Star of Cursrah Read Online Free PDF Page A

behind.
    Gheqet held his ribs, pointed at the pink trickles, and, laughing, said, “Oh, T-Taf, you look so delicious steeped in red wine! Like a v-verdach plucked from a p-pond for the pot!”
    Star giggled so hard her veil drooped, and she fumbled to cover her dusky features. “That should sweeten you up,” she said. “You’ve been too much a sourpuss since they enlisted you in the army.”
    Everyone in the tavern roared as Tafir blushed red as the wine. A soldier hollered, “Hey, don’t be greedy! Where’s our wine?”
    That did it. With a yell, Tafir jumped for Rosey’s throat. Cheers bounced from the high plaster ceiling. Even drunk, years of training let Rosey dodge, grab Tafir’s skinny wrists, and sling him headlong in the same direction. Stumbling out of control, Tafir flopped across a table manned by fresco painters in color-smeared smocks. Blackware mugs tumbled and shattered, beer splashed into foam, and sunflower seeds stuck everywhere. Tafir never gained his feet, for Rosey scooped him off the floor, straightened him like a crumpled cloak, and thumped him atop the table.
    “A good start, djawal, but you need more training. Publican, more beer.”
    “I’ll buy,” called Gheqet, bright eyes shining in his dark face. That earned more cheers, and Star trilled merrily.
    Hopping onto a bench, Rosey vaulted to the tabletop, toe-to-toe with Tafir, and grinned like a hungry panther at the soggy cadet. The tavern keeper, who’d decided the entertainment was worth a few broken mugs, handed the sergeant and Tafir two full ones.
    Rosey waved his mug and said, “Remember, first one to spill his beer or get pitched off the table buys another round. Grab on!”
    Wishing he were somewhere else, Tafir looked to his two friends, but Gheqet and Star craned to watch. Reluctantly Tafir put his right hand into the sergeant’s iron fingers.
    Before they could tussle, Tafir called above the roar, “Whoever spills his beer first loses? Then I lose!”
    So saying, Tafir chucked his beer into Rosey’s face. Gagging, spluttering, Rosey let go Tafir’s hand to wipe his burning eyes. Immediately the cadet lunged. A sharp shove sent Rosey reeling and cursing. Packed around the table, patrons tried to leap aside as the big sergeant keeled for the wet floor.
    Grabbing wildly, a huge paw snagged Star’s veil and ripped it loose. Chirping, the maid hooked her voluminous sleeve across her face, then peeked to see if she’d been identified. The crowd seemed distracted by the combatants, and Star sighed with relief.
    Two pairs of hooded eyes had glimpsed Star’s face. An unsmiling couple, man and woman, conversed quietly without moving their lips, then skulked out the door.
    Howls of protest and glee answered Tafir’s bold maneuver. Still on the table, the cadet accepted a victory mug from the innkeeper. Tafir watched warily as Rosey clambered to his feet and mopped his face, then vaulted to the table again.
    “Not bad, puppy. We’ll make a soldier of you yet!” Rosey extended a calloused hand. “But three bouts make a winner. Grab—”
    “Soldiers of the bakkal, come to attention!” bellowed a voice full of authority.
    Framed in the doorway, at street level, stood a shyk, an army commander, resplendent in twin ostrich plumes, gold breastplate, and a red kilt with gold buttons. Two servants in paler uniforms trailed.
    The shyk’s parade ground bawl brought every soldier to rigid attention. Tafir straightened as he’d been drilled for three months to do, though he felt foolish nudging a big sergeant atop a beer-stained table. Even civilians dared not move and catch the officer’s hot-eyed glare.
    “Look at this hole! Look at you men!” The officer stamped down stone steps. “You’re a disgrace to the bakkal, may we exist only to further his reign. You fools, get off that table. Just because you’re off-duty is no excuse for slovenliness….”
    Abuse was piled on the big sergeant, who was obviously known to the