on the packed-earth floor.
"Come through door. Think at night. Quick, quick, quick. Soldiers eat. Surprise them at sitting."
He pointed to the blackened, dried bloodstains on the floor, the wall, the table, the stools. Scattered pieces of food, now moldy.
"That was battle." Indifferent shrug. "Not much. Think two soldiers draw weapon before die. Maybe three. Do no good. Sheep. Butchered."
He paced back to the pile of bodies.
"Then wait for couriers. Eat soldier food while wait. Pack away other food. Round up horses in corral. Make ready."
The Pathan bent over and seized one of the corpses. With a casual jerk, he spilled the rotting horror onto the floor. The impact, slight as it was, ruptured the stomach wall. Half-liquid intestines spilled out, writhing with maggots. The Pathan stepped back a pace, but showed no other reaction.
"First courier. Tortured."
He leaned over the putrid mess, picked up a wrist, waved the hand. The thumb fell off. The index and middle fingers were already missing.
"Two finger cut off. Want information. How many courier come after?"
He dropped the hand, straightened.
"Good method. Cut one, say: 'Tell, or cut two.' Cut two, say: 'tell, or cut three.' That mostly enough. Good method. Very good. Quick, quick. Have use myself."
The Pathan turned away. To those who did not know him, his callous attitude was appalling. To those who did know him, it was considerably worse.
"Wait again. Next courier." He pointed to one of the bodies in the livery of the royal courier service.
"No torture. No need. He tell, die."
He pointed to the third courier.
"Last one. No torture. No need. He tell, die."
The Pathan glanced at the far door, which led to the corral where the spare horses were kept. Had been kept.
"Then put courier horses to corral. Tired horses. No good. Take all other horses. Fed, rested.
"Come through door. Think at night. Quick, quick, quick. Soldiers eat. Surprise them at sitting."
He pointed to the blackened, dried bloodstains on the floor, the wall, the table, the stools. Scattered pieces of food, now moldy.
"That was battle." Indifferent shrug. "Not much. Think two soldiers draw weapon before die. Maybe three. Do no good. Sheep. Butchered."
He paced back to the pile of bodies.
"Then wait for couriers. Eat soldier food while wait. Pack away other food. Round up horses in corral. Make ready."
The Pathan bent over and seized one of the corpses. With a casual jerk, he spilled the rotting horror onto the floor. The impact, slight as it was, ruptured the stomach wall. Half-liquid intestines spilled out, writhing with maggots. The Pathan stepped back a pace, but showed no other reaction.
"First courier. Tortured."
He leaned over the putrid mess, picked up a wrist, waved the hand. The thumb fell off. The index and middle fingers were already missing.
"Two finger cut off. Want information. How many courier come after?"
He dropped the hand, straightened.
"Good method. Cut one, say: 'Tell, or cut two.' Cut two, say: 'tell, or cut three.' That mostly enough. Good method. Very good. Quick, quick. Have use myself."
The Pathan turned away. To those who did not know him, his callous attitude was appalling. To those who did know him, it was considerably worse.
"Wait again. Next courier." He pointed to one of the bodies in the livery of the royal courier service.
"No torture. No need. He tell, die."
He pointed to the third courier.
"Last one. No torture. No need. He tell, die."
The Pathan glanced at the far door, which led to the corral where the spare horses were kept. Had been kept.
"Then put courier horses to corral. Tired horses. No good. Take all other horses. Fed, rested.