His Conquering Sword Read Online Free PDF

perfectly friendly voice. Then he glanced up, as if recalling that the entire court watched the proceedings eagerly. He gestured. The audience ended.
    Soldiers herded the ambassadors away with their usual ruthless efficiency. Jiroannes was glad to retreat to the cool shelter of his awning, to have Jat bathe his feet in lukewarm water and Syrannus recite poetry to him. Lal had done wonders making dinner with the provisions available to him, but then he always did. Just as the boy served him dinner on the three traditional silver trays, Syrannus rose and signaled to the slave to pause. Jiroannes turned.
    Mitya had halted at the edge of the Vidiyan encampment, looking uncertain as to what his reception might be if he tried to venture any farther in.
    “Go and ask him to share dinner with me,” said Jiroannes sharply, afraid the boy would leave.
    Syrannus hurried out and returned with Mitya. The boy glanced around the camp and relaxed when he saw no sign of Samae.
    Jiroannes stood up. “I am honored by your presence,” he said, and realized that he was smiling with pleasure. “I have missed your company.” There, it was said. Let the boy scorn him if he chose.
    “I’m sorry,” said Mitya hesitantly. “My aunt said—” Samae came out from inside the women’s tent, saw Mitya, and ducked back inside. The boy went crimson.
    “I beg your pardon for whatever insult I may have unwittingly offered you,” said Jiroannes hastily. “Please, sit and eat with me. Syrannus, the other chair.”
    Syrannus brought the other chair. Mitya sat. Lal retreated, only to return quickly with a full set of dishes for two diners and the food cunningly set out for both men. They ate in polite silence.
    Lal cleared the dishes away and brought hot tea, spiced to perfection. Mitya sipped cautiously at the aromatic liquid. “Are you married?” he asked suddenly.
    “Not yet, but I hope to marry once I return to my country.”
    “Whom will you marry?”
    Jiroannes shrugged. “There are several women I have in mind. They must all be of good birth, of course. The Great King’s fourth cousin has a daughter, and with my uncle’s influence to favor my suit, I may be able to marry her.”
    “But she is a Vidiyan woman. Of your own kind.”
    Jiroannes thought now that he knew why Mitya had come to him, this evening. “Yes. But if an advantageous match with a woman of high birth from another kingdom presented itself, I would certainly accept it.”
    “Even if it meant you couldn’t have the—the fourth cousin’s daughter?”
    “Why should it prevent me from marrying her as well?”
    They stared at each other in mutual incomprehension. Light dawned on Mitya’s face. “You mean it’s true, what Tess says, that you marry more than one woman? At the same time? Gods!”
    “So did the Everlasting God ordain, that each man may marry as many women as he can support. Thus also may he guarantee that he has heirs to carry on after he dies.”
    “Gods,” echoed Mitya. Then he flushed and stared down at his hands.
    “You’re young to think of marrying.”
    Mitya’s hands moved restlessly in his lap, twisting and wringing and lacing his fingers together and then pulling them apart. “Ilya wants me to marry the Habakar princess. Not now, of course, but when I’m old enough. In four winters it will be the Year of the Wolf, and I’ll be twenty years old and of age to ride in jahar. But then he wants me to become the dyan, the governor, of these lands, Habakar lands, with her as my—my etsana, I suppose.”
    “Ah,” said Jiroannes, seeing that Bakhtiian had more than simple plunder on his mind. “Well, you must know, Mitya, that the Great King of Vidiya has a wife who is the daughter of the Elenti king, so it’s common enough for nobles to marry women of other races.”
    Mitya looked skeptical. “Galina said she won’t marry the boy no matter what, even if they all agree to it.”
    “The boy?”
    “The prince. He’ll have to marry an