‘Be so kind as to show me the token,’ said Chorin-Tsu, speaking in the southern tongue, his voice barely above a whisper. Talisman reached into his tunic and produced a small coin stamped with the head of a wolf. He offered it to the old man, who took it with trembling fingers, leaning forward to examine it. Talisman found himself staring at the small white braid of hair on the crown of Chorin-Tsu’s otherwise shaven head. ‘It is an interesting coin, young man. Sadly, however, anyone can possess such a piece,’ said the embalmer, his breath wheezing from him. ‘It could have been taken from the true messenger.’
Talisman gave a cold smile. ‘Nosta Khan told me you were a mystic, Chorin-Tsu. You should, therefore, have little difficulty judging my integrity.’
There were two shallow clay cups of water set upon a silk rug. The young Nadir reached for one, but the old man waved a hand and shook his head. ‘Not yet, Talisman. Forgive me, but I shall tell you when to drink, As to your point, Nosta Khan was not speaking of psychic powers. I was never a true mystic. What I have been, all my life, Talisman, is a student. I have studied my craft, I have examined the great sites of history, but most of all I have studied men. The more I studied the race, the better I understand its foibles. But the curious thing about study, when conducted with an open mind, is that it makes one smaller. But, forgive me, philosophy is not a Nadir preoccupation.’
‘Being savages, you mean?’ answered the Nadir, without rancour. ‘Perhaps I should therefore leave the answer to the priest-philosopher Dardalion, who said, “Every question answered leads to seven other questions. Therefore to a student the gathering of knowledge merely increases the awareness of how much more there is still to know.” Will that suffice, Master Embalmer?’
Chorin-Tsu masked his surprise, and bowed deeply. ‘Indeed it will, young man. And I pray you will forgive this old one for such rudeness. These are heady days and I fear my excitement is affecting my manners.’
‘I take no offence,’ said Talisman. ‘Life is harsh upon the steppes. There is little opportunity for a contemplative existence.’
The old man bowed again. ‘I do not wish to compound my rudeness, young sir, but I find myself intrigued as to where a Nadir warrior would come upon the words of Dardalion of the Thirty.’
‘It is said that a little mystery adds spice to a relationship,’ Talisman told him. ‘However, you were talking about your studies.’
Chorin-Tsu found himself warming further to the young man. ‘My studies also involve astrology, numerology, the casting of runes, the reading of palms, the fashioning of spells. And yet there remain so many things to baffle the mind. I shall give you an example.’ From his belt he pulled an ivory-handled throwing-knife, which he pointed towards a round target set on the wall some twenty paces away. ‘When I was younger I could hurl this blade into the golden centre of that target. But now – as you see – my fingers are gnarled and bent. Do it for me, Talisman.’ The young Nadir caught the tossed blade. For a moment he weighed it in his hand, feeling the balance. Then he drew back his arm and let fly. The silver steel shimmered in the lantern light, and flashed across the room to lance home into the target. It missed the gold by a finger’s breadth. ‘The target is covered with small symbols. Go and tell me the symbol that the blade pierced,’ ordered Chorin-Tsu.
Talisman rose and walked across the room. The target had been decorated with curious Chiatze hieroglyphs, traced in gold paint. He did not recognize most of them. But the knife-blade had pierced an oval, at the centre of which was a delicately drawn talon, and this image he understood. ‘Where did it strike?’ called Chorin-Tsu. Talisman told him.
‘Good, good. Come and rejoin me, my boy.’
‘I have passed your test?’
‘One of them. Here is the second. Drink from one of the cups.’
‘Which one contains the poison?’ asked Talisman.
Chorin-Tsu said nothing and Talisman stared at the cups. ‘Suddenly I am not thirsty.’