time to get to your horse."

Bessas unstrapped his bow case and sword belt but took the crystal-pommeled sword. He stepped across the ridge and started down towards the watching group, hopping lightly from rock to rock. He would have been in plain sight, had any of them looked around. But all eyes were turned away from him; the tribesmen's gaze was fixed on the road below. The howl of the wind muffled Bessas' approach.

Coolly, as if he were but another tribesman late to the muster, Bessas strode up behind Puzur.

Just before Bessas reached him, the Ouxian half turned his head to speak. With one great leap, Bessas was upon him. The Bactrian's left arm swept around and gathered the smaller man in a bear hug, while Bessas brought his sword up under Puzur's beard, so that the edge touched his throat. Puzur screamed something in Elamite.

The tribesmen, who at the first movement had begun to draw knifes and to reach for bows and spears, froze into immobility. Bessas backed up the slope, dragging Puzur with him and keeping the sword blade always against the chieftain's throat.

"Trooper!" said Bessas. "Give me something to bind this knave with and then lasso me one of those loose ponies."

"The Lord of Light preserve us!" gasped the road guard. "You are Rustam come again!"

"Belike; but hurry, lest the tribesmen rush us regardless."

Later the same day, the travelers reached the next relay station. Here Bessas turned his prisoner over to the road guards, despite the outcry of Puzur: "You said you would not slay me if my men did not attack you!"

"I'm not slaying you," said Bessas. "What the king does is between you and him. Myron, give me a sheet of your parchment and a pen."

Myron got out his writing materials and cut a piece off the end of the roll of parchment. He filled a cup with water, dipped a reed pen into it, and rubbed the point of the pen briskly against a block of solid ink. Then he handed the materials to Bessas.

The Bactrian pressed the sheet against the wall of the guardhouse and wrote his message, letter by letter, with terrific concentration. The pen trembled in his mighty fist. As he wrote, he contorted his face into frightful scowls and grimaces, licking his mustache. After a long time, and many re-inkings of the pen, he handed, the letter to Myron with a weary sigh.

"Think you he'll be able to read it?"

"With the eyesight of Argos and the wisdom of Nestor, perhaps," said Myron. The letter, a barely literate scrawl, said in Aramaic:

BESSAS SON OF PHRAATES GREETS TROOP LEADER OCHUS

With this letter I send you the prisoner Puzur. The road guard will tell you how he tried to ambush us. You see, it is not so hard to catch these mountain goats.

As he sealed the letter, Bessas said to Myron: "My only regret is that I let you talk me out of betting with Ochus that I could do it! Next time, stick to things whereof you know."