Many of these men I recognized as members of the teivos. Pthav and
Hoffmeyer were there, representing our district, or misrepresenting it,
as Father always put it, yet I was presently sure that this could not be
a meeting of the teivos proper, as these were held in another building
farther south—a magnificent pillared pile of olden times that the
Government had partially restored, as they had the headquarters, which
also had been a beautiful building in a past age, its great lions still
standing on either side of its broad entranceway, facing toward the
west.
No, it was not the teivos; but what could it be, and then it dawned upon
me that it must be an arm of the new law that Or-tis had announced, and
such it proved to be—a special military tribunal for special offenders.
This was the first session, and it chanced to be my luck that I
committed my indiscretion just in time to be haled before it when it
needed someone to experiment on.
I was made to stand under guard at the foot of the table, and as I
looked up and down the rows of faces on either side, I saw not a
friendly eye—no person of my class or race—just swine, swine, swine.
Low-browed, brute-faced men, slouching in their chairs, slovenly in
their dress, uncouth, unwashed, unwholesome looking—this was the
personnel of the court that was to try me—for what?
I was soon to find out. Or-tis asked who appeared against me and what
was the charge and then I saw Soor for the first time. He should have
been in his district collecting his taxes; but he wasn’t. No, he was
here on more pleasant business. He eyed me malevolently and stated the
charge: Resisting an officer of the law in the discharge of his duty,
and assaulting same with a deadly weapon with intent to commit murder.
They all looked ferociously at me, expecting, no doubt, that I would
tremble with terror, as most of my class did before them; but I couldn’t
tremble—the charge struck me as so ridiculous. As a matter of fact, I
am afraid that I grinned. I know I did.
“What is it,” asked Or-tis, “that amuses you so?”
“The charge,” I replied.
“What is there funny about that?” he asked again—“men have been shot
for less—men who were not suspected of treasonable acts.”
“I did not resist an officer in the discharge of his duty,” I said. “It
is not one of a tax collector’s duties to put a family out of its pen at
the market place, is it?—a pen they have occupied for three
generations? I ask you, Or-tis, is it?”
Or-tis half rose from his chair. “How dare you address me thus?” he
cried.
The others turned scowling faces upon me, and beating the table with
their dirty fists they all shouted and bellowed at me at once; but I
kept my chin up as I had sworn to do until I died and I laughed in their
faces.
Finally they quieted down, and again I put my question to Or-tis and
I’ll give him credit for answering it fairly. “No,” he said, “only the
teivos may do that—the teivos or the commandant.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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