Lords of Grass and Thunder Read Online Free PDF

he led the triumphal procession inside.
    The ger-tent palace of the khan was much as Mergen remembered it.Where they showed between the rich hangings on the walls, the polished lattices were hung with decorations of bronze and silver and mirrors to frighten away evil spirits. Painted chests scattered here and there displayed their burdens of family heirlooms and clan treasures. Six hundred clansmen could fit at need within the round, felted walls. Less than half that number settled in their places today, but as always the firebox at the center marked the dividing line of rank and station. Above sat the royal family and those of greatest rank, the most powerful of the clan chieftains and the advisers to the khan. Below the firebox, nearest the door, chieftains and retainers of lesser family and lower standing settled themselves by a separate order.
    The khan’s guardsmen, and the younger corps who defended the prince, followed only as far as the firebox at the center of the palace. There the greater number split off to take their positions with their backs to the lattices on the perimeter. The chosen few, Qutula and Bekter among them, continued to the dais at a respectful distance. Yesugei at other times had advanced with Mergen’s guard, sitting at the khan’s back to serve him. Their disagreement over the woman Sechule seemed to have made the general sensitive to his other obligations, however. He left Mergen to join the elders and chieftains of the many clans of the Qubal ulus.
    This was no time to hesitate, however. As custom dictated, Mergen strode ahead with his heir a proper pace behind him. Each acknowledged the waiting dignitaries with gracious nods to the left and the right until they reached the dais.
    Surrounded by those elders most closely tied to them by blood and marriage, the Lady Bortu, his mother, awaited them. She wore a towering headdress of silver horns from which her hair poured forth on either side of her head. Medallions of figured silver hung with many ornaments dangled from her earlobes. Large beads of coral and turquoise and other jewels strung on silver chains spilled like a waterfall to the shoulders of her heavy yellow silk coats, obscuring all but her eyes. Those eyes, however, read to the very heart of her son, offering welcome as she measured the stature he had gained in his position since she had seen him on the eve of battle.
    At the dais, he stopped. Prince Tayy stepped up beside him, equals before their Great Mother and neither of them khan in the camp of the Qubal while the Lady Bortu ruled in Mergen’s name. Together they made respectful bows, their elaborate silver caps brushing the soft upturned boots on her feet.
    “The sons of the great clans of the Qubal people return to the hearth of the Great Mother,” Mergen recited the formula of return. “We bring you slaves, ten thousand in number, who grovel at your feet—” he meant by that the fallen army of the Uulgar, defeated in the battle for the Cloud Country. “Speak only the word and a ruddy river will spring up to rival the Onga, flowing with the treasure of their spilled blood.”
    “Have these slaves sworn an oath to you, my son the khan?” Old Bortu put her hands on his head as she asked the question.
    “They have, Great Mother,” he answered. “The evil magician who led them, and the evil demon who held sway over them, have both been destroyed. Their armies have renounced them.”
    “That pleases us,” she approved.
    From Mergen’s position he could see that she shifted her weight from foot to foot. The right one must hurt where the bunion pinched. She had so formidable a determination he sometimes forgot that age brought with it these small infirmities. Best to finish quickly so that she might sit in comfort among the furs heaped on the dais. She seemed to feel the same, for she stepped back, drawing him with her.
    “Assume your rightful place, then, son. The throne is no comfortable seat for an old lady.”