"They sell soldiers?" Maia was puzzled.
"Well, some kinds, yes," answered the black girl. "Prisoners taken in war--you know, Katrians and Terries-fellows from Terekenalt--if they're not badly wounded or disabled, and if no one ransoms them, they're often sold. They wouldn' be any good for the regular army, you see-not former enemy wouldn'--but provincial barons buy them for their household companies, and often people from other countries buy them, too. The further off a man comes from, the more useful he is to a baron's local bunch of bastards, you see."
"Oh, and that platform there, look! That must be for the roadmakers, I suppose. What wonderful pictures! I've never seen anything like them!"
In fact, of course, Maia had never seen any graphic or sculptural art whatever, except for crude peasant work at Meerzat and round about: and although, often, that was not lacking in a certain power and beauty, it had not prepared her for the art of such great Beklan craftsmen as Fleitil, Sandruhlet and those others whose names, still known today, can only make us regret that virtually all their work is lost to us for ever. Gazing at Sandruhlet's frieze--of which only a fragment survives--of the pioneer gang driving the Gelt road into the foothills, all newly painted in brilliant, stylized colors intensifying its half-barbaric impact, Maia felt herself actually tingling at the sight of the straining, muscular young men, the rain glistening on their half-naked bodies as they heaved on the sledge-ropes.
"Clever work, isn' it?" said Occula. "You've got to admit these Beklans do know how to slice up a bit of stone. The whole city's full of that sort of thing. I remember Zai took me to the upper city once, to see the Barons' Palace close to. We couldn' go into the Palace, of course, but I've never forgotten it. There's a carved--"
"Oh--!" interrupted Maia suddenly, staring and putting a hand up to her mouth in an involuntary, startled gesture. Turning her head away, she looked at Occula in confusion, but then, despite herself, looked back again. "What-- whatever--?"
Occula chuckled. "That's where they sell the girls. I've never seen it before, but someone in Thettit told me the carvers spent four years on that. They did rather let themselves go, didn' they? All good for trade, banzi, you know. Didn' leave much to the imagination, did they?"
"Oh, and three or four together, look--and there--" Maia became speechless. Then "And right out in the open, where everyone can see--you'd wonder who ever thought of such things, wouldn't you?"
"Fellows who think of nothin' else, that's who," said Occula, enjoying her confusion. "It just shows you, doesn' it, what a lot of silly sods there are who've got it on the brain? See what I mean? With a bit of luck we can' go wrong. But we've got to be sharp, banzi. What it comes down to is that they want figs for nothin', but somehow or other we've got to sell figs dear. And what that comes down to, really, is bein' better than the competition."
"But will we have to--you know--stand up there with no clothes on--?"
The black girl shook her head. "Shouldn' think so. I told you, Lalloc said to Domris he'd sell me privately, into a wealthy household. Of course I can' tell them straight out that where I go you're comin' too. You're worth a lot of money--so am I--and even a rich man who buys one girl may not be able to afford two--or not two at once. But you can be sure of one thing: Lalloc'll be out to sell you to his own best advantage, whatever that is; and I doan' think a girl like you'll be thrown in with a lot of others."
As the jekzha was about to leave the market and enter the long slope of the Khalkoornil--the Street of Leaves-- it was once again forced to a halt by a heavy wagon loaded with a single block of stone, which was coming slowly up the hill towards them. This was surrounded by a noisy crowd, many of whom were helping the carters and their bullocks to drag and push it the final few yards uphill into the Slave Market.
"Oh, look, Occula, it's carved in the shape of a woman, d'you see? Wonder where they're taking it?"
"That's the new statue of Airtha," said their jekzha-man over his shoulder. "Fleitil and his lads have been working on it all summer up in the quarries. Only the big statues, they always start them up there and then finish them when they've been brought down. There's hundreds been waiting down at the Gate of Lilies to give them a hand. They reckon that's lucky, see, to touch it as it comes in."
"Where's it to go?" asked Occula.
"Outside the Temple of Cran. That's U-Fleitil, look, just over there; see him?"
Maia looked over the heads of the crowd towards where the man was pointing. Before she could pick out Fleitil, however, she became aware of someone else--a young man standing quite close by on the opposite side of the road.
He was certainly of striking appearance. Taking no part in the turmoil round the wagon, he was leaning, with a relaxed yet alert air, against the doorpost of a wine shop, eating grapes--or at any rate holding a bunch in one hand-- and staring directly at her. Everything about him suggested self-confidence, wealth and aristocracy. He was tall, with long, dark hair and a short, neatly-trimmed beard; and not so much handsome in any conventional way as having an aspect and air of gallantry which made one forget to consider whether he was or not. He was wearing a close-fitting abshay of rose-colored silk, with a silver belt at the waist. Its puffed sleeves, the inverted pleats of which were inset with silver, were gathered a little below the elbow. Both this and his pale-yellow, damasked breeches were overspread with small, semiprecious stones, lustrous and blue-green in color. His sword was sheathed in a scabbard jewelled with larger stones of the same sort, while slung at his back, on a crimson-tasselled cord, was a large hat adorned with colored plumes of red and blue. On his left shoulder, worked in silver thread, was the cognizance of a leopard.
Despite his elegance and flamboyant dress, his bearing suggested not so much the fop as the courtier and nobleman capable of turning soldier at need. He was plainly quite unconcerned to conceal his interest in Maia. She, abashed and self-conscious, looked quickly away, pulling up the bodice which Occula had disarranged. Yet when she looked round it was only to meet once more the young man's unwavering gaze.
"Smile, you fool," whispered Occula out of the side of her mouth.
Maia, feeling as awkward as a plowboy called to the side of a lady's carriage to tell her the way, tried to smile but found she seemed to have lost the trick. However, at this mo
ment the young man smiled at her, tossed his grapes into the lap of a near-by beggar and strolled across the street, the crowd seeming to part before him as undergrowth parts before a hound on the scent.
Putting one hand on the rail at the girls' feet and looking up at Maia with an air expressive of admiration both given and received (as though to say "It's pleasant to be beautiful--don't you agree?"), he said, "To my own great surprise, I don't seem to know your name. Still, I dare say you can put that right for me, can't you?"
"Oh--sir--I--that's to say--"
Maia's confusion was so clearly unfeigned that the young man, for a moment at all events, appeared to lose his own self-possession. With a slightly puzzled look he said, "I hope I've not embarrassed you or made a mistake. But if you're not shearnas--and very pretty ones at that--why are you riding through the lower city in an open jekzha, with no escort?"
"We're here from Thettit-Tonilda, sir," said Occula, smiling at him and leaning forward to put her hand for a moment on his, "with a recommendation to U-Lalloc."
"Oh, I see," said the young man, with an air of disappointment. "You mean he's going to sell you?"
"I'm very sorry; I'm afraid not, sir," answered Occula, as though he had made a request which she was obliged to decline with regret. "We're already promised to a noble house."
"I'm not at all surprised to hear it," said the young man. "Well, perhaps we may meet again. If that--er--noble house--"he smiled, giving an ironical, emphasis to the words--"should ever wish to part with you, perhaps you'll contrive to let me know, will you?"
With this he pressed a kiss on Maia's bare foot, turned on his heel and was gone across the market-place, his feathered hat tossing on his shoulders.
As the jekzha moved on, neither girl spoke for a minute or two. Then Maia, still bewildered by the encounter, said "But he never told us who he was."
"You're supposed to know who he is," answered Occula. "It wouldn' occur to him that you didn'. He's a Leopard, obviously."
"Do you know?"
"No, 'course I doan'. But it might be a good idea to find out, doan' you think?"