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reaching the Jade Gate. The exquisitely drawn scroll attracted Casca like a
magnet. The beautifully drawn mountain ranges and rivers seemed to sweep him
up into them.
 How far to the Jade Gate?
Tsin looked at the border of the map and the con-fused squigglings that made
up the writing of this people.  Something over two thousand miles.
 When do I leave?
Tsin grinned gently.  Even now your animals are being prepared and supplies
gathered. In the morn-ing you will leave and to tell you the truth, I will be
glad to see you go. I have the feeling that trouble is never far behind your
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steps and we have enough of that here already with the Hsuing-nu pushing from
the north and the savage tribes to the south. It may be that our days are
numbered already.
If that is so, I feel no need to rush them by having you remain here any
longer than necessary. Nothing personal you understand, just good business.
 I will have a simpler form of this map prepared for you to aid you in your
travels and letters to the
Emperor which will give you messenger status. Now, I have the business of the
Empire to attend to.
Returning to his rooms, Casca sat on his bed and went over his gear, such as
it was. He needed little and any extra weight from luxury items would not
serve him on the trail. Back to basics: weapons, food and clothing. Nothing
more. The nights would be cold but the sheepskins would serve to cut out the
icy wind. Two thousand miles.
 Good enough. I have gone much farther than that already. I wonder if those
crazy bastards from the
Brotherhood are around. His wrist twinged at the remembrance.
Taking his horse and pack animal through the gate, he rode out onto the plain
in front of the city of
Kush. Casca crossed the bridge of wood and rope that spanned the Indus. There
he gave one long look back, then settled his ass firmly in the saddle with the
knowledge that he had a long way to go. A distant sound came to him from the
rear.
Turning to look back, he saw a figure coming af-ter him over the swaying
suspension bridge.
Reach-ing the solid footing of the opposite bank, Jugotai yelled to Casca to
wait. The boy rode like a devil, swinging from one side of his horse to the
other, swooping down to pull clumps of grass from the ground and then sliding
under his horse s belly to appear on the other side and back into his saddle.
 That little bastard can really ride, Casca thought.  But that is the ugliest
horse I have ever seen.
Jugotai s mount stood only about eleven hands and was covered with shaggy
matted hair that dropped in clumps where he was losing his winter coat. The
beast was as common looking as a pariah dog. Jugotai s head was clean-shaven
save for the long scalp lock swinging behind him.
The curved blade swinging at his side meant business, not play.  Ho, Roman,
he called as he reigned his horse to a dead stop, leaping from its back to
stand in front of Casca.
Grinning, Casca said,  It s good to see you, Jugotai. I had not thought we
would meet again before I
left. I see you have gained that which you sought.
The boy smiled, dark eyes flashing. He pulled himself up to his full height
and stuck out his chest which had started to put some meat on it and no longer
resembled a starved chicken breast so strongly.
 Yes, and I have a wife now to bear my sons to fight against the Hsuing-nu.
Casca dismounted and took the boy s hand in the Roman manner of holding the
wrists.
 I am pleased and happy for you. You were a good friend and travel companion.
I wish you were going with me, but I know that Tsin-ta i has plans for you
here. But, who knows, perhaps we will meet again one day. I must return and if
the gods are kind, our paths will cross once more.
The boy s dusky face lit up with pleasure.
 Roman, take the saddle from your mount and put it and your gear on mine. This
is my gift to you.
Casca looked from his sleek roan gelding to the runty, shaggy beast that
Jugotai wished to trade.
Catching his look, Jugotai laughed.  I am not going to rob you, Roman. This
fine animal you ride now will not serve you half as well as this tough
nasty-tempered one I wish you to take.
Jugotai thumped the horse on the rib cage listen-ing with a cocked ear to the
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hollow thump that is-sued forth.
 This miserable creature was bred and raised in the mountains and can live on
dirt alone for weeks
and go without water for days in the desert. He is like us of the Yeuh-chih;
perhaps not as pretty as the refined nobles of Rome, but we can go the
dis-tance after the fine bloods have dropped ever from bad food and water.
Believe me, you will not regret the exchange.
The shaggy beast rolled his eyes around and Casca took a good look. The little
bastard seemed to be pretty tough.
 Well, Jugotai, if you say he s the horse for me, then so be it.
They swiftly changed saddles and gear. Casca swung himself up into the
sheepskin-lined saddle, his feet almost reaching the ground. The nasty-looking
horse gave him only one dirty look and ig-nored him while eating the bark from
a tree, even though young grass was easily available.
Jugotai swung into his saddle with the grace of an acrobat and turned the
horse s head back to the bridge, whirling his blade above his head. He reared
the horse back on his hind legs and cried,  Ride well, Roman. The road is
before you. Re-member you have friends among the tribes of Kushan. Be not a
stranger. With that, Jugotai raced back over the bridge and out of sight.
Days came one on the other as Casca followed the torrents of the Indus through
gorges that seemed to drop into the bowels of Hades and rise until he thought
it would be possible to touch the stars overhead. Jugotai was right, his
cruddy little beast had the agility of a mountain goat and could eat anything,
including a portion of one of Casca s tunics he left lying too close to the
beast, while he fixed his meal for the day.
Lacking anything better, Casca named the horse Glam, after his old friend at
the hold of Helsfjord.
There was a resemblance; both were tough and shaggy and had an intelligence
that their appear-ance belied.
Several times Casca met small caravans heading to the lands of the Kushan.
From these he would receive information as to the trail ahead. Twice he
stopped at what served as an inn for the tough and daring folk of these
highlands where he tried as best he could to develop a taste for the fermented [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]