Confessor (Sword of Truth 11)

Hot anger blazed through him. Every fiber of his being wanted to do something, to act, to get her away from Jagang, to get her out of this camp. His mind raced to come up with something, anything, but, chained as he was, there was nothing he could do. This was not the time or place he could act.

Worse, he knew that if he did nothing Jagang’s abuse of her would only continue. If he did nothing, and Kahlan suffered worse, Richard knew that he would never forgive himself. Despite how desperately he wanted to do something, though, he could do nothing.

He stood silent and still, enduring the rage storming through him, a wrath that was the twin to the Sword of Truth, the sword he’d given up in order to find Kahlan.

Kahlan, the emperor, and all the guards vanished back into the churning grime of the encampment. Curtains of mist seemed to draw in behind them.

Richard stood trembling in bitter frustration. Not even the cold rain could cool his bottled fury. Even as his mind raced through every possible action, he knew that there was nothing he could do. Not now, anyway.

At the same time his heart ached for Kahlan. Agony for what she must be facing at the hands of such a man knotted his insides. His knees felt weak with his fear for her. He had to stiffen his resolve to keep himself from falling to the ground in tears.

If only he could get his hands on Jagang. If only…

Commander Karg strode up close in front of Richard. “You’re lucky,” he growled. “The emperor obviously had more important things to do than review my team and my clumsy point man.”

“I need some paint,” Richard said.

Commander Karg blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Paint. I need some.”

“You expect me to fetch paint for you?”

“Yes. I told you, I need it.”

“What for?”

Richard wagged a finger at the man’s face, resisting mightily the urge to whip a length of chain around the commander’s neck and strangle the life out of him. “Why do you have those tattoos?”

Confused, Commander Karg hesitated for a moment, considering the question as if it might have thorns in it.

“To make me look all the more fierce to the enemy,” he said at last. “Such a look gives me power. When the enemy sees our men, they see ferocious fighters. It strikes terror into their hearts. When they freeze for a moment in fear, we triumph.”

“That’s why I want the paint,” Richard said. “I want to paint the faces of our team so that it strikes fear into the hearts of our opponents. It will help us defeat them. It will help your team to triumph.”

Commander Karg studied Richard’s eyes for a moment, as if to gauge if he was serious or up to something.

“I have a better idea,” the commander said. “I will have tattoo artists come around and tattoo my entire team.” He tapped a finger on the scales covering the side of his face. “I will have them tattoo you all with scales and such all over your faces. It will make you all look like my men. When you all have tattoos like mine you will look like my team. Everyone will know you belong to me.”

The commander gave Richard a grim smile, pleased with his idea. “I will have you all pierced as well. You all will have tattoos and metal studs in your faces. You will all look like inhuman animals.”

Richard waited until the man was finished and then shook his head. “No. That won’t do. It’s not good enough.”

Commander Karg planted his fists on his hips. “What do you mean it’s not good enough?”

“Well,” Richard said, “you can’t see those kinds of tattoos from far enough away. I’m sure that they work just fine in battle, when you are in a face-to-face confrontation with the enemy, but it won’t be that way in the Ja’La games. Such tattoos would too easily be missed.”

“You are often as close on the Ja’La field as you are in battle,” Commander Karg said.

“Maybe,” Richard conceded, “but I want us to stand out not only to our opponents at the moment, not just to the men on the field, but also to other teams who will be watching—to everyone who is watching. I want everyone to see our painted faces and instantly recognize us. I want such a sight to plant fear in the minds of other teams. I want them to remember us and to worry.”

Commander Karg folded his muscled arms. “I want you to be tattooed so that you look like my team. So that all will know that it is Commander Karg’s team.”

“And if we lose? If we lose in a humiliating fashion?”

The commander leaned in a little as he glared. “Then you will be whipped at the least, and no longer of any use to me at worst. I think you know by now what becomes of captives who are of no use.”

“If that happens,” Richard said, “everyone will remember that the team you put to death for being inferior were all tattooed just like you. If we fail, they will remember the snake pattern of your tattoo on all of us. It would link us to you, but also you to us. If we lose, you will be stigmatized by that tattoo. If we

lose, every time they see your tattooed face they will laugh at you.

“If we should for some reason happen to lose, paint can be washed off before we are whipped or worse.”

Commander Karg was beginning to grasp just what Richard meant. He visibly cooled as he scratched his jaw.

“I’ll see if I can’t come up with some paint.”

“Make it red.”

“Red? Why?”

“Red stands out. It will be memorable. Red also reminds people of blood. I want them to see us and before anything else wonder why we want to look like we are painted in blood. I want the other teams to worry about that the night before a game. I want them to sweat and lose sleep thinking about it. When they finally come to play us they will be tired and then we will make them bleed.”

A slow smile spread on Commander Karg’s face. “You know, Ruben, were you born on the right side of this war, along with me, I bet we would be good friends.”

Richard doubted that the man truly understood the concept of friendship, or could even appreciate such values.

“I’ll need enough paint for all the men,” Richard said.

Commander Karg nodded as he started away. “You will have it.”

CHAPTER 8

Kahlan hurried to stay close to Jagang as he marched through the camp lest he give her a stunning shock of pain through the collar. Of course, as he had demonstrated any number of times, he needed no excuse. She knew, though, that right then she had better not even look like she might give him cause, because he was in a hurry due to the strange news the man had brought.

She didn’t care so much about the news, though. Her mind was on the man she had finally seen again, the captive who had been brought in the day before.

As she moved through the encampment, thinking about the man, she watched not only her guards but also the common soldiers in the camp, looking for reactions that might indicate that they could see her, listening for any obscene remark that would betray them. All around, startled men stared at the heavily armed group making their way through the midst of their daily life, but she didn’t see a single man look directly at her, or show any other signs of seeing her.