The Desert Spear

kiosks were arrayed, not to mention countless roving food and trinket vendors, porters to carry purchases, and great crowds of shoppers, haggling for bargains.
    “It’s bigger than I remember,” Jardir said in surprise. “So many twists and turns. The Maze seems less daunting.”
    “It is said no man may walk so far as to pass every vendor in a single day,” Abban said, “and more than one fool has been left trying to find their way clear of it when the
dama
sound the curfew from the minarets of Sharik Hora.”
    “So many
khaffit,
” Jardir said in wonder, looking out at a sea of shaved faces and tan vests. “Even though I hear them in the tallies every morning, the number never truly struck me. You outnumber everyone else in Krasia.”
    “There are benefits to being denied the Maze,” Abban said. “Long life is one of them.”
    Jardir nodded. Another thing he had never considered before. “Does your heart ever miss it? Beneath the cowardice, do you ever wish you had seen the inside of the Maze?”
    Abban limped quietly for a long time. “What does it matter?” he asked at last. “It was not meant to be.”
    They walked a bit farther, when Jardir stopped suddenly, staring. Across the street stood a giant
khaffit,
easily seven feet tall and rippling with muscle under his tan vest and cap. He had a huge barrel of water slung under each long arm, seeming no more strained than if he were holding a pair of sandals.
    “You there!” Jardir called, but the giant did not reply. Jardir strode across the street to him, grabbing him by the arm. The
khaffit
turned suddenly, startled, and nearly dropped the water barrels before he caught himself. “I called to you,
khaffit,
” Jardir growled.
    Abban put a hand on Jardir’s arm. “He did not hear you, Deliverer. The man was born without hearing.” Indeed, the giant was moaning and pointing frantically toward his ears. Abban made a few quick gestures with his hands that calmed him.
    “Deaf?” Jardir asked. “Did that cause him to fail at
Hannu Pash
?”
    Abban laughed. “Children with such faults are never called to
Hannu Pash
in the first place, Deliverer. This man was
khaffit
the moment he was born.”
    Another
khaffit,
a fit-looking man of some thirty-five years, came out of a booth, stopping short in shock at the sight of them.
    “Hold,” Jardir commanded as the man tried to escape. Immediately the
khaffit
fell to his knees, pressing his face into the dirt.
    “O great Shar’Dama Ka,” the man said, groveling. “I am unworthy of your notice.”
    “Have no fear, my brother,” Jardir said, laying a gentle hand on the terrified man’s shoulder. “I have no tribe. No caste. I stand for all Krasia,
dama, Sharum,
and
khaffit
alike.”
    The tension in the man seemed to ease at Jardir’s words. “Tell me, why do you wear the tan, brother?”
    “I am a coward, Deliverer,” the man said, his voice tightening with shame. “My will broke on my first night in the Maze. I cut my tether, and I…ran from my
ajin’pal.
” He began to weep, and Jardir let it run its course. Then he squeezed the man’s shoulder, making him look up.
    “You may walk behind me on my tour of the bazaar,” he said, and the man gasped in shock. “The earless one, as well,” Jardir told Abban, who made more signs to the giant. The two men fell obediently in behind Abban and Jardir, followed by all who had witnessed the event, man and woman. Even the vendors left their wares unattended to walk behind the Deliverer.
    Everywhere he looked, Jardir saw more and more fit men in the tan, each with his own reasons for being denied the black. None dared lie to him when pressed as to why.
    “I was sickly as a child,” one said.
    “I cannot see colors,” another said.
    “My father bribed the
dama
to overlook me,” a third dared admit.
    “I need lenses for my eyes,” many told him, and others had been thrown from the
sharaj
simply for being left-handed.
    Jardir squeezed the shoulder of each one, and gave them permission to follow him. Before long, a huge crowd trailed him, sweeping everyone it passed up in its wake. Finally, Jardir looked back at them all, a throng of thousands, and nodded. He leapt atop a vendor’s cart to stand above the crowd, looking over the women and
khaffit.
    “I am Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir asu Kaji!” he cried, holding up the Spear of Kaji. “I am Shar’Dama Ka!” The crowd roared in response, startling Jardir with a strength and power