guerrillas lining the ravine where Rao had set his ambush—friendly ambush, to be sure; but Rao never lost the chance for training his young followers—were goggling.
They were provincials, almost without exception. Poor young villagers, most of whom had never seen any of the world beyond the hills and ridges of the Great Country. The Romans were odd enough, with their ugly bony faces and sick-looking pallid complexions. The Ethiopians and Kushans were even more outlandish. But the other one! A tall half-naked man, black as a cellar in night-time—arguing philosophy with Rao himself!
A maniac. Obvious.
"Oh, Christ," muttered Valentinian, replacing his bow. "Another philosopher. Maniacs, the lot of 'em."
In truth, Valentinian was finding it hard not to goggle himself. Finally, after all these months, he had met the legendary Raghunath Rao. And—
The man was the most ordinary looking fellow he had ever seen! Valentinian had been expecting an Indian version of Achilles.
He studied Rao, now standing atop the boulder some thirty feet away and ten feet up the side of the ravine.
Shortish—by Roman standards, anyway. Average size for a Maratha. Getting a little long in the tooth, too. Must be in his early forties. Well-built, true—no fat on those muscles—but he's no Hercules like Eon. I wonder—
Rao sprang off the boulder and landed lithely on the floor of the ravine ten feet below. Two more quick, bounding steps, and he was standing next to Valentinian's horse. Smiling up at him, extending a hand in welcome.
Mary, Mother of God.
"The Panther of Majarashtra," Valentinian had heard Rao called.
They were provincials, almost without exception. Poor young villagers, most of whom had never seen any of the world beyond the hills and ridges of the Great Country. The Romans were odd enough, with their ugly bony faces and sick-looking pallid complexions. The Ethiopians and Kushans were even more outlandish. But the other one! A tall half-naked man, black as a cellar in night-time—arguing philosophy with Rao himself!
A maniac. Obvious.
"Oh, Christ," muttered Valentinian, replacing his bow. "Another philosopher. Maniacs, the lot of 'em."
In truth, Valentinian was finding it hard not to goggle himself. Finally, after all these months, he had met the legendary Raghunath Rao. And—
The man was the most ordinary looking fellow he had ever seen! Valentinian had been expecting an Indian version of Achilles.
He studied Rao, now standing atop the boulder some thirty feet away and ten feet up the side of the ravine.
Shortish—by Roman standards, anyway. Average size for a Maratha. Getting a little long in the tooth, too. Must be in his early forties. Well-built, true—no fat on those muscles—but he's no Hercules like Eon. I wonder—
Rao sprang off the boulder and landed lithely on the floor of the ravine ten feet below. Two more quick, bounding steps, and he was standing next to Valentinian's horse. Smiling up at him, extending a hand in welcome.
Mary, Mother of God.
"The Panther of Majarashtra," Valentinian had heard Rao called.