King of The Murgos

slate-hard black eyes. "What's your name, slaver?" he asked Sadi finally.
    "I am Ussa of Sthiss Tor, good master, a duly registered slave trader. I have all the proper documents, if you'd care to examine them."
    "How is it that none of your servants are Nyissan?"
    Sadi spread his hands innocently. "The war here in the south makes most of my countrymen a bit reluctant to venture into Cthol Murgos just now," he explained, "so I was forced to hire foreign adventurers instead."
    "Perhaps," the Dagashi said in a flat, unemotional voice. He gave Sadi a penetrating look. "Are you interested in money, Ussa of Sthiss Tor?" he asked suddenly.
    Sadi's dead eyes brightened, and he rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Well, now," he said, "why don't we talk about that? Just exactly how may I serve you? And how much would you be willing to pay me?"
    "You will need to discuss that with my master," Tajak replied. "My orders were to find a party of slavers and tell them that I could put them in touch with someone who could see that they were well-paid for a fairly minor service. Are you interested in such a proposition?"
    Sadi hesitated, glancing surreptitiously at Belgarath for some kind of instruction.
    "Well?" Tajak said impatiently. "Are you interested?"
    "Of course," Sadi answered carefully. "Who is your master, Tajak? Just who is this benefactor who wants to make me rich?"
    "He will tell you his name and what you must do for him when you meet him—at Kahsha."
    "Kahsha?" Sadi exclaimed. "You didn't say that I'd have to go there."
    "There are many things I didn't say. Well? Do you agree to go with us to Kahsha?"
    "Do I have any choice?"
    "No."
    Sadi spread his arms helplessly.
    —What's Kahsha—Garion's fingers asked Silk.
    —The headquarters of the Dagashi. It's got an unsavory reputation.—
    "All right," Tajak said decisively, "let's break down these tents and get ready to leave. It's many hours to Kahsha, and mid afternoon is not a good time to be out in the desert."
    The sun was well up when they rode out of the mouth of the ravine with Tajak's Dagashi formed up watchfully around them. Out in the wasteland, the defeated Malloreans had begun their hopeless trek.
    "Will they not attempt to use your wells, noble Tajak?" Sadi asked.
    "Probably—but they won't be able to find them. We cover our wells with piles of rock, and all piles of rock in the desert look the same."
    There were Murgo troops at the base of the foothills, watching the dispirited retreat of the Malloreans. As Tajak approached them, he made a quick, imperious gesture to them, and they grudgingly stood aside.
    As they rode through a narrow defile that opened out into the desert, Garion took the opportunity to pull his horse in beside Belgarath's. "Grandfather," he whispered urgently, "what should we do?"
    "We wait and see what this is all about," the old man replied. "Let's not do anything to give away our disguise— not yet, anyway."
    As they rode out into the furnace heat of the desert, Sadi looked back at the Murgo soldiers lining the tops of the last low line of hills. "Your countrymen are most accommodating," he said to Tajak. "I'm surprised, though, that they didn't stop us to ask one or two questions."
    "They know who we are," Tajak said shortly, "and they know better than to interfere with us." He looked at the already-sweating eunuch. "It would be wise of you to keep your mouth closed now, Ussa. The sun draws the moisture out of a man's body very quickly in this desert, and an open mouth is the first thing it attacks. It's quite possible to talk yourself to death out here."
    Sadi gave him a startled look and then clamped his lips tightly together.
    The heat was unbelievable. The desert floor was for the most part a vast, flat bed of reddish-brown gravel, broken only by occasional heaps of dark boulders and widely scattered stretches of gleaming white sand. The world seemed to shimmer and undulate as heat waves rose from the blistering gravel. The sun was like a club beating down on Garion's head and neck; though he was sweating profusely, the moisture evaporated from his body so quickly that his clothing remained totally dry.
    They rode into that furnace for an hour, and then Tajak signaled for a halt. With a quick gesture, he sent five of his men off across a low rock ridge lying to the northeast. A short while later they returned, carrying lukewarm water in bags made of whole goatskins.
    "Water the horses first," Tajak said tersely. Then he strode