It was little short of sundown when they arrived at Gomba Done. Jampa and the barbarian seemed almost to be waiting for them, and were taken into custody without incident. Actually Nils could have escaped into the forest; they’d become aware of the troops and their purpose half a kilometer away. But it was time, Nils decided, to go to the capital, so he simply removed his eyes and put them in a pocket.
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The adjutant examined his prisoners. The barbarian supposedly was dangerous—he was said to have murdered a bailiff and a number of his men. Obviously that was either a rumor or an incorrect identification. The man was unquestionably blind, his sockets empty, his eyelids wrinkled and ugly. No doubt his hearing was acute, but it would hardly serve if he tried to use the sword he wore.
They took it from him, of course, as a matter of policy, but his hands were left unmanacled. Otherwise, at a trot he might lose his seat and fall from his horse, and the emperor had said explicitly that he was not to be injured. As a precaution, the adjutant even ordered a yeti to stay beside the man, in case he started to fall.
With the two in custody, the demon felt free to use his telepathy. Sensing it, Nils immediately closed his “third eye” so his own telepathy wouldn’t be discovered. This, of course, made him in effect truly blind.
Jampa was aware of Nils’s action, and also what he took to be Maamo’s telepathy. But the ogre screened its thoughts so that Jampa didn’t know the true nature of that telepathy. He was aware, though, that the ogre’s aura, already larger than the others, had changed abruptly and substantially. And felt dangerous.
As the adjutant’s column rode through the dusk toward the military post, the demon had a worrisome thought: suppose the Circle decided to check on their progress. They’d detect quickly that he was controlling Maamo. But if he closed his inner eye again, as he had on the outbound ride, and if he suppressed his own thoughts, contenting himself with listening to Maamo’s . . . would the Circle detect him? He didn’t know, but it seemed wisest to try it.
And what if the Circle contacted Jampa Lodro tele-pathically? If they did, would the old man inform on him? Did he even know what it was he’d perceived? To kill the old wizard would cause a great furor, and he’d
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have to abort the whole action, no doubt losing Maamo as his tool, and gaining nothing.
No, he’d hide himself and trust them not to notice. He’d hypnoconditioned Maamo days earlier; to the ogre he’d never been there. Of course, they couldn’t actually harm him anyway. Even if they had the soldiers kill Maamo, he himself would simply snap back into that strange but powerful place the Great God had given him.
The adjutant walked the horses more now, and trotted them less. Not so much to spare them; he didn’t want to exhaust the yetis. The emperor would be dangerously angry if he felt they’d been abused. And the principal rush was over; they had their captives. Though they’d still have to move briskly; the emperor’s order was to be back by morning. Otherwise he might have spent the night at the military post, where he’d drop off the dragoons.
The cart road from Lui-Gu ended at a junction with the road that passed Gomba Dorje, and which connected with the Imperial Highway northeast of Miyun. It was dusk by the time Hans and Chen reached the junction. The column had passed it on its way back, scant minutes earlier. The two turned left toward the monastery. It was full night when they arrived. There a master told Chen that jampa and the barbarian were being taken to the emperor in military custody. And that three yeti guards had been with the soldiers.
“Yeti?” Hans said, when Chen had translated.
“Yetis are a kind of hairy ogre,” Chan answered. “They are very big”—he waved his hand at arm’s length overhead—”much bigger than Nils, and very very strong. No man is so strong! No man!”