“It is,” I said. “I envy you that piece of work, which I would have liked to do myself, but it seems that you have the greater right.” My blood boiled as I thought of those cruel leering eyes looking at Aryenis in the gate. Payindah had come running up just at the end, and, as Henga got up and wiped his sword, he said to him in Punjabi: “’Twas well thrown that, and you held the son of an evil father down cleverly ere you sent him to his own place. I would like to wrestle with you one day, for I also am a wrestler of note.” I translated this to Henga, and he smiled. “Tell your man I thank him for his words, and will gladly wrestle with him later. There are ten silver pieces for the first soldier who throws me, but none have earned them yet, though all the stout lads try.” The Shamans had disappeared by now, and Henga’s men came up, bearing the other two men whom Payindah had hit. One was stone dead, a bullet between the shoulders; the other still breathed, though he looked as if he had not long to go, for the bullet had caught him just over the groin, and his face was drawn and sweaty, and his lips were blue. The men said something to Henga, who turned to me. “They ask if they shall kill. He has broken the truce, and has no right to life. But he is your man’s man.” “No,” said I, “we do not kill wounded men without reason. This man is but a soldier who followed his leader. Let him live, though I think it will not be for long.” He turned and spoke to the soldiers, who looked surprised, but they said nothing, and, picking up the wounded man, carried him up to the fort. Then we rejoined Kyrlos, who was sitting down, while one of his men tied up his neck. “’Tis but a scratch,” he said. “But such a thing has never been known before that blood should flow at an envoy’s truce. It was clearly meant if I refused their terms, for, see you, they were in the saddle before Atana joined them. Well, they have failed, and now we shall have war, real war, till one or other of us goes down. That is a fine weapon you have, that kills a man at three times a fair bowshot with naught but a little noise. To us it savours of magic, but you and your friends are no magicians: you are far too simple in your ways.” And he smiled a little in his grave way. Then he turned to Henga. “I am glad you had your chance of paying your debt to that hell-hound. When we ride to their country, you shall come with us and settle your account with his brother. “And now,” said he to me, “we will drink a bowl of wine and then ride on to Aornos to catch the rest after you have changed your clothes.” I went and changed into my own clothes, after which Henga’s men brought us bowls of wine, and I noticed that, before Henga drank, he poured a little on the ground as though he were performing some rite. Then we mounted, and with our escort set our faces north for Aornos, crossing the Astara by a narrow bridge of boats.