The Mark of the Golden Dragon by Louis A. Meyer Read Free Book Online Page A

He is plainly still guardedly feeling me and my intentions out.
    "My thanks, Arun," I say, my head still down. "And what this unworthy one has is yours ... but you can see that what I have is nothing..."
    Then I lift my eyes and go on. "But I may still be of some use to you."
    "Ah. And how is that, strange girl?"
    "I have heard that you were to marry a girl of this village, and that she is young and shy and fair of face and beloved of you and beloved by you in return," I say, cutting right to the chase. "What is her name, if this stranger girl may be so bold to ask?"
    His face darkens.
    "Her name is Sanda."
    "And..."
    "And the headman Ohnmar will take her for his own."
    "When will that happen?"
    "The day after tomorrow."
    I can see his fists clench and unclench over and over again in the semidarkness of the hut.
    "And you will do nothing about it?"
    "Do? What should I do?" he asks, his voice a strangled hiss. "I would kill him if I could, but I cannot! He is just too strong! Run away? Yes, Sanda has agreed to run with me into the jungle and hide in the bush and sleep wrapped in each other's arms, but there are tigers there. How could I protect her from them? How could I provide for her in the woods? I am a fisherman, not a woodsman. How could I—"
    There is a murmur from the old woman and Arun says, plainly embarrassed, "Pardon me, Ju kau-jing yi. My mother informs me I am without manners and am being rude to a guest and she is right. Please forgive me and eat."
    The woman places a single bowl before us and we each dip in our fingertips and scoop out some of the food. I bring it to my mouth and find it simple but good.
Ummm.
A mixture of grain and fish and spices gathered from the forest around us. It would probably be a lot richer if the badmash Ohnmar and his crew weren't taking their cut of the catch.
    We eat and I, for one, am grateful for it. At least it's not raw clams.
    Cups of coconut milk are set out and we sip it and find it good. Then I get back to business.
    "Why have you not rid yourself of this man?"
    "Rid the village of him? Ohnmar and his men have weapons! My friends and I have none!" He stands and glares down at me.
    Ah, so you do have some friends...
    "Oh, but I think you do have weapons, Arun. My poor eyes see that you are clean-shaven. That means you at least have knives. Why have you not defended yourselves and your women?"
    He looks down, ashamed, and then again he sits.
    "Yes. True. We have knives. All fishermen have knives. But little knives are not broadswords. I ... I tried to fight but..."
    I reach out and place my hand upon his arm. "I have heard that you were very brave in standing up to Ohnmar. I did not mean to shame you."
    He is quiet then, his dark eyes hooded. I observe that he is a very handsome lad, tall and straight, with glossy black hair and deep brown eyes. I suspect that Ravi will look a lot like him when he grows up.
    "And you do have other weapons, friend Arun, but maybe you do not consider them such. May I tell you something of a land and the warlike games that are played there?"
    He nods, and I begin...
    "In this land, a faraway place called Roma, there are games held, very barbaric games in a great ... open space"—I do not think he could grasp the idea of something like the Coliseum—"and men fight each other to the death and they are called gladiators. Some of these gladiators wear suits of armor and bear great broadswords, and some have bows and arrows ... but some, dear Arun, are armed only with net and trident."
    He listens, amazed. "But how can that be? They must be quickly killed!"
    I know that Ravi must be having a hell of a time translating all this, but he does seem to be getting the meaning of my words across the language barrier.
    "Nay, gentle Arun, they are not—they have as much chance as any other gladiator on that bloody ground."
    "But how?"
    "Because a well-thrown net can ensnare a sword such that it cannot be swung, and if the bearer of that sword is so