Gary Gygax - Dangerous Journeys 3 - Death in Delhi by Gary Gygax Page B
Authors: Gary Gygax
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pox."
By then the magister and Rachelle were a mile distant, walking along the dusty road at a steady pace meant to eat up miles without tiring them. Both were used to heat, of course, because they were /Egyptian—Rachelle by adoption, but that of no consequence for she had endured nearly two decades of the blazing desert clime. Neither appeared to be from Pharaoh's Triple Kingdom, naturally. The castings so carefully laid by the wizard-priest had altered their looks entirely.
The young amazon was now brown of skin, her blue-black hair straight instead of curled in ringlets, her height diminished a little. Anyone who knew her, though, would otherwise have recognized Rachelle, thinking perhaps that this Hindic beauty was a half-sister with uncanny resemblance to her pale-skinned sibling.
On the other hand, Inhetep was totally unrecognizable. Instead of six and a half feet of height, he was now more than a head shorter. His head was still hairless, but it was now the color of light mahogany, and his eyes were dark hazel, not bright green. He was clearly a man of the South, Madras, perhaps in Hind. Of good caste, but no Brahman. His garments were unremarkable but not stained or shabby. Thus reasoning, any observer would identify him as a Vaisya, confirm that by what he carried and his woman. Both had relatively large bundles with them. Ergo, they were merchant and wife traveling to sell goods in distant towns or else combining that work with a holy pilgrimage.
Several shabby wanderers eyed the two speculatively, then passed by or decided not to follow them. The merchant was big, nearly two spans above five feet height, and he wasn't fat.
His eyes were alert, and he seemed to move with purposeful strength. There was also that heavy staff in his hand. Better to seek easier pickings elsewhere than test that one.
Rachelle's laughter was a bit forced. "Have you seen them, Setne?" she said in low voice when no other travelers were nearby to see her speak. "The skulking footpads and robbers?"
"How could I miss them?" The magister had, after all, been the bane of criminals for longer than she had lived.
"They fear you—you as a man, Setne. Not as a magister, not as a heka-bender, only because of your strength and your staff!"
"So? What's unusual about that?"
She didn't reply. He had a point, but it made Rachelle feel useless. After all, it was she who usually threatened off such casual would-be attackers with her bearing and sword. Then she turned to him and smiled. "You could be a fine warrior if you chose to be, Setne Inhetep!"
"Pish! What would I want to do that for? That sort of thing is your purview, Rachelle—I mean, Manasay" He said it so the middle syllable was stressed in proper Hind fashion. "And stop calling me anything other than Chandgar."
"I am not to call you anything, Setne. I, Manasay, am under a vow of silence. Call yourself Chandgar." She giggled.
"Then remain silent," Inhetep grumbled. "How far have we gone?" he queried as he glanced around to see if any others were near, might have caught a scrap of their exchange in /Egyptian. None were close, and there seemed to be no large groups ahead or behind.
Rachelle didn't respond to his question. Inhetep was about to repeat himself, then remembered what he had just commanded. She looked at him with a bland expression, but there was triumph in her dark eyes. Setne twitched a brow to let her know he was merely speaking rhetorically. Then he announced, "This is not the path for us, Manasay, and whenever we come to a main thoroughfare heading off to the right and proceeding northward, we will follow that road. We need to find fellow pilgrims traveling to the Punjab!"
It was several hours later before they came to such an artery. A knot of people were preparing a meal, shaded from the full sun overhead by a massive old banyan. The magister headed for that group, Rachelle following a bit behind him, eyes downcast. When he found a clear spot close to the others
By then the magister and Rachelle were a mile distant, walking along the dusty road at a steady pace meant to eat up miles without tiring them. Both were used to heat, of course, because they were /Egyptian—Rachelle by adoption, but that of no consequence for she had endured nearly two decades of the blazing desert clime. Neither appeared to be from Pharaoh's Triple Kingdom, naturally. The castings so carefully laid by the wizard-priest had altered their looks entirely.
The young amazon was now brown of skin, her blue-black hair straight instead of curled in ringlets, her height diminished a little. Anyone who knew her, though, would otherwise have recognized Rachelle, thinking perhaps that this Hindic beauty was a half-sister with uncanny resemblance to her pale-skinned sibling.
On the other hand, Inhetep was totally unrecognizable. Instead of six and a half feet of height, he was now more than a head shorter. His head was still hairless, but it was now the color of light mahogany, and his eyes were dark hazel, not bright green. He was clearly a man of the South, Madras, perhaps in Hind. Of good caste, but no Brahman. His garments were unremarkable but not stained or shabby. Thus reasoning, any observer would identify him as a Vaisya, confirm that by what he carried and his woman. Both had relatively large bundles with them. Ergo, they were merchant and wife traveling to sell goods in distant towns or else combining that work with a holy pilgrimage.
Several shabby wanderers eyed the two speculatively, then passed by or decided not to follow them. The merchant was big, nearly two spans above five feet height, and he wasn't fat.
His eyes were alert, and he seemed to move with purposeful strength. There was also that heavy staff in his hand. Better to seek easier pickings elsewhere than test that one.
Rachelle's laughter was a bit forced. "Have you seen them, Setne?" she said in low voice when no other travelers were nearby to see her speak. "The skulking footpads and robbers?"
"How could I miss them?" The magister had, after all, been the bane of criminals for longer than she had lived.
"They fear you—you as a man, Setne. Not as a magister, not as a heka-bender, only because of your strength and your staff!"
"So? What's unusual about that?"
She didn't reply. He had a point, but it made Rachelle feel useless. After all, it was she who usually threatened off such casual would-be attackers with her bearing and sword. Then she turned to him and smiled. "You could be a fine warrior if you chose to be, Setne Inhetep!"
"Pish! What would I want to do that for? That sort of thing is your purview, Rachelle—I mean, Manasay" He said it so the middle syllable was stressed in proper Hind fashion. "And stop calling me anything other than Chandgar."
"I am not to call you anything, Setne. I, Manasay, am under a vow of silence. Call yourself Chandgar." She giggled.
"Then remain silent," Inhetep grumbled. "How far have we gone?" he queried as he glanced around to see if any others were near, might have caught a scrap of their exchange in /Egyptian. None were close, and there seemed to be no large groups ahead or behind.
Rachelle didn't respond to his question. Inhetep was about to repeat himself, then remembered what he had just commanded. She looked at him with a bland expression, but there was triumph in her dark eyes. Setne twitched a brow to let her know he was merely speaking rhetorically. Then he announced, "This is not the path for us, Manasay, and whenever we come to a main thoroughfare heading off to the right and proceeding northward, we will follow that road. We need to find fellow pilgrims traveling to the Punjab!"
It was several hours later before they came to such an artery. A knot of people were preparing a meal, shaded from the full sun overhead by a massive old banyan. The magister headed for that group, Rachelle following a bit behind him, eyes downcast. When he found a clear spot close to the others
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