The Golden Wind

BOOK V — Tymnes the Scythian

The road descended with many bends and turns from the Paripatras to the plains of Avanti. From the height of land it followed a small stream, which grew into the^ northward-flowing Sipta River. Thirty or forty years before, Avanti had formed part of the short-lived, ramshackle Indian empire of King Menandros but had quickly reasserted its independence after his death.

As Prasada trudged along, the character of the country changed. On the northern slopes of the Paripatras, the jungle was smaller, becoming scrubby or bushy. As we descended into the plains, cultivation:—mainly of wheat and poppy— again became frequent. We passed oxcarts and men riding camels and asses.

At a village, Bhumaka left us. I gave him a drachma of King Menandros, which I had taken in change in Barygaza, to make up for the loss of his snakes, and he happily wagged his head and took his leave. I suppose I paid too much, but I was not up on the current prices of serpents.

The sun hung low in the red-banded western sky as we neared Ozenê. Then came a drumming of hooves behind us. A troop of cavalry galloped up, shouting for us to halt. These men were taller and lighter of skin than the Indians whom we had seen hitherto, with beards dyed red, green, and blue. They wore large turbans and tunics not unlike the Hellenic kind, all gaudily colored. They carried lances and small bucklers and rode in a curious way. A ring was attached to the girth on each side, and the rider hooked his big toes into these rings, thus giving himself a steady seat.

The leader, wearing the largest turban and a shirt of scale mail, shouted incomprehensibly up at us until Otaspes, shouting back, found a tongue they had in common. After more speech, Otaspes said:

"He asks what we mean by riding an elephant. Know we not that it is forbidden to all but royalty?"

'Tell him King Girixis—"

"I have already told him. He will escort us to town, to do us honor if we are telling the truth; but if not—" Otaspes drew a finger across his throat. "We must be careful with these fellows. They are Arjunayanas, who would as lief spear you as not."

"What people is that?"

"They come from a great desert northwest of here. I believe the lands of the Indian Hellenes lie beyond this desert, but I have not been there to see. Anyway, these rascals are mercenaries, serving the king of Avanti—or rather the queen mother, who really runs the country."

We resumed our plod towards the city, while the sun set and the Arjunayanas cantered restlessly back and forth. They never rode at a walk or a trot. The silver sickle of a new moon hung above the red band of sky that surmounted the western horizon.

A little way from the road, a grove of huge old trees rose ahead of us. As Prasada carried us closer, I saw that this grove contained a small temple. There were lights and movement, and the next instant our escort was streaming away, galloping up the path to the temple. One of them shouted to us to follow.

A crowd, fitfully revealed by the yellow glow of butter lamps, was gathered before the temple. The cavalrymen dismounted. Leaving a few to hold the horses and lances, the rest mingled with the crowd.

Some ceremony was going on. Seated on Prasada beyond the fringes of the crowd, we were too far away to see clearly in the fading light; but a turbaned man handed something to a shaven priest. There was a racket of drums, gongs, and howling chants. Something flashed in the lamplight, and the audience gave a gasp and burst into song.

We waited, but the Arjunayanas seemed to have forgotten us. At last I told Koka to resume our way to Ozenê. I also asked Otaspes what we had seen at the temple.

"An Arjunayana gave his baby daughter to be sacrificed to Shiva," said the Persian. "Thus they dispose of their little girls when they cannot afford their dowries."

"Beastly barbarians!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, yes?" said Otaspes with his silent laugh. "Your servant has heard that Hellenes expose unwanted daughters. Here they sacrifice them to a god, whereas you throw them on rubbish heaps like so much garbage—unless that be a vile slander against the noble Hellenic race!"

I could only chew my Up in silence, since everybody knows that my fellow Hellenes do just that, so that the population of mainland Hellas is much less than it once was. To change this embarrassing subject, I asked Otaspes:

"Are the worshipers of Shiva a kind of Brachmanist?"

"The Orthodox," he explained, "are divided into two main sects or cults, as well as many minor ones. The two main cults are the worshipers of Shiva and of Vishnu. These two groups get along amiably enough, since each believes that the other's god is but an aspect—whatever that be—of its own. But they are united in detestation of the Buddhists and the Jainists, whom they deem wicked heretics."

The Jainists are a reformed sect, whose doctrines, I believe, are somewhat like those of the Buddhists; but, since I never had a chance to investigate them in person, I will not attempt a description of their cult.

As at Mahismati, a squad of Bactrio-Greek mercenaries guarded the city gate. There was the same jovial welcome, the same promise of entertainment in exchange for news, and the same import tax. Ozenê proved a larger and more imposing city than Barygaza or Mahismati, with a well-built wall and straight streets crossing at right angles; but it had the usual filth and swarms of beggars. A beggar trotted alongside the elephant, holding up a hand without fingers. Another hobbled after him on a crutch, displaying a twisted foot that dangled uselessly.

"They form a hereditary guild here, like every other occupation," explained Otaspes. "Their parents mutilate them— cut off their fingers, or dislocate a joint—so they can beg better."

The three rulers of Avanti sat on their cushions on their terrace of audience. In the middle was King Ariaka: a youth of not yet twenty years, small and sallow. He sat unmoving and unspeaking, staring straight before him with eyes that seemed to have no pupils.

"He is in a poppy trance," whispered Otaspes. "Tuck that statuette inside your shirt; we don't want them to think you a Brachmanist."

On the king's right sat his mother, the widowed Queen Indrani. This was a good-looking woman of perhaps forty, with well-filled bare breasts and a voluminous skirt. She wore a single rope of pearls and a few bangles, but no more gewgaws than any prosperous Indian matron; Indians care little for appearances.

On King Ariaka's left crouched the minister, a lean, vulture-faced Buddhist priest in yellow, named Udayan. He and the dowager queen ran the land between them, since the king was such a slave of poppy juice as to be useless as a ruler.

Here were no music or dancing girls. Although this court was not quite so informal and disorderly as those I had seen before in India—the Bactrio-Greek guards actually stood at attention—the gods know it was loose enough. People came and went, chattered loudly, and shouted: "O Queen!" or "O mantrin?" (minister) whenever one of them thought of something to say.

As we arrived, the queen and the minister were interviewing a band of Sakan mercenaries, who had come to Avanti seeking employment. They comprised a score of light-skinned men dressed in Scythian fashion, in long-sleeved, belted jackets, snug breeches tucked into the tops of high boots of soft leather, and caps that stuck up to a point on top and were prolonged down at the sides into a pair of tails that could be tied under the chin. The Bactrio-Greek guards scowled at their hereditary foes.

The Sakas' leader was a handsome fellow in his thirties. Bare-headed, he had his hair cut short in the shape of an inverted bowl. He shaved his chin but sprouted a huge, up-curling black mustache. He wore russet breeches, an emerald-green coat embroidered with golden thread, and a russet cloak to which green roundels were sewn. Golden earrings and bracelets and a necklace of amber and bear's claws completed his outfit.

I remarked to Otaspes: "I suppose I ought to consider those fellows as enemies, since they are fighting my fellow-Hellenes in the North."

"Be your age, old boy," replied the Persian. "After all, the Sakas pay tribute to Mithradates of Parthia. So does King Tigraios of Karmania, which makes me and the Sakas fellow-subjects of Mithradates. But Oramazdes forbid that you and I should quarrel on that account!"

Everybody seemed to be waiting for something. Minister Udayan drummed on the floor of the terrace with his fingers, while the Sakas spoke among themselves. I found I could understand the Sakan dialect of Scythian quite well—better, in fact, than the local Indian, which differed from that of Barygaza. At last I approached the nearest Saka and asked: "What causes the delay, friend?"

The man smiled at the sound of the Scythian speech. "Men are searching for somebody who speaks Sakan, to interpret" He called to the leader: "Ho, Tymnes!"

"What?"

"Here is our interpreter! He speaks our tongue, and I suppose he speaks this Indian chitter."

"Well, that is a mercy!" Tymnes approached me with a lordly nod. Despite his finery, I was forcibly reminded of the Scythian abhorrence of bathing. "Know, stranger, that I am Tymnes the son of Skopasis, the son of Ariantas, the son of Oktamazdas, of the noble Saulian clan. We trace our ancestry back for thirty-six generations, to the supreme god Papaios. This makes us the noblest clan among the Sakas, who are the noblest folk of the Scythian race, who are the noblest race on earth. Hence the Saulian clan, as is generally known, consists of the world's bravest men and fairest women. And who, may I ask, are you, sir?"

I could have replied to the Saka's haughty courtesy in kind but could not be bothered; I wanted to get our audience over with. "I am Eudoxos, a Hellene," I said, "and I shall be glad to help you as far as I can. Your Majesties!"

I turned to the rulers and explained. With me translating, the Saka began his speech. After repeating his boasts of Ids noble ancestry, Tymnes got down to business.

"A feud arose amongst the Sakas," he said, "and our clan became embroiled on the losing side. Having been vanquished in battle by overwhelming numbers, we must needs flee. We passed through the lands of the Ionians—" (in the East they call all Hellenes Ionians) "—who were hostile to us, and came to the Great Desert. Here were no rich kings who might hire us, but only scattered robber clans, which attacked us. But we drove them in rout by our archery, which, as is well known, is the world's deadliest. Skirting the desert, we came at last to this fair land to offer our services. This is no trivial offer, for we are, as everyone knows, brave and fierce beyond the imagining of any sedentary folk.

"The rest of our clan, under the leadership of my noble father, Skopasis son of Ariantas, is camped two days' ride north of here on the fringes of the desert, near the boundaries of Avanti, with their women, children, and flocks. When Your Majesties give the word, we will fetch them hither. I have spoken."

The sour-looking minister, Udayan, spoke: "I am sorry, but we already have all the mercenary horse we can afford."

"Mean you those Arjunayanas who escorted us hither? It is rascally jackals of that sort whom we scattered in the Great Desert, with a mere whiff of our deadly arrows. You, sir, err if you consider these thieving poltroons in the same breath with us ..."

The argument raged back and forth, with me interpreting as best I could and Otaspes helping out with the Indian end when I got stuck. Tymnes said:

"It need cost you nought. We do but ask the right to plunder certain of your towns each year."

Udayan looked shocked. "Licensed robbery? Kali smite you! We are a civilized folk, who do things decently and in order."

The argument dragged on, but Udayan and Indrani did not mean to hire the Sakas. At last the latter were made to accept this fact.

"There are kingdoms to the east, west, and south," said Udayan, "where your peerless courage will be appreciated. I suggest the kingdom of Vidisha, southeast of here."

"If we succeed in this Vidisha," said Tymnes, "will you grant a passage through Avanti for our clan?"

"So long as they behave themselves and rob or molest not our folk. We will send an escort to make sure."

The Saka began another argument but was interrupted by the metallic thud of the timekeeper's cup's striking the bottom of its bowl as it sank. The timekeeper pounded his drum four times and blew two blasts on his conch. Udayan said:

"And now, Master Tymnes, your audience is over. Your interpreter and his companion, I believe, have the next turn."

We presented our gifts and were proffered a trayful of trinkets in return. Udayan said:

"From King Girixis, eh? We like not Girixis, for that he is a lewd, sensual pleasure-seeker. But I suppose it were unjust to blame you gentlemen for his lapses. Here in Avanti we hold to the highest moral standards. There is only one way to deal with evil, and that is to scotch it at the source. Hence we allow no winebibbing or meat-eating—"

"And no fornication or adultery!" put in Queen Indrani. "Here, for the first time in the history of this wicked human race, we have utterly abolished sin!"

I was tempted to ask about poppy juice, to which the young king was evidently addicted and which must have furnished Avanti with most of its revenue. It seemed, however, more tactful to say nothing about it, albeit it surprised me to learn that any government would dare to meddle to such a degree in the private lives of its subjects. People who complain about the tyrannical rule of the Ptolemies and the Seleucids, I thought, should visit Avanti to learn what real tyranny is. I asked if we might engage in normal trading.

"Buy and sell what you please," said the queen, "so long as you deal not in goods that lead men into sin, such as intoxicating liquors, or the flesh of beasts, or pretty young slave girls. You are, I trust, persons of good morals—not liars, thieves, drunkards, meat-eaters, or lechers?"

"Surely, madam," I said. "We are as pure as a mountain spring."

"You have not come hither to stir up the superstitious Brachmanists?"

"Nothing is further from our minds than to mix in local religious quarrels."

"Very well; you are welcome to Avanti. But bear in mind what we have told you. How did you ever get to Bharata from your distant land?"

"I sailed across the ocean."

"The Black Water?" exclaimed Udayan with a shudder. "Are you a man or a demon?"

"A man, as far as I know. Why, sir?"

"To cross the Black Water—how ghastly! Pray go about your business; the mere sight of you makes us quail."

"One more thing, may it please Your Majesties," I said. "Know you of a philosopher named Gupta hereabouts?"

Udayan scowled. "That vile materialist! Any contact with him will only besmirch your karma and lead you astray from the Eightfold Way to the bliss of nonexistence. I will not take upon myself the responsibility for telling you where he lives; you will have to seek him out yourself."

As we took our leave, I asked Otaspes if the minister was crazy, to carry on so about the ocean.

"No," he said. "These people have never been out of Avanti and have heard only dim, dreadful rumors of the sea. They are full of such fancies, and it is useless to try. to disabuse them."

We saw to it that Prasada was housed in the royal elephant stables and, ignoring the stares of the townspeople, returned to our quarters. On the way, we learnt a curious thing about Ozenê. Besides the usual beggars, people kept sidling up to murmur offers of forbidden goods. One would whisper of a supply of palm wine; another, of a repast of roast mutton; still another, of his nice, clean sister who would be delighted to entertain us. Had I been so minded, I could have spent my entire stay in Ozenê in enjoyment of these pleasures.

I attended another Bactrio-Greek party and learnt that Avanti was a seething cauldron of hostility between the ruling Buddhists and the Brachmanist majority. These Bactrio-Greeks, like those in Mahismati, urged me to bring some nubile Greek women on my next voyage.

I bought more gems tones, until my Ptolemaic staters were nearly all gone. These stones included several fine rubies and a couple of emeralds, as well as minor stones like agates, jaspers, chrysoprases, and onyxes. I also bought one diamond. This stone has always seemed to me a waste of money, since it is too hard to cut and hence never looks like anything but a glassy pebble; but there are those who believe that wearing it confers upon the wearer some of its own hardness and will pay accordingly. The Indian tale is that diamonds come from a vast range of mountains, the Hemodos, to the north of India. Diamonds are made, they say, of water frozen so hard by the intense cold of those heights that it is permanently fixed in the solid state and cannot again be melted.

I also prowled the shops, asking the prices of everything— even goods I had no thought of buying—to become familiar with the market. This was not a pleasant business, because of the Indians' intense dislike of foreigners. Every one of them believes that Indians are the only good, well-behaved, decent, civilized folk on earth, and they miss no chance of letting the stranger know it. This is of course ridiculous, since every well-informed person knows that, if any people is superior to all the others, it is we Hellenes.

Three days after my arrival, I knocked on the door of Gupta the philosopher. Gupta proved a small man with a long, gray beard, very lively, cordial, and effusive.

"Come in, come in!" he exclaimed, when I had told him who I was. "Everybody who earnestly seeks the truth is welcome here, regardless of creed or color. I have heard rumors of your arrival in this city. If I give you a sip of forbidden palm wine, you will not tell on me, will you?"

"Of course not!"

"Who is the other man?"

"Gnouros the Scythian, my slave."

"Ah, yes, a slave," said Gupta. "We have little slavery in Bharata, although I have heard that it is much practiced in the western lands. Slavery is a cruel, unjust custom."

I shrugged. "Somebody has to do the dirty work. And from what I have seen, the members of your lower colors are no better off than slaves are among us."

"There is that," he said. "And do not think, because I criticize slavery, that I praise the system of colors. That is the most fiendishly clever method of making the lower orders content with their lot that our wicked species has yet devised."

"How so?"

"Why, the men of the upper colors tell them that, if they suffer from oppression and starvation, it is only a just punishment for misdeeds in some former life. To shine up their karma and get promoted in the next incarnation, they must bear their troubles humbly and obey the higher colors without complaint. Most of the poor fools believe it, too."

"You take a critical view of your own land, sir," I said.

"What is the good of having intelligence if one use it not? What Bharata needs is a complete overthrow of the present social order, if justice shall ever prevail. They need persons like myself, without vested interests or superstitious preconceptions, to manage their affairs. Have another! Dear me, where did I put that jug? Ah, there! So you have been to Sisonaga and Jaivali, eh? Well-meaning wights, I doubt not, but oh, so misguided!"

"How so?"

'They suffer from the curse of our land, which is subjectivism. Everybody in Bharata thinks that, by contemplating the tip of his nose and ignoring the real world around him, he can dredge up eternal truths out of the depths of his own mind. All they get are a lot of mutually contradictory fancies. Now, I follow the great Ajita and Kanada—two of the few clear thinkers that Bharata has produced—in believing that all is made of atoms, moving in space. You and I are made of atoms. When we die, these atoms scatter, and that is the end of us."

"We had a Hellene, Demokritos, who I believe advanced similar theories."

"I am glad to hear that even in foreign lands there are men of sense. All this talk of the soul and immortality and karma and reincarnation is sentimental rubbish, invented to comfort men who fear extinction."

"Do you believe in gods?"

"Show me a real, live, miracle-working god and I will own to belief in that god, at least. I suspect they were invented by the clever to exploit the simple. When the first fool met the first knave, they started the first religion, with the former as the worshiper and the latter as the priest ..."

We went on for hours. Gupta was an interesting talker, full of daring impieties and unorthodoxies, which he had no hesitation in avowing. I judged him to have two main faults. First, he caustically condemned practically everything and everybody. Every person mentioned was either a fool, or a knave, or a bit of both; every belief was superstitious nonsense; every institution ought to be destroyed and replaced by something more rational. Such a man would never be satisfied with any system run by real, fallible human beings. He might, moreover, be extremely dangerous if he got power, because he would want to destroy everything and everybody that did not come up to his own impossibly high ideals. Second, I thought him more dogmatic in denying the existence of the spiritual or supernatural than was warranted by the present state of man's knowledge.

Nonetheless, he was a relief after the woolly-minded speculations of the other thinkers whom I had lately heard. I finally got around to the real purpose of my visit. When I had explained, Gupta said:

"I must think about this. Unlike some of my mystical colleagues, I see nought wrong in enjoying mundane pleasures in moderation, but your problem presents difficulties. Howsomever, I doubt not that by the application of proper scientific methods we shall succeed. Thousands of years ago, before they wandered off into the swamp of subjectivism, the wise men of Bharata achieved great scientific triumphs, such as flying chariots and elixirs of youth, as anybody can perceive from an enlightened reading of the Rigveda or the Ramayana or —"

"Yes, yes," I said. "I have heard of those. Of course, we Hellenes can make the same sort of claim. Thousands of years ago we had an artificer named Daidalos, who could fly through the air. He made a mechanical bronzen giant, which guarded the isle of Crete. Another epic tells of the mechanical tables of the god Hephaistos, which served repasts without the help of human servants—"

"Hm, hm, very interesting," said Gupta. "But let us get back to business. Have you done nought but wander the face of Bharata, asking one wiseacre after another how to stiffen your lingam?"

"I have also done a bit of trading, to make the journey pay for itself."

"Have you had good luck?"

"Not bad at all. You see, the price of gems in the western world is much higher—"

I could have bitten my tongue for blabbing so indiscreetly, but the harm had been done. The palm wine and Gupta's garrulity had between them loosened my tongue. I finished lamely:

"Well, anyway, I hope to end up with some small profit."

"Good for you! And now I think I know how to cure your weakness. Have you ever attended an orgy?"

"I have enjoyed many women, surely; but a real orgy—no, I think not."

"You would be surprised at its stimulating effect."

"Do you mean you have orgies in India? Indians have impressed me as the most straitlaced and sobersided lot I have ever encountered."

Gupta giggled. "The Brachmanes strive to impose all these ridiculously rigid rules of conduct upon the rest of us, but not everybody takes them so seriously as they would like. Now, I head a little group of advanced thinkers, who meet betimes on the banks of the Sipta to enjoy an evening of philosophical discourse and good-fellowship. The next meeting of our club is—let me think—by the nonexistent gods, it is tomorrow night! Meet me here at sunset, and we shall see what we can do for you."

There were fourteen in the club, including Gupta and myself: seven men and seven women. We met in a little hollow in the banks of the Sipta, half a league north of Ozenê. They did not use the public park, Gupta explained, because it was too close to the city and hence too likely to draw hostile attention. This place was well hidden by trees and shrubbery from the Modoura road.

I was there alone, having given Gnouros the evening off. Otaspes was entertaining the Sakas, who had lingered in Ozenê to sample the joys of what seemed to them a big, glittering city. He and they could understand each other, for the Scythian tongue is much like the Persian.

Gupta hung a garland of flowers around my neck and introduced me to our twelve fellow-celebrants. A comely woman named Ratha had been chosen as my partner. They questioned me about my native "Ionia" and its customs, which they found barbarous and revolting. I thought it inexpedient to tell them what I thought of some of their customs.

We grilled beefsteaks and washed them down with palm wine. We drank to the nonexistent gods. We drank confusion to the meddlesome Buddhists and the superstitious Brachmanists alike. By the time we had drunk to the downfall of all of Gupta's pet abominations, my head swam.

One man, a merchant, had lately returned from a journey to Palibothra, the capital of mighty Magadha. To judge from this traveler's account, King Odraka's capital must be a metropolis the size of Athens or Alexandria, and the magnificence of its royal palace would make the palaces I saw in Barygaza and Mahismati and Ozenê look like peasants' huts by comparison.

At Palibothra, this merchant had encountered a cult that worshiped, with extravagant rites, the "female creative principle." Producing a small drum, he explained these rites, rhythmically tapping his drum. There were, for instance, mantras or incantations, of which he gave us a few samples. Soon all fourteen of us were chanting the mantras, such as "The jewel is in the lotus," in unison.

Then there were dances. We danced in circles and drank some more and chanted mantras and danced and drank ...

I fuzzily noted that the others seemed to have cast off their few garments and that the dancing was taking on the character proper to an orgy, with writhing embraces, lascivious fondling, and intertwining of limbs. Ratha tugged at my tunic, which I allowed her to pull off.

Other couples had thrown themselves down in the long grass, which quivered with their exertions. Ratha tried to spur my sluggish passions, at last it seemed that she would succeed. I felt my old strength flow into my loins. Then she indicated the belt of cloth containing my gemstones and my remaining cash.

"Take it off!" she said from the ground on which she lay, supine and expectant.

"No," I said. "It will not be in the way."

"Take it off, or you shall never put your jewel into my lotus!"

"I will not!"

"What is the matter?" said Gupta, who had risen from his woman. "You cannot enjoy the pleasures of love with that ugly thing around your waist. Do it off, as she says!"

"I will not. Take your hands off it!" For Gupta had seized the belt on one side while Ratha, having risen, tried to grasp it from the other.

I jerked free from the pair of them, thoughts of love banished by a lively suspicion of my new friends. I cursed my stupidity in not having left the girdle in the care of Otaspes or Gnouros.

"Seize him!" yelped Gupta.

The five other men, all of whom had finished their rites, threw themselves upon me. I swung a blow at one that, had it landed, would have knocked him arse-over-turban into the Sipta. But in my drunken state I missed, and two of them threw themselves at my legs and brought me crashing to earth. I struggled, kicked, bit, and tried to get up, but they were too many.

'Turn him over," said Gupta. "One of you untie that belt."

"Cut his throat first," said an Indian, holding on to my right arm for dear life. "He is too dangerous; he might break loose."

"I fear you are right," said Gupta. "Dear me, where did I put that knife?"

"What kind of philosopher do you call yourself?" I yelled.

"A practical one," he replied, producing the knife and testing its edge with his thumb. "Since reason has led me to disbelief in the supernatural, it follows that morals are a human invention, to be observed only as a matter of expediency. With the folk among whom I live, I observe their code of morals faithfully enough to keep me out of serious trouble. This does not apply, however, to a foreigner like yourself, who will never be missed. Hence, since you have something I want and would not give it to me for the asking, my only logical course is to slay you and possess myself of your wealth."

"Was this whole party a plot to entrap me?"

"Why, of course! This meeting was not planned, as I implied to you, in advance but was made up on the spur of the moment. A clever move, if I do say so—"

"In the name of Shiva the Destroyer," cried one of the others, "slay him! You two would talk and argue all night, but we are tired of holding this monster."

"Ah, me, I suppose you are right," said Gupta. "It is a pity in a way; this giant barbarian is not without the power of reason. Tip your head back, my dear Eudoxos—"

A chorus of yells interrupted Gupta, and the next instant my limbs were freed. A mass of men in the yellow robes of Buddhist priests rushed out of the shrubbery and fell upon the erstwhile revelers, whacking them with bamboo clubs and screaming: "Base materialists! Vile sensualists! Cow-murderers!" and other epithets that only an Indian would think to use on such an occasion.

The seven women, who had resumed their skirts, ran off up and down the river. The men, however, were compelled to flee naked except for their garlands, leaving their meager garments behind, for they had not donned them before assaulting me. As I rolled to my feet and snatched up my tunic, I said to the nearest priest:

"I am the Ionian, Eudox—"

Whack! went the priest's pole, making me see stars. A couple of other blows landed before I broke out of the mellay. I think they caught Gupta and one other, but I did not wait to see. Albeit already winded from my struggle with the orgiasts, I ran for all I was worth. Here my long legs were my salvation, for, panting and staggering though I was, I still outdistanced my pursuers.

It was nearly midnight when I talked my way past the Bactrio-Greek guards at the Modoura Gate and rejoined Otaspes in our room. The Persian lit a lamp and exclaimed:

"By the Holy Ox Soul, Eudoxos, what happened to you? You have a beautiful black eye—"

"And other lumps and bruises," I growled. I told him a little about the orgy, without confiding my ultimate reason for seeking out Gupta. My flapping tongue had gotten me into enough trouble already.

Otaspes gave his silent laugh. "You certainly get into the damnedest things! But harken. We must leave Ozenê, early tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I have picked up more gossip. The hatred between Brachmanist and Buddhist is at the boil here, and it needs only a small event to make it spill oyer. If the Brachmanists revolt, the Bactrio-Greeks might be able to put them down. But I would not trust the Arjunayanas, who are Shiva-worshipers and brigands to boot. If they turn against Queen Indrani or if the Bactrio-Greeks desert—well, I shan't care to be here when it happens."

Gnouros snored heavily in a corner. "Is he all right?" I asked.

"All right except that he is sleeping off a hemp spree. You know Scythians; they burn the stuff and sniff the fumes. My Sakan friends put on a little orgy of their own."

It seemed that I had hardly fallen asleep when a thunderous knocking awakened me. A feeble pre-dawn light came through the shutters. Otaspes had opened the door, in which stood our landlord.

"You must leave this place, fast," said the landlord. "There is trouble in the city. Mobs are killing all foreigners. They will search this place, and if they find you—" The man drew a finger across his throat.

"What has happened?" I demanded.

The landlord explained: "The story is that some worshipers of Vishnu had gathered on the banks of the Sipta for private devotions, and the Buddhist priesthood set upon them with clubs and cruelly beat them all to death."

"That sounds like my party," I muttered to Otaspes, "after the rumor-mongers had been at it."

The landlord continued: "So all the Orthodox have joined to rid Ozenê of heretics." The man smiled one of those nervous, flickering, mirthless little Indian smiles. "I concern myself not with sects and philosophies, sirs. I am only a poor man, striving to make a living. But for you to be caught here would do none of us any good."

"He has a point," I said. I kicked Gnouros awake and helped him to pack up our modest possessions. Whilst we were thus engaged, an outcry from the street outside drew our attention. Otaspes cautiously opened the shutters and peered out. He hissed at me and beckoned.

This inn was one of the few two-story structures in Ozenê, and our window commanded a good view of the South or Mahismati Gate and the avenue leading to it. A dull roaring came to our ears, now near, now far.

Suddenly, a man rounded a corner several crossings away, running hard with the yellow robes of a Buddhist priest fluttering behind him. After him pelted a couple of score of breech-clouted, wild-haired Indians led by a naked holy man covered with cow-dung ash, who rolled his eyes, foamed at the mouth and screamed some phrase I could not catch, over and over.

"What is he saying?" I asked Otaspes.

"Gaso hamara mata hoi—the cow is our mother."

"A strange war cry," I said. "I thought Indians were born normally to human mothers—look!" Almost under our window, the mob caught the running man, who disappeared beneath a tangle of bodies. There was a moment of screaming confusion, and then the mob set up a chant in unison, of "Die, detestable heretic! Die, confuser of colors!"

The severed, shaven head of the priest was jammed down on a sharpened pole and hoisted into the air. Behind this banner, the mob trotted off to other mischief.

"We had better get our elephant," said Otaspes.

I slipped on my mailshirt and strapped on my sword. "here's no point in our all going to the stables with the baggage. I can go thither as safely alone. When I return with Prasada,, you two shall be ready to leave."

They started to argue, but I slipped out without answering. I made the three blocks to the stables without meeting a soul. At the stables, however, I was told that Koka and Prasada had already left. At the first hint of disturbance, the elephant driver had fled the city with his pet.

Back at the inn, I broke the news to my companions. We were trying to form alternative plans when more noises brought us again to the window.

"Great Oramazdes!" breathed Otaspes.

Down the avenue to the South Gate, marching in step to the tune of flutes, strode the three full companies of Bactrio-Greek mercenaries in full battle array, pikes at the ready and kilts aswing. Their women and children scuttled along in the intervals between the companies.

A mob of Indians raced around a corner in front of the troops. The soldiers in the first two ranks lowered their pikes and plowed through the rabble like a ship through water, leaving a score of trampled bodies. Other knots of Indians dashed screaming at the Bactrio-Greeks from the sides and rear, to be likewise repulsed. It was amazing to see the ferocity of these little underfed brown men, usually submissive and timid, could work up when they tried.

Some Indians climbed to the roofs of the houses lining the avenue and hurled stones and tiles down upon the marchers.

I could hear the clang as these missiles struck helmets and body armor. When the companies had passed, a couple of light-skinned figures in bronzen cuirasses and plumed helmets lay in the mud with the stricken Indians.

The Bactrio-Greeks marched on. The gate opened, and out they went, never breaking step. The mob churned about the avenue, screeching and mutilating the bodies of the fallen Bactrio-Greeks. I expected this crowd to disperse, to give us a chance for a dash to the gate. Instead, they hung around, dancing and chanting. When one group wandered off, another appeared. Some of them had caught a Buddhist family and were torturing them to death near the gate.

"Now, how in the name of Mithras the bull-slayer," asked Otaspes, "are we to get through that gang without being torn to pieces? If we were naked holy men, they would not even notice us—"

"You've solved the problem!" I cried, clapping him on the back. "Come with me to the kitchen!"

"What do you mean to do?"

"We shall be naked holy men! Come on!"

"But, Eudoxos, I cannot run around with my private parts flapping in the breeze, like these folk! We Persians have a sense of decency—"

"Never mind what you can and can't do. Come on, or I'll drag you!"

A quarter-hour later, Otaspes and I stepped out of the inn into that deadly street. We were naked save for our money belts, which I hoped nobody would notice. We were smeared from head to foot with a mixture of soot and ashes, so that no one could tell what sort of skins we bore beneath this coating. Our hair and beards were disordered. We rolled our eyes, gnashed our teeth, and screamed:

"Goo hamara mata hail"

Behind us, Gnouros followed, bent double under a big bundle. This consisted of our most important possessions, wrapped in my cloak. We had abandoned much of our gear, including all Otaspes' trade goods—even his prized bolt of silken cloth. But a reasonable man does not worry about such things when his life is at stake.

Down the road we capered, hopping and whirling and making the most idiotic gestures we could think of. As a result, the Indians paid us no attention whatever. We passed the dismembered bodies of the slain Buddhists, lying in huge, scarlet, fly-swarming pools. We danced out the South Gate and into the countryside. A heavy overcast hid the rising sun.

Half a league from Ozenê, we came upon the mountainous carcass of poor old Prasada, dead by the side of the road. Koka lay near him. The elephantarch had been pierced through and through by spear thrusts. From the elephant's side, just aft of his left foreleg, protruded the broken shaft of a long Arjunayana lance.

Those abandoned temple thieves!" I said. "They must have heard that this pair had left the city before the rioting started and assumed that we were on the beast. When they caught up with the elephant, hoping to rob us, either they slew them in a rage at not finding us, or Koka failed to stop on command."

"Perhaps," said Otaspes. "I cannot feel too sorry for him, since after all he deserted us. But what is more important, I do not think it were wise for us to return to Mahismati. King Girixis is an affable monarch, but he might not take kindly the loss of his prize bull elephant."

"Right you are," I said. "I wonder where the Arjunayanas ire now?" I began to don my garments.

"Looting the palace, I should think," said Otaspes, pulling on his Persian trousers. "If we head west across country, we shall come to the headwaters of the Mais. Following this river downstream, we come by a roundabout route to the sea, not far north of Barygaza— Oh, by the bronzen balls of Gou the demon king! Look!"

He pointed along the road to southward, on which a little cloud of dust now danced.

"Couldn't that be the Bactrio-Greeks on their way south?" I asked.

"Is not so," said Gnouros. "Are horseback riders. Not Sakas; the other kind, with turbans."

I glanced toward the Sipta. "We might get across the river. They might not want us badly enough to swim their horses after us."

Otaspes shook his head. "I cannot swim, and anyway I am foredone with all this running and capering. I am ready to die as a Persian gentleman should."

"Oh, come on! I'll drag you across. It's not deep here."

I had to bully the exhausted Persian back on his feet. We set out at a trot towards the river. At this place, however, a bend took the Sipta a couple of furlongs from the road. We were still far from the water when a hail and a drumming of hooves told us that the Arjunayanas were upon us.

We faced about and drew our swords, our bows having been left back at the elephant's corpse with the rest of our gear. A couple of the leading horsemen bore down upon us, lances couched and dyed beards fluttering in the air, with the obvious intention of running us through.

"Get ready to throw yourself to the side at the last instant," I gasped.

Then came the twang of a bowstring, and another, and a whole chorus of them. No musical tune ever sounded sweeter. One Arjunayana fell from his horse. The horse of another, hit in the rump, reared and threw its rider.

The Sakan troop galloped nigh, bows snapping and arrows whistling. In a trice the Arjunayanas had wheeled and galloped away. The foremost Saka, young Tymnes, cantered up with his green-and-russet cloak billowing.

"Now, sirs," he said, "you see that we lied not when we told you of the valor and ferocity of the noble Saulian clan."

"How did you happen along so timely?" I asked.

"We had to cut our way out of Ozenê and lost one of our brave lads doing it. When we came to the elephant's carcass, we saw those sand thieves chasing somebody towards the river. One of our men, whose sight is keen even for an eagle-eyed Saulian, said the fugitives looked like you and Master Otaspes. So, having broken bread with Master Otaspes, we did our duty as gentlemen. I have spoken."

The rest of the Sakas now arrived. Some led extra horses laden with baggage. A couple went after the riderless Arjunayana horses with lariats, while others dismounted to pick up spent arrows and to scalp the three fallen Arjunayanas. They hung the bloody scalps from their horse trappings and remounted.

I thanked Tymnes profusely and explained our situation.

"I had hoped," said he, "to enjoy the company of you and Master Otaspes from here to Vidisha, since I deem you persons of mettle suitable for a noble Saka like myself to befriend. But what must be, must be. Permit me, then, to present you with these three Indian horses. They are poor stuff compared with our noble steppe breed, but they will get you back to Barygaza. And I shall at least have the pleasure of your company to the next ford across the Sipta. Let us go!"