The Warlord

by Barry Sadler

  "This is Li Tsao, Daughter of Light, a gift to the Emperor." The girl of no more than thirteen looked Casca straight in the eyes with no trace of fear, her face perfection, everything in harmony and skin smoother than the finest silk ever woven. Her eyes were like almonds, dark and intelligent, and she moved with a grace unknown to the western world. She took in fully the figure of the man in front of her, the scarred face and hands and hard eyes. He was not unpleasing, if somewhat rough.

  Clearing his throat with a sudden feeling of embarrassment, Casca pointed toward the city with his still dripping blade: "You must go now. I don't know how long they will wait."

  The girl put her hands up to his sweating face and pulled him down to her. She set her lips on him and pulled the breath from him with the longest sweetest kiss he had ever felt. For the first time she spoke, her voice as delicate and musical as her appearance. "We will meet again, barbarian. Remember me, I am Li Tsao. I am only a gift now, but one day I shall be more."

  Casca waited until the last of the caravans and survivors had disappeared over the rise from which he had attacked. Then giving them a few more minutes to be sure, he mounted his horse and holding the young Hsuing-nu warrior by the hair, he placed him where his people could see. Releasing the boy, he kicked Glam in the flanks so hard the ratty little horse farted and took off as fast as his legs could move. Casca accepted the loss of his pack horse stoically. Every time he helped someone, it seemed to end up costing him one way or another.

  The next three days were spent breaking speed records to Keryia and the next city with water a hundred-plus miles away. Jugotai's promise that his gift was tougher and longer-lasting than an ordinary horse proved to be true; the tough animal was indeed a good gift.

  Near Keryia, the Hsuing-nu halted the chase, not for reasons of exhaustion but simply that this region belonged to another tribe and even though they and the Hsuing-nu were cousins, they shared little else other than hate for each other, as is common among many families. To enter their hunting grounds would mean war.

  Casca was free.

  As free as he could be.

  Exhausted, he walked through the gates of Keryia. He had alternately ridden and run all the way, stopping only when heat and exhaustion threatened to kill his mount. Now two days rest refreshed him and this time he hooked up with a returning merchant who was wealthy enough to afford a large bodyguard of tough wiry men, looking as if they belonged to the same stock as the Hsuing-nu with the name of Hsien-pi.

  The journey took three months with stops at the great marshes, past the lesser town of Ch'iehmo, fed by the river of the same name. They marched along the banks of the river to the marshes for two hundred miles, the rivers fed by the great mountains to the south, standing over them like waiting sentinels. On clear days, the ice could be seen clearly though they were hundreds of miles away. From there, near the eastern edge of the marsh, when the sun was in the right position, Casca could see a shimmering to the north about ten miles away. The merchant he had attached himself to said it was a salt basin, known as Lop Nor. From the Lop Nor to Yumen was four hundred miles of barren land, filled only with the howls of desert jackals and the scurrying of lizards.

  At Yumen, Casca found a large city of ten or more thousand: Here was the crossroads from east to west and north to south and the southernmost outpost of the Emperor Tzin. It was well garrisoned with tough-looking soldiers standing guard on crenelated mud walls, most of them carrying a weapon he had not seen before. It looked like a miniature arbalest and shot short arrows with tremendous force.

  A week there told him much and his usage of the language of Chin increased even more. Minding his own business, he watched everything and was watched, though with courtesy. He was asked his business by a plain looking man with an air of importance and when shown the packet of letters from the King of Kushan, was bothered no more. Messengers were favored and not to be interfered with in the business of kings.

  Glam grew fat again in a short time. His powers of recuperation were almost as outstanding as Casca's. The road to the Jade Gate was clear and well-marked. When he left Yumen behind, he knew he was on the final part of his journey. The name itself had a magic to it – The Jade Gate – or was it that he still sometimes in his sleep felt on his face the mask of Jade he once wore among the Teotec tribes so far away?

  A steady gait dissolved the miles behind him. He was now heading southwest, keeping the Na Shan Mountains to the right. He traveled on; summer was full on them and usually he rode at night, taking shelter in the shade of crags and crevices until the worst of the heat was done. He would ride on, lost in his thoughts and dreams of his life and past and what might be, while sitting on Glam's back, like a hairy ship. He dozed and dreamed of faces and sounds which rocked him on his journey: Rome, Persia, Germania, the hold at Helsfjord, the Roman square standing with locked shields or forming the tortoise to assault a city's walls. And always he awoke with the sour taste of battle in his mouth.

  Chapter Thirteen - THE WALL

  One-thousand-five-hundred miles of stone forming the greatest single work in the life of the world, turned and twisted, like a monstrous, serpent, and seemed to fall back on itself as it crested the twisting mountains and turned and finally disappeared over the horizon.

  Casca wore a cloak of wild goatskin and breeches of camel skins made pliable by the chewing of the hides and scraping and pounding of the women of the Yueh-chih.

  The wind was blowing from behind, in from the plains, soon the direction would change and the wind would come from the seas bringing the spring rains and floods, but for now the jacket and breeches were welcome to cut the chill edges that searched through the lacings of his clothes. His hair had grown long and hung to his shoulders; his face was darkened by the winds and the sun.

  Old Shiu Lao Tze was right, the wall seemed to run forever. He had told Casca on the galley that it had been started by the Emperor Shih Huang Ti, two hundred and fourteen years before the birth of the crucified prophet, Yesuah. It had been designed to keep out the marauding Mongolian peoples who preceded the Huns.

  Riding alongside the wall, after four days he finally came to a portal where one of the permanent garrisons was maintained. Frequently he had seen mounted riders and archers watching him from the walls, but no words were spoken. However, long before he reached the portal, his coming was well known.

  From the height of the wall, he resembled to the watchers one of the wandering nomads of the steppes. stopping for the night in the sheltered crevices among the rocks, he would feed on chunks of horsemeat which he placed under his saddle and rode on to tenderize it; learning from the nomads, he made use of the droppings of horsemen long since gone, to build his small campfires and keep the worst of the chill away until he rolled up in his blanket of felt and slept until the break of each dawn, which would bring a greater chill stirring him to waking. He would eat cold horsemeat, washed down with a draft of strong tasting water from the goatskin sacks that served as canteens and ride on. Often he would have to stop and lead his shaggy-haired horse over the rougher spots, marveling at how the little beast could eat almost anything and still keep its strength. The finest steeds from the imperial stables of Rome would have starved to death in the first week if they had to subsist on the same diet of some of the wild beasts of the high plains of Asia.

  Standing before the portal, he called out in the language of Chin. He was close enough so many of the watchers could make out what he was saying:"I bear a message for the King of Tzin from the Tribes of the Yueh." Holding a scroll above his head to the watchers on the towers, he hoped this might lend emphasis to his words.

  The great gates swung open on iron hinges which were kept oiled to keep the rust away and squeaking under the strain of their massive weight. They opened and Casca was told to enter with a wave of a lance.

  Entering a courtyard, he was greeted by a contingent of armed pikemen and archers carrying the strange curved bows of laminated horn and sinew that could drive an a
rrow four hundred yards with killing efficiency and could wound at eight hundred. The bowmen wore wrist guards of wood and ivory to protect their gut strings, silently they stood in the ranks, orderly and disciplined, watching through dark intelligent eyes.

  Casca was brought to the commander, Sung Ti Aman. Taller than his subordinates, he looked with distaste at the barbarian before him, wrinkling his nose at the high odor that came his way from this rider.

  Nevertheless, he performed the prescribed rules of etiquette required to be given to any messenger from a chieftain of another tribe.

  Casca took his place downwind from Sung Ti Aman who, after making the usual courteous inquiries, requested to see the scroll bearing the words of the Chief of the Yueh-chih.

  The scroll had been written by a learned man living with the tribe who had left the realms of the Chin because of legal problems. The calligraphy was properly done and sophisticated enough in style that it gave the words written a degree of worth.

  Food was brought, brown rice and vegetables artistically arranged to please both the eye and the palate; delicate morsels of river fish on bamboo spears in thin sauces tasted like paper to Casca after his long diet of raw meat and millet, but it was more filling than it appeared, the rice settling comfortably in his gut.

  The commander made a gift to Casca of a clean tunic and trousers; anything to get rid of the odor of the damp sheepskin.

  Sung Ti perused the contents of the scroll, pondering how best they could be transported to the court of the son of Heaven. The regular courier service was not due for another fortnight and he was too short manned to send any of his men the long way. The next imperial courier station was two hundred miles to the south.

  Casca was shown to the quarters kept for guests and basins of water were brought to him, to clean himself if he was so inclined. He was. After washing, his face felt like the ass of a newborn babe, lighter in color from the wind-burned cheeks and brow. Putting on a tunic of plain silk and trousers of loose wool tucked into his boot tops. He entered the compound.

  Taking in the appearance and equipment of his host's soldiers, he noted most wore jazerins of scaled armor and helmets of lacquered wood, embossed with ornamental plaques of brass and bronze. Everything clean and in its place, the men were well ordered and mannerly, no sign of rowdiness. They looked to be quite efficient, though, to his way of thinking, their armor would scarcely stand up to the heavier blades of the Roman or Germanic tribes. The bowmen impressed him the most. Several were having target practice in the courtyard, sending arrow after arrow unerringly into the target set some two hundred paces away, the arrows sinking half their length into the fiber targets, attesting to the power of the bow.

  Sung Ti sent for him and was more impressed with his strange guest now that he was clean. The strength of the visitor from beyond his world was evident in the twisted cords of his forearms and the way his eyes never missed anything. Sung Ti knew his guest was a warrior to be reckoned with, but, more important, for a barbarian he had a remarkable set of manners. And though he made several errors in etiquette, he, after all, had not had the training in the graces of civilized society. Sung Ti had never seen eyes like Casca's. To him they resembled some of the high lakes.

  It was well known the Emperor had a great curiosity for the strange and unusual. Feeling his problem solved, Sung Ti decided Casca would be his messenger to the court with a letter from him. Casca should have no trouble traveling the three hundred miles to the Court of Tzin where the Emperor was now in spring residence.

  That night, the two found many common interests, especially after several cups of the wet looking milky wine Sung Ti poured into lacquered cups. Soldiers, like physicians, will always find something of mutual interest to talk and argue over.

  Casca showed him his Gladius Iberius. The short blade and thickness of the steel was odd to the eyes of his host, but after his guest had done him the honor of showing him his weapon, Sung Ti could do no less.

  Taking his blade from its engraved scabbard of rare woods, he drew it in the proper manner and set it on a cushion in front of Casca. The handling of the blade by its master told Casca that he was observing a ceremony of great meaning and was being honored. Sung Ti laid a silk scarf beside the cushion and sat back on his heels waiting for the foreigner's response.

  Casca, watching his host carefully, bowed and indicated the weapon and scarf, careful to touch neither. Sung Ti smiled and nodded in the affirmative, pleased his barbarian with lake eyes had the good grace to show courtesy. Taking the scarf, Casca was careful not to touch the blade with his hands. He held it lengthwise in front of him and examined it slowly from hilt to point, making quiet sounds of approval. The blade was long and slightly curved, the edge on one side only, coming to a tapered point designed for slashing, not stabbing, though it could be used for that purpose. The weapon told him a great deal about the fighting techniques of the owner. The stylized manner of presenting the weapon for his inspection said that here was an honored and rigid warrior class.

  Clucking his tongue in approval, he bowed low and placed the piece on the cushion exactly as it had been presented, careful to be slow and deliberate in his handling and again not to touch the blade.

  Sung Ti hissed between his teeth in approval and once again presented the blade, this time with his own hands that his guest might feel the quality of the steel.

  Casca knew by this act that he had done well and gained merit in the eyes of the commander of the garrison and was being accepted not only as an emissary but as an equal. Carefully and gently, as if touching a woman, he ran his fingers over the blade, feeling the satin sheen of fine steel. The grain of steel was as fine as the silk robes his host wore. The fine edge gave it a new importance in his eyes. The grace with which the sword was handled and ceremoniously wiped clean, then returned to its scabbard increased his respect. This was a cultured and dangerous people to whom form and manners were weapons, and offense would be easily taken at any affront to their honor.

  Casca thanked his host for the honor shown him: "Commander," he bowed again, "forgive me if I do not have the words or proper training of your people to show the depths of my gratitude for the honor you have shown me. Indeed, beside the glory of your weapon, mine is but a poor tool, fit only for common usage. If I make errors in your customs, please forgive me as this is not intentional. I am only an ignorant soldier, who has not the advantages of your great culture."

  Sung Ti smiled openly for the first time and clapped Casca on the shoulder with a friendly hand.

  “The words of the sage say that the way to enlightenment is to know one's ignorance. Once that is clear, he may learn and advance. To be ignorant is no crime. To refuse to be otherwise is an insult. You are welcome and shall take the treaty of Yueh- chih to the son of Heaven with your own hands. Now, let us talk of things we both know and appreciate. Let us tell of our battles and loves. I am curious is it true that many of the women of your lands have the same blue eyes and hair like grain in the sun?"

  Chapter Fourteen - LAND OF TZIN

  Sung Ti offered Casca the use of one of the horses of his stables but the offer was graciously refused. Casca had grown fond of the tough shaggy horse that had carried him so far. He did accept, with gratitude, the present of a short dagger – a miniature of the sword Sung Ti had shown him: Sung Ti had informed the blade was quite old and was a little son to his own blade, made by the same master craftsman over a hundred years ago and had rested by the father blade for that time, but now was perhaps the time for the son to leave home and serve a new master, even perhaps grow into a full sword. Sung Ti's smooth face and dark eyes twinkled at his joke as he bade farewell to the stranger.

  Riding a well paved road, the miles slipped behind as Casca entered the lands of Tzin.

  Passing through more populated villages, the seal given him by Sung Ti proclaiming him an imperial messenger sped his movement rapidly. Everywhere the seal was honored and food and shelter given without question, though he d
id receive questioning stares from the people. At one village he had his hair trimmed back to the nape of his neck and had a hard time talking the barber out of shaving the hair on the sides, leaving only a mane that would tie in the back, a style that was becoming popular among the young warrior nobility. The reason for the mane was to give their enemies something to hang to if their heads were taken as trophies. Casca bad no intention of losing his head and passed up the offer to make him more stylish, much to the barber's disappointment.

  Many of the cities he passed through as he neared the home of the Emperor were walled with moats and strange-looking tiered structures. Straight lines and gently curving angles, sloping tiled roofs and temples, like the food, were designed to be in harmony with the land and surroundings, but built to last. Casca knew the structures to be solid, having built not a few fortifications during his years in the Legion and, although no engineer, he could see strength in the design.

  As he came closer to the heartland, the land became more cultivated and caravans of merchants poured into the urban centers, bringing their loads on the back of two-humped camels and asses, horses and ox carts, loaded with those things which make a nation live.

  Several times he was confronted by warriors on horseback, proud men in rich trappings of silk and gold, marvelous patterns of delicate scenes of the countryside and graceful flowers woven in threads of fine gold and silk, seeming not to be out of place on these warriors of the Tzin. Here art and war seemed to be in perfect blending. The courage of the warriors was clear and their affection for delicate and beautiful things did nothing to lessen their masculinity; indeed, it often served to accent the subtle danger that would come if one of these Asian equestrians was offended.

  Chapter Fifteen - CH'ANG-AN

  Casca entered the walls of the city Ch'ang-an after careful scrutiny by the officer in charge on the Moongate entrance. After inspection of the seals on the letters from the King of Kushan and Commander of the Jade Gate, he provided an escort that led the foreigner through the streets of the city to the quarters where the emissaries of foreign courts were provided the hospitality of the Tzin Emperor until such time as the son of Heaven could see them.