“Close up, gentlemen,” Commander Narasan told them. “Let’s at least try to look military.”

So far as Andar could tell, the town that appeared to have grown up around Aracia’s temple was the closest thing to a city in the entire Land of Dhrall. The buildings had white-plastered walls and red tile roofs, and the streets were paved.

The temple rose up from the top of the mound, of course, and there were tall spires—probably decorative—reaching high up into the air. It seemed grossly overdone to Andar, but he realized that Aracia needed something like this. There had been more than a few hints during the campaign in Veltan’s Domain that Aracia deeply resented her older brother’s status as the highest-ranking god in the Land of Dhrall, and her ostentatious temple here was little more than a form of self-aggrandizement. It was rather sad, but not really all that uncommon.

The steps leading up to the temple were wide, and the massive doors were sheathed with what appeared to be gold. That took ostentation out to the far end, Andar concluded.

The stout orator who’d spoken to them in the harbor was waiting at the door, and he unleashed his vocabulary again as he greeted them.

Andar chose not to listen.

It took them quite some time to reach the central room of the temple, which did not even remotely resemble a Trogite convenium, since the central feature was a throne rather than an altar. That was one advantage the Dhralls had that the Trogites did not. They knew what their gods looked like, since they were usually present in the immediate vicinity.

Andar was fairly sure that neither Zelana nor Veltan would have enjoyed all the adoration Aracia’s priesthood kept shoveling all over their goddess, but Aracia seemed to revel in the long, tiresome speeches.

Commander Narasan nudged Andar, and the two of them drifted on to the back of the ornate throne-room. “I’d say that they’re just getting warmed up,” Narasan said quietly, “so this will probably take most of the day. Why don’t you and Danal go drift around this town and take a look at things? What we really need to know is whether this place is at all defensible. I’m having some serious doubts about that. Why would anybody in his—or her—right mind build a city and then neglect to build a wall?”

“I wouldn’t say that ‘right mind’ is an applicable term, Commander,” Andar replied. “It looks to me like our esteemed employer doesn’t have a very firm grip on reality. I’ll have a look around, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up too high, Commander. These people probably don’t even know what the word ‘war’ means.”

“You could be right, Andar,” Narasan conceded, “but go have a look, and talk with the locals. We need to know if the people of Aracia’s Domain have anything at all resembling an army. If the bug-people do decide to come this way, we’re going to have to hold them off—at least until Sorgan can get here, and that might take a while.”

“I’ll see what I can find out, Commander, but I’m not very optimistic.”

3

Andar and Brigadier Danal quietly left Aracia’s throne-room and went on out of the temple. “That fat one who makes long, windy speeches is called the ‘Takal of Aracia,’” Danal advised his friend.

“How did you find that out?”

Danal shrugged. “I asked a young fellow who was off to one side,” he replied. “He told me that he only recently joined the priesthood, and he was trying his best to impress me. You know how novices are. They’ll talk forever if you give them half a chance. Anyway, if I understood him correctly, ‘Takal’ is something on the order of what the Trogite Church calls ‘the Naos’—except that he has four wives, and that would send the Amarite priesthood right up the walls.”

“It would disturb them a bit, I’d imagine,” Andar agreed. “Did the young fellow give you that high priest’s name?”

“Bersla, I think was the name he mentioned. The young fellow was talking so fast that I had a little trouble keeping up with him. He told me that the fat one was rich, but I’m not sure just how a man can be ‘rich’ in a land without money. For all I know, it could be a reference to the size of his belly.”

They split up after they’d left the temple grounds, and Andar went on out to the western edge of the city. His uniform drew many puzzled looks, and the natives tried to avoid him for some reason. He did manage to get a few answers from a couple of them, though, but the answers weren’t very clear. When he said “wall,” the local people seemed to think he meant the side of a house. It was quite obvious that the concept of a protective wall surrounding the city was completely alien to them, and most of them, it appeared, had never heard the word “war” before.

He methodically went on around the outskirts of the town, asking each native willing to speak with him the same questions. When he reached the beach again, Danal was waiting for him. “There’s not one tavern in the entire town,” Danal complained. “When I asked them where I should go if I wanted something to drink, they kept pointing at the wells. Evidently, water’s the only thing they drink.”

“Their religion might have something to do with that,” Andar suggested. “Their god is a woman, and women have strange ideas sometimes. Were you able to find out anything about this ‘barter economy’ business?”

“Not much that made any sense. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think they use fruit or grain when they want to buy something—so many apples for a yard of wool and that sort of thing. There’s quite a bit of haggling going on in those shops. Did you happen to come across anybody who understood what you meant when you asked them about a wall?”

“They all seemed to think I was talking about house walls,” Andar replied. “The notion of a stand-alone wall doesn’t seem to have occurred to any of them. Let’s face it, Danal, these are very primitive people. The only metal most of them have encountered is gold, and they use gold for ornaments, not for money.”

“Pitiful,” Danal said. “Have we seen enough yet?”

“I think we’ve covered just about everything the commander wants to know about.”

“Let’s go on back to the temple, then.”

“Must we?” Danal replied plaintively.

Bersla, the fat high priest of the temple, was orating again, and Lady Aracia had a dreamy sort of look on her face as she sat on her throne.