the campfire. Then thrashed aside, shrieking more loudly still. Lurched to his feet, beating away the embers with his bloody hands.
The Pathan had had enough.
He strode forward and sent the Roman back on his belly with a vicious, stamping kick. Then he sprang upon him, jerked his head up by the hair, and manhandled him to his knees.
"Here you great general, Sanga King," he said contemptuously. He cuffed the Roman, silencing a squawl.
Rana Sanga stared down at Belisarius. Stared up at the Pathan holding him by the hair. The tracker was grinning savagely.
Stared down at Belisarius. The general was gasping like a fish, eyes glazed.
Stared back at the Pathan. Down at Belisarius.
"Who in the hell is that?" snarled Jaimal.
Stared down at that. Up at the Pathan.
"I've never seen this man before in my life," he told the tracker quietly.
It was almost worth it, then, for Rana Sanga. After all those years, finally, to see the Pathan gape. Like an idiot beast.
"I'm just a poor peddler," whined the man, for the hundredth time. He moaned, pressing the bandage against his cheek. Moaned:
"My name is—"
"Shut up!" snarled Udai. "We know your name! What we want to know is where did you get the horses?"
The peddler stared up at the Rajput. Finally, something beyond squawling terror and babbling self-pity entered his mind.
Avarice.
"They're my horses!" he squealed. "You can't—"
"Shut up!" bellowed Udai. "Just shut up!"
Rana Sanga put a restraining hand on Udai's shoulder. His lieutenant's fury was just frightening the man senseless.
The Rajput king squatted, bringing his eyes level with those of the bloody-faced man sprawled in the dirt.
"Listen to me, peddler," he said quietly. Quietly, but very firmly. The peddler fell silent.
"My name is Rana Sanga."
The peddler's eyes widened. He was not Rajput, but he traded in Rajputana. He knew the name. Knew it well.
"We will take your horses." Quiet, iron words.
The peddler opened his mouth, began to squawl.
"Those
The Pathan had had enough.
He strode forward and sent the Roman back on his belly with a vicious, stamping kick. Then he sprang upon him, jerked his head up by the hair, and manhandled him to his knees.
"Here you great general, Sanga King," he said contemptuously. He cuffed the Roman, silencing a squawl.
Rana Sanga stared down at Belisarius. Stared up at the Pathan holding him by the hair. The tracker was grinning savagely.
Stared down at Belisarius. The general was gasping like a fish, eyes glazed.
Stared back at the Pathan. Down at Belisarius.
"Who in the hell is that?" snarled Jaimal.
Stared down at that. Up at the Pathan.
"I've never seen this man before in my life," he told the tracker quietly.
It was almost worth it, then, for Rana Sanga. After all those years, finally, to see the Pathan gape. Like an idiot beast.
"I'm just a poor peddler," whined the man, for the hundredth time. He moaned, pressing the bandage against his cheek. Moaned:
"My name is—"
"Shut up!" snarled Udai. "We know your name! What we want to know is where did you get the horses?"
The peddler stared up at the Rajput. Finally, something beyond squawling terror and babbling self-pity entered his mind.
Avarice.
"They're my horses!" he squealed. "You can't—"
"Shut up!" bellowed Udai. "Just shut up!"
Rana Sanga put a restraining hand on Udai's shoulder. His lieutenant's fury was just frightening the man senseless.
The Rajput king squatted, bringing his eyes level with those of the bloody-faced man sprawled in the dirt.
"Listen to me, peddler," he said quietly. Quietly, but very firmly. The peddler fell silent.
"My name is Rana Sanga."
The peddler's eyes widened. He was not Rajput, but he traded in Rajputana. He knew the name. Knew it well.
"We will take your horses." Quiet, iron words.
The peddler opened his mouth, began to squawl.
"Those