The Quest of Kadji

In such a thick and motley throng, a lone warrior can easily lose himself; thus Kadji used a fat puffing old pedlar in soiled and tattered blue, mounted upon a fat waddling grey mare, to block himself from the view of the guardians of the gate, sleepy-eyed and brusk though they were.

He suffered the torments of the illicit, for a moment or two, when the fat old pedlar stopped dead before one of the guards and loudly asked the way to a good inn. The boy bent his heed as if to adjust his leggings and fumbled with sweating fingers at the leathern thongs while the pedlar and the guard discussed the merits of this or that hostelry, and finally came to a mutual agreement on an establishment called the House of the Seven Moons.

But then the pedlar, bobbing his bald head In courtesy to the surly Rashemba knight, thumped his bare heels in the ribs of his mare and she went clopping forward, with the boy Kadji on his black Feridoon pony closely behind, and he was inside the frowning walls of golden Khôr.

Once he was past the scrutiny of the gate guards, Kadji turned his black pony into one of the broad avenues that radiated out like spokes from the hub of a wheel from the palace-crowned hill that lay at the heart of Khôr. All about him was hurry and bustle, even at this early hour: fat greasy kugars borne by tawny Easterling slaves in sumptuous palanquins, guardsmen on horseback and beggars afoot, court ladies in veiled conveyances, archers in clattering companies, merchants, laborers, priests. The broad avenues were throned with hundreds of men and women, and amidst the crush and flurry, the Nomad boy felt lost and alone and out of place. He rode about aimlessly for a while, as the sun star Kylix climbed higher and ever higher in the azure dome of heaven; getting the feel and flavor of the Dragon City.

He cast a carefully casual glance or two at the high walls and gleaming towers and golden domes of the Khalidûr, the Citadel of the Dragon, as the imperial fortress-palace was called. To seek an audience with Shamad the Impostor openly was futile and foolish: he must come to stand before the Dragon Throne by some subterfuge, some subtle scheme. Doubtless one would occur to him—later. In the meanwhile he rode the city streets and gazed upon the myriad marvels of the world’s greatest and most splendid capital.

Never—as it chanced—had the boy Kadji been within the walls of imperial Khôr. Even when he rode with his sword-brothers to establish the false Yakthodah on the holy throne, he had not entered the golden gates but had remained behind in the Nomad camp. Now was he here in truth—and alone!

Jubilation bubbled up in the boy’s heart; but his head was cool, and he did not fail to see that it would be exceedingly difficult to make his entry into the fortress of Khalidûr. For whole companies of imperial scarlet-and-silver guards watched the gates—the Dragon Guard, they were called, he knew, and their number was made up of foreigners and Rashemba knights and mercenaries from distant and strange kingdoms.

About the base of the mountainous citadel, which was almost a small city in itself, and which the folk of Kbôr called the “Inner City,” ran a deep rushing, moat as broad as a river. Guard towers stood at either end of the seven bridges that spanned this moat, and the heart of Kadji sank in gloom as he saw that every person who sought entry to the citadel was stripped and searched and disarmed of any weapon whatsoever, even to the smallest dagger.

Getting in would not be easy.

Getting out again might prove impossible.

However, he would worry about such problems later. Suffice it for the moment the troubles thereof, and let tomorrow’s trouble await the morrow—or so ran the old saying of the Chayyim Kozanga Nomads.

He had at least gained entry Into Khôr, and that without arousing the suspicions of any person.

And thus came Kadji to the Dragon City, and the first part of his Quest was accomplished.