The fourth side of the square, the one from which the traders had been kept away, was none the less busy. On to it fronted a vast building with twenty pagoda-curved roofs and a flight of probably a hundred steps leading to its main doors. In red-and-gold ideograms on the façade there was spelled out its title: the Temple of Heavenly Favours.
On the steps, a gang of workmen were busily completing a dais for a throne. Hao Sen contemplated them. From the gaudy silk hangings they were draping over their work, a visit from the Emperor was anticipated.
The assumption was confirmed when he noticed that there was a stout man making a circuit of the market, accompanied by armed guards, and pointing out items of specially choice nature for the merchants to hold back from their stock. Some of these items were being collected by grunting youths in grimy white clothing and toted across the square to the foot of the steps before the temple.
The Emperor. Hao Sen contemplated the chance that the obvious focus of his attention was the real ruler. He decided against the possibility; at least one of the reflective personalities involved in this superb imaginary city had had king-and-slave fantasies, and the Emperor was more likely to be a subsidiary than a main personality.
On the other hand, of course—
Hao Sen checked his train of thought with a start. He had just caught sight of a dragon-trainer between two colourful booths across the square.
He shouldered his way towards the spectacle, ignoring the objections of those he pushed aside, and halted at the front of the ring of watchers surrounding the trainer and his beast. They were keeping a respectful distance.
Not that this was much of a dragon. It looked half-starved, and was barely three-quarters grown; moreover, its scales were patched with a mildew-like fungus disease. Its vicious three-inch teeth, none the less, were white and sharp as it bared them in ineffectual snarls. The trainer — a thick-set swarthy man, probably a gipsy from the south — was making it move its legs in a kind of clumsy dance, goading it with a pointed ankh which he heated at intervals in a brazier.
Hao Sen shivered as he watched, not at the baleful threat in the beast’s eyes which promised it would not stand for much more such treatment, but at the significance of the disease afflicting it.
While he was still reflecting on the implications, there was a blasting of trumpets from behind him, and he turned. A procession of gorgeously uniformed soldiers was striding into the square, followed by men bearing a palanquin of rich silk and rare woods. Officers bawled for the proper respect to the Emperor, and like a forest felled at a single blow everyone in the square dropped into the imperial kotow.
When permission was given to rise, the Emperor was in place on his throne, surrounded by his train: mandarins of the peacock feather, personal servants with symbolic fans, and high officers of his army. Hao Sen scanned them with interest. His attention was drawn almost at once to a tall man in magnificent silken robes standing at the Emperor’s right, a little apart from the rest and apparently having no personal attendants with him.
Somehow that — smelt right. Hao Sen ignored the business which followed, the presentation of the caravan master and the display of choice goods to the Emperor, and studied the tall man. There was no overt resemblance, but that was hardly evidence. Consider, after all, his own body now…
He broke off that thought with an almost physical jolt, and wondered whether it was still too soon to draw attention to himself. On the one hand, the completeness of the detail was a sign of caution; on the other, it implied that the secondaries were exceptionally well developed. He had arrived, in his own chosen disguise, and so far no hint had been given that his presence was suspect…
He made up his mind, and worked forward through the crowd to the front row of those who had forgotten the attractions of the conjurers and mountebanks for the privilege of seeing the Celestial Emperor at close quarters. By now the Emperor had completed his inspection of the caravan master’s wares, and was leaning back on his throne, casually eyeing the scene. It was a matter of moments before he caught sight of Hao Sen and said something to the caravan master.
“Why, we owe him a great debt!” the caravan master exclaimed. “He it was who chiefly inspired our guard to repel the bandits.”
“Let him come forward,” the Emperor said negligently.
An officer signalled to Hao Sen, who obediently marched to the foot of the steps and dropped on his knees in the kotow. Directly he had completed the obeisance, he rose and stood with his hand on his sword and his shoulders thrown back.
The Emperor looked him over. “A good fighting man,” he said with approval. “Ask him if he plans to join my army.”
“Celestial Master, your humble servant hears that the army will go forth this summer against the bandits! If he is granted the privilege of joining the enterprise, he will serve with all his heart!”
“Good,” said the Emperor briefly. His eyes lingered a moment on Hao Sen’s brawny frame. “Take his name, one of you,” he added. “And convey me back to the palace.”
Mechanically Hao Sen complied with the request of the officer who came to take his name and details of his experience. This was a routine precaution; if he was reduced to stripping away the reflectives one by one, he now had the background for turning a king-and-slave fantasy into something altogether less palatable. But he was satisfied the Emperor himself was only a reflective.
Then was the real ruler that tall man, standing apart? Or someone else, not engaged in this subsidiary part of the drama ?
Once more, he postponed a decision.
The imperial procession had left the square when the shout went up.
“The dragon ! The dragon!”
He spun around, seeing a wave of catastrophic panic break across the market like a bore in a river-mouth. Buyers, sellers and entertainers alike streamed outwards from the square, overturning booths, scattering merchandise and trampling old people and children in the rush. Hao Sen stood his ground, waiting for a clear view.
When he got it, he was chilled. The dragon was no longer sullenly submissive. It was an incarnation of menace. On three of its sharp-taloned legs it stood over the corpse of its former master, slashing at his face and turning it to bloody ruin.
It tired of its play, and paused, its yellow eyes scanning the great square. Hao Sen had half-expected it to feed, for it would certainly have been kept hungry to weaken it. Yet its head did not dip to gnaw the corpse, and his heart gave a lurch as he realized that the square, apart from himself, was now completely empty.
He might have run. He had delayed too long. The slightest move would attract its attention, and somehow he was sure it could catch him, no matter how fast he fled. The reason why he had been made to leave his camel out of the square struck him like a blow. He had used his favourite trick once too often, and here was an opponent who employed it himself.
The dragon began to move, sidling towards him, its eyes unblinking and burning bright as the coals of the brazier it had overset. Hao Sen glanced frantically around for a weapon. He saw the broken shaft of a tent close by, and jumped for it. The instant he did so, the dragon charged.
He hurled the tent-pole javelin-fashion and dropped on his face. More by luck than accuracy of aim, the sharp wood hit fair on one of the mildew-weakened patches of scales. It made a barely noticeable gash, but the dragon howled with pain. It spun around and returned to the attack.
The first time he threw himself aside, dragging out his sword. The second time, he failed to dodge completely; the beast cunningly curled its tail in mid-air so that it caught his shoulder and the blow sent him sprawling. That tail was like a club, and the dragon must weigh as much as a man.