Rebels of Vulvar (Vulvarian Saga Book 2), стр. 10
The man laughed without mirth. “You will not see the Dabar himself, but one of his deputies,” he said.
“Where must I present myself?”
“At the Hall of Government,” the man said. “It seems you are fit only for the warriors. Perhaps you will get the sword you seek.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
The man reached down and then placed a money pouch on the table.
“Welcome to Nisa, stranger,” he said. “We are generous folk. I’ll pay for your food and drink.”
“I’m appreciative, but I’ve already paid, thank you,” I said.
The proprietor returned with another bottle of ale. As he set it before me, the man in the mask rose and excused himself. He had again welcomed me to Nisa before rejoining his comrade. I didn’t notice until they had exited that the man had left his money pouch behind on the table. I picked up the purse and strode to the door to call after them. But, when I mounted the steps and walked out the door, they were nowhere to be seen. I returned to my table to finish the ale. I knew enough about tavern owners to understand that if I turned the man’s pouch over to the proprietor, the proprietor would pocket the contents and toss the bag in the rubbish. So, it seemed best that I kept it. Looking inside the pouch, I found it held many silver and copper coins. It wasn’t a fortune. It would, however, pay for my sword. And, should I happen to cross paths with the men again, I would return the pouch and coins.
After finishing the ale, I left the tavern in search of the Hall of Government. It seemed best to get the task of registering behind me to avoid running afoul of the law. Afterward, I planned to spend the rest of the afternoon, trying to locate where the rebels held Idril captive. Later I would seek lodging at an inn for the night, as I didn’t care to walk the two legas back to Haela’s farm.
After walking for perhaps some fifteen minutes through the graveled, twisted streets of Nisa, I came to a broad avenue, steep and paved with cobblestones. On each side of the road was a stone wall. Ahead I saw the hall, which appeared as an unadorned, rounded formidable fortress of stone.
By the time I arrived at the entrance, the broad avenue had narrowed to a passageway wide enough only for a single man to pass. The walls on either side had risen to a height of perhaps twenty-five feet. The entrance itself was a small door of iron bars, also only large enough for one man to pass through.
A guard appeared on the other side of the iron gate.
“What business do you have inside the Hall of Government?” the guard said.
“I arrived in Nisa this morning,” I said. “A city official told me I must present myself here to the Dabar to satisfy a requirement of the law.”
The guard nodded. He unbolted the gate and swung it open.
“Enter,” he said, motioning with a jerk of his head.
I walked through the gateway. The gatekeeper, like the guards at the city gate, wore the shiny armor of a Vulvarian warrior over a bright yellow tunic. It was somewhat of a strange sight. On my previous visit to the world, I had seen only women wearing armor. Before the slave rebellion, only women were warriors and had the right to bear arms. The guard held the seven-foot Vulvarian spear and shield with the familiar short sword hanging from his sword belt. Two other similarly clothed and armed warriors appeared.
“Escort this man to the office of the Dabar,” the gate guard said to them.
Glancing at the spears, I smiled grimly at the two new guards. One turned and walked through an entrance into the interior of the structure. I followed, and the second guard brought up the rear.
After climbing a narrow circular stairway, we entered a corridor that eventually opened onto a large room with a vaulted ceiling. Burning torches set in the walls lit the room. Despite the size of the hall and the height of the roof, it was unadorned and plainly furnished. At the top of broad steps leading up to an elevated dais sat a man on a curule chair who wore a tunic of gold cloth. He had black, greasy hair slightly covering a broad, stern face. Beady brown eyes, set concealed within their sockets, regarded me without expression.
About the room, here and there stood other grim-looking armed warriors. One such warrior stood at the foot of the steps to the dais.
“Kneel,” the warrior commanded. “You stand before Sarek, deputy Dabar of Nisa.”
When I did not kneel right away, the warrior strode to face me. He kicked my feet from beneath me. I crashed to the floor onto my knees. The warrior placed a hand on my shoulder to prevent me from rising if I tried to get up.
“Who are you?” the man seated on the dais said.
“I am Tom Gray of Thiva,” I said. “As you see, I was a slave there, but I escaped and made my way to Nisa.”
“What is your business in Nisa?”
“I wish to offer my service to the Dabar of Nisa,” I said.
“What use does the Dabar have for a house slave,” the man said, apparently recognizing the significance of the color of my tunic.
“I have other skills,” I said.
“What skills?”
“I am skilled with the sword and the bow,” I said.
“You believe you’re worthy of becoming a warrior of Nisa.”
“Yes,” I said with confidence.
“We will decide that,” the man said. “For your sake, Tom Gray of Thiva, you better hope you have not exaggerated your qualifications. Tomorrow your skills will be tested.”
“I am ready,” I said.
“Take him to the training cohort,” the deputy Dabar said.
“Yes, your excellency,” the warrior beside me said.
The warrior grabbed my arm and pulled me to