“Now,” hissed Shakuntala.
Kungas, watching the Malwa, made a peremptory little gesture.
“Not yet,” he whispered back. The Empress stiffened. Imperial hauteur rose instantly in her heart, and she almost barked a command. But her common sense rescued her—common sense, and the years of Raghunath Rao’s hard tutoring. She bit her lip, maintaining silence. In her mind, she could hear Rao’s voice:
So, fool girl. You are a genius, then? You understand tactics better than a man who has vanquished enemies on a hundred battlefields? A man so good that I could not overcome him?
Harsh voice. Mocking voice. Beloved voice.
The Mahaveda priest standing in the center of the street shrugged his shoulders, and began to walk back to his post. Farther down, the two Ye-tai guards resumed their slouching posture. The sound of the grenades had been distinct and startling. But—distant. Very distant. And nothing had followed, no sound. An accident, perhaps. No concern of theirs.
“Now,” whispered Kungas. Shakuntala drove all thoughts of Rao from her mind. She rose and began walking forward into the street. Behind her came all four of the Maratha women.
Tarabai pushed her way past Shakuntala.
“Follow me, Your Majesty,” she whispered. “Do as I do, as best you can.”
Again, for an instant, royal arrogance threatened to rise. But Shakuntala’s struggle against it was brief and easy this time. She had no need to call Rao to her aid. Common sense alone sufficed.
I can wear the clothing. But I don’t, actually, have any idea how a prostitute acts.
She watched Tarabai’s sashaying stride and tried, as best she could, to copy it. Behind her, she heard Ahilyabai’s voice, rising above the muttered words of sullen Kushan soldiers.
Strident voice. Mocking voice.
“If you want charity, get a beggar’s bowl!”
Shakuntala and Tarabai were halfway across the street. Before them, the Empress watched the Mahaveda priests stiffen. First, with surprise. Then, with moral outrage.
Again, behind, the angry sound of male voices. Drunken voices, speaking slurred words. Shakuntala recognized Kungas’ voice among them, but could understand none of the words. Her concentration was focussed on the priests ahead of her.
She did, vaguely, hear Ahilyabai:
“Fucking bums! Seduce a stupid virgin, if you have no money! Don’t come sniffing around me!”
The priests were fifteen feet away, now. Shakuntala almost laughed. The Mahaveda—faces distorted with fury—were practically cowering in the overhang of the door to the armory. They had drawn their swords, and were waving them menacingly. But it was a false menace, an empty menace. Fear of pollution held them paralyzed.
“Keep away!” cried one.
Another: “Filthy women! Unclean!”
Tarabai swayed forward, crooning:
“Oh, now, don’t be like that! You look like proper men. We don’t cost much.”
The third Mahaveda bellowed to the Ye-tai. The two barbarians had come partway down the street to watch the spectacle. The Ye-tai were grinning from ear to ear. Even the sight of the straggling band of Kushan soldiers haggling with the whores didn’t cut through their humor.
Again, the priest bellowed, waving his sword in a gesture of furious summoning. Still grinning, the two Ye-tai trotted toward them.
Shakuntala stepped forward to meet them. Tarabai was pressing the priests further back into the alcove formed by the overhang. Pressing them back, not by force of body, but by the simple fact of her tainted nearness.
Behind her, Shakuntala heard Ahilyabai’s shriek of anger.
“Get away, I say! Get away! Worthless scum!” Then, fiercely: “We’ll set the Ye-tai on you!” Then, crooning: “Such good men, Ye-tai.”
The two Ye-tai reached the Empress. Neither one of them had even bothered to draw his sword. Still grinning, the barbarian on her left placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Come on, sweet girl,” he said in thick Hindi. “Leave the poor priests alone. They’re manless, anyway. Come along to our guardhouse—and bring your sisters with you. We’ve got ten strong Ye-tai lads there. Bored out of their skulls and with money to burn.”
Smiling widely, Shakuntala turned her head aside. Shouted to Tarabai:
“Forget the stupid priests! Let’s—”
She spun, drove her right fist straight into the Ye-tai’s diaphragm. The barbarian grunted explosively, doubling up. His head, coming down, was met by Shakuntala’s forearm strike coming up. A perfect strike—the right fist braced against left palm, a solid bar of bone sweeping around with all the force of the girl’s hips and torso. A small bar, true, formed by a small bone. So the Ye-tai’s jaw was not shattered. He simply dropped to his knees, half-conscious. His jaw did shatter, then, along with half of his teeth. Shakuntala’s knee did for that. The barbarian slumped to the street.