King of The Murgos

I'd been able to see his reaction when she kissed him." He picked up his razor.
    "Why do all Nyissan men shave their heads?" Ce'Nedra asked him curiously.
    "There are all manner of nasty little insects in Nyissa, your Majesty, and hair provides them with a perfect nesting place."
    She gave him a startled look, her hand going unconsciously to her coppery curls.
    "I shouldn't worry too much," he smiled. "Most of the time, they're dormant in winter."
    About noon several days later, the road they were following began to climb up out of the jungles into the foothills. The damp chill that had lain over the normally steaming swamps of Nyissa moderated as they climbed, and it was pleasantly warm as they moved up into the hardwood forest lying along the eastern frontier. The river began to tumble over stones beside the road, and its murky waters grew clear as they rode deeper into the hills.
    "The ford is just up ahead," Sadi told them as he led them around a broad curve in the road. A stone bridge had once crossed the river there, but time and the turbulent water had eaten away its foundations and tumbled it into the riverbed. The green water rushed over the fallen stones, swift and foaming. Upstream from the fallen bridge, there was a wide stretch of gravel-bottomed shallows that rippled, sparkling in the sun. A well-traveled trail led down to the ford.
    "What about the leeches?" Silk asked, eyeing the water with suspicion.
    "The water's a little too fast for them, Prince Kheldar," Sadi replied. "Their bodies are too soft to take much bouncing around on rocks." He rode confidently down into the rippling stream and led them on across.
    "That village I mentioned is just up ahead," he told them as they emerged from the stream. "It should only take me an hour or so to pick up what we'll need."
    "The rest of us can wait here, then," Belgarath said, swinging down from his saddle. "You go with him, Silk."
    "I can manage," Sadi protested.
    "I'm sure you can. Let's just call it a precaution.

    How am I going to explain to the shopkeeper what a Drasnian is doing with me?

    Lie to him. I'm sure you'll be very convincing." Garion dismounted and walked up the slope of the river bank. These were the people he loved most in the world, but sometimes their idle banter set his teeth on edge. Even though he knew that they really meant nothing by it, it seemed somehow to reflect an indifferent frivolity, a callous lack of concern for his personal tragedy—and more importantly, for Ce'Nedra's. He stood atop the river bank, looking with unseeing eyes down the descending gorge of the River of the Serpent and out over the dense green canopy of the jungles of the snake-people. He would be glad to get out of Nyissa. It was not so much the clinging mud, the stink of the swamps, nor even the clouds of insects that hovered perpetually in the air. The real problem with Nyissa was the fact that one could seldom see for more than a few feet in any direction. For some reason, Garion felt an overpowering need to see for long distances, and the obscuring trees and undergrowth that had blocked his vision since they had been in Nyissa had increasingly irritated him. A number of times he had caught himself just on the verge of clenching his will and blasting out long, clear avenues through the jungle. When Silk and Sadi returned, the little Drasnian's face was angry.
    "They're only for show, Prince Kheldar," Sadi protested mildly. "We're not actually going to have any slaves with us anyway, so there won't really be anyone to wear them, will there?"
    "It's the idea of them that offends me."
    "What's this?" Belgarath asked.
    Sadi shrugged. "I purchased a few shackles and slave bells. Kheldar doesn't approve."
    "I didn't like the whips either," Silk added.
    "I explained that to you, Kheldar."
    "I know. It's still disgusting."
    "Of course it is. Nyissans are a disgusting people. I thought you knew that."
    "We can sort out comparative moralities later on," Belgarath said. "Let's move along."
    The road they followed rose steeply up from the river, taking them deeper and deeper into the foothills. The hardwoods gave way to gnarled evergreens and low-lying heather. Great, rounded white boulders lay in scattered profusion among the dark green trees, and the sky overhead was an intense blue. They camped that night in a grove of low, twisted junipers, building their fire against a boulder so that its white surface could reflect back both light and heat. Above them rose a