occur!’
Zaibar, captain of the Hell Hounds, bellowed his comprehension of Molin’s order.
6
The women, and they were all dressed as women though Seylalha knew some of them
were the eunuchs who routinely guarded her, crept forward to remove the heavy
cloak from her shoulders. She shook the cramped silk and knotted her fingers in
anticipation. A partition of fine netting separated the musicians from the other
participants in this drama, but their sounds were familiar and oddly soothing.
The carpet on which she had always danced lay slightly to one side of the centre
of the tent and behind the carpet was a mound of pillows to which the burly
‘women’ directed her. The white-robed men were invited to partake of a banquet
laid out on a low table and fell over each other rushing to the sumptuous
food. The masked figure who stood apart from the rest and seemed distinctly
uncomfortable under his splendid robe was led to a separate table where only
stale bread and water had been laid and an ugly, heavy short-sword awaited him.
So, that was the god, Seylalha thought, as the mask was lifted from his face. He
was weak-chinned – but what civilized man did not show the stains of his rich
foods and soft bed? He was, at least, a whole man. The man-god would not look at
her, preferring to watch the darkest, least penetrable recesses of the tent.
Seylalha knew fear for his curiously absent passions. Sliding off the
cushions she struck the first position of her dance, expecting the musicians
to lift their instruments.