In Legend Born Read Online Free PDF Page A

long polished table. His skin had the rich olive tone of a typical shallah , and his facial bones were strong and faintly exotic-looking compared to the Valdani around him. Still a young man, he was lean and lithe, with whipcord muscles that looked honed to make him an agile fighter of great endurance.
    Even shackled, he looked fierce. Koroll rather marveled at the courage—or sheer foolhardiness—of the young Outlooker who had demanded this man's weapons this morning and seized his tunic upon being denied. A pity the lad was dead now, gutted with a fish knife.
    "I am Commander Koroll, military governor of Cavasar and its district. One of my surviving men says that although you resisted a direct order and broke the law," Koroll began without preamble, "he thinks you did not intend to kill anyone, but merely to escape."
    The stranger's closed expression didn't change. "That's true."
    "Why did you resist?"
    "I'm a shatai ."
    "A swordmaster?"
    "Yes. How am I to earn a living without my swords?"
    Koroll hefted the bag of gold he'd found in the man's satchel. "You wouldn't have starved."
    "I was thinking of my future."  
    "You could have applied to me to have your weapons returned to you."
    Despite his chains, the prisoner managed to look arrogant. "No shatai permits his swords to be taken from him."
    "I have seen shatai give up their swords. At the Emperor's palace in Valda."
    "We may choose to give them up, to show respect or to honor a truce. But no one is permitted to take them."
    "And you didn't deem it appropriate to show respect and voluntarily relinquish them today?" Koroll challenged.
    "I was... not asked nicely," the stranger replied, lifting one dark brow.
    Koroll's lips twitched. "And you are accustomed to being asked nicely?"
    "Most men treat a shatai with more courtesy than I was shown today."
    "Yes, I imagine so. We don't see many shatai here, you understand," Koroll said cordially. He narrowed his eyes. "And you're not Kintish anyhow, are you?"
    "No."
    "I didn't know there were any shatai who weren't Kintish."
    "There aren't many."
    "But a Kintish shatai trained you?"
    "A shatai-kaj . One who trains shatai ."
    "Why did he train you?"
    The stranger shrugged, then winced as the motion pulled at his wound. "He wanted to."
    "A better reason, if you please."
    This time the stranger smiled slightly. "The shatai-kaj  give no better reasons. They are men who need explain themselves to no one."
    "But you..." Koroll's gaze lowered to the man's hands, to where he had seen the distinctive scars. "You're part-shallah, aren't you?"
    The stranger hesitated for only a moment. "Yes."
    "What are you doing in Cavasar?" He saw sweat on the prisoner's face and guessed he was in pain; certainly nothing about the man suggested nervousness.
    "I had only just arrived when your men—"
    "You came here on a boat?"
    "Yes."
    "From where?"
    "The Moorlands."
    "What were you doing there?"
    "Working."
    "What kind of work?"
    The warrior glanced at the two swords that lay unsheathed upon the table. "The kind of work I do."
    Pleased by the answer, Koroll dismissed two of the guards. "He may be seated," he said to the other two, noticing that the prisoner was starting to look a little light-headed. He had lost enough blood to miss it for the next few days. The guards shuffled him over to a chair that was near Koroll but strategically distant from the weapons on the table, then positioned themselves on either side of him, their swords drawn. Even wounded and shackled, Koroll suspected this shatai could take advantage of the situation if permitted.
    Koroll picked up one of the Kintish swords and noted that the stranger didn't like him touching them. "What is your name?"
    "Tansen."
    "Are you from here?"
    A brief nod. "I was born in Sileria."
    Koroll looked him over for a moment, then decided to try another tactic, since the stranger seemed more concerned about his swords than about himself. He traced his finger down the flat of one blade. "What are