King of The Murgos

slanting stone ramp, made slippery by clinging seaweed. Ce'Nedra looked down at the garbage-strewn water sloshing below and sniffed disdainfully. "Why do seaports always look—and smell— the same?" she murmured.
    "Probably because the people who live in them find all that water irresistible," Velvet replied.
    Ce'Nedra looked puzzled.
    "It's just too convenient," the Drasnian girl explained. "They always seem to forget that the garbage they throw into the harbor this morning will come back to haunt them with the afternoon tide."
    When they reached the top of the ramp, a self-important Murgo stood waiting for them, his heavy black robe flapping in the stiff breeze. "You there," he said arrogantly. "State your business."
    Sadi stepped forward and gave the Murgo an oily bow. "I am Ussa," he replied, "registered slave trader from Sthiss Tor. I have all the necessary documents."
    "There's no slave market in Rak Urga," the Murgo declared suspiciously. "Hand over your documents."
    "Of course." Sadi dipped his hand inside his green robe and brought out a packet of folded parchment.
    "If you're not dealing in slaves, what are you doing here?" the Murgo demanded, taking the packet from him.
    "I'm merely doing a favor for my good friend Jaharb, Chief Elder of the Dagashi," Sadi told him.
    The Murgo paused in the very act of opening the packet. "Jaharb?" he said a bit apprehensively.
    Sadi nodded. "Since I was passing this way anyhow, he asked me to stop by and deliver a message to Agachak, the Hierarch of Rak Urga."
    The Murgo swallowed hard and thrust the documents back into Sadi's hands as if they had suddenly grown hot. "On your way, then," he said shortly.
    "My thanks, noble sir," Sadi said with another bow. "Excuse me, but could you direct me to the Temple of Torak? This is my first visit to Rak Urga."
    "It lies at the head of the street running up from this quay," the Murgo answered.
    "Again my thanks. If you'll give me your name, I'll tell Agachak how helpful you were."
    The Murgo's face took on a pasty hue. "That won't be necessary," he said quickly, then turned and walked away.
    "The names Jaharb and Agachak appear to have a certain impact here," Silk suggested.
    Sadi smiled. "I imagine that, if you were to mention them in the same breath, every door in town would open for you," he agreed.
    Rak Urga was not an attractive city. The streets were narrow, and the buildings were built of roughly squared-off stones and topped by gray slate roofs that overhung the streets, putting the thoroughfares into a perpetually gloomy twilight. It was not merely that gray bleakness, however, that made the city so dreary. There was about it an air of cold unconcern for normal human feelings, coupled with a sense of lingering fear. Grim-faced Murgos in their black robes moved through the streets, neither speaking nor even acknowledging the presence of their fellow townsmen.
    "Why are these people all so unfriendly toward each other?" Eriond asked Polgara.
    "It's a cultural trait," she told him. "Murgos were the aristocracy at Cthol Mishrak before Torak ordered them to migrate to this continent. They are absolutely convinced that Murgos are the supreme creation of the universe—and every one of them is convinced that he's superior to all the rest. It doesn't leave them very much to talk about."
    There was a pall of greasy black smoke hanging over the city, bringing with it a sickening stench.
    "What is that dreadful smell?" Velvet asked, wrinkling her nose.
    "I don't think you really want to know," Silk told her with a bleak look on his face.
    "Surely they aren't still—" Garion left it hanging.
    "It seems so," the little man replied.
    "But Torak's dead. What's the sense of it?"
    "Grolims have never really been all that much concerned about the fact that what they do doesn't make sense, Garion," Belgarath said. "The source of their power has always been terror. If they want to keep the power, they have to continue the terror."
    They rounded a comer and saw a huge black building ahead of them. A column of dense smoke rose from a large chimney jutting up from the slate roof, blowing first this way and then that in the gusty wind coming up from the harbor.
    "Is that the Temple?" Durnik asked.
    "Yes " Polgara replied. She pointed at the two massive, nail-studded doors forming the only break in the blank, featureless wall. Directly above those doors there hung the polished steel replica of the face of Torak. Garion felt the familiar chill