Free Temple of a Thousand Faces by John Shors Page A

boomed. A storm rose up, obscuring her cries. Once the thunder became regular, he stopped shouting. She could see that his thigh was red fromwhere he’d hit it, and she closed her eyes, fearing him even though he hadn’t touched her.
    His chest heaving, he lowered himself in front of her, his lips drawing close to her ear. “Do you wish to live?” he whispered.
    “No.”
    “You should.”
    “Better…to die.”
    He shook his head. “Once I was all alone. I sought death. But now I seek life.”
    She drew away from him.
    “On the outside,” he whispered, “you must look as if you want to die, as if my beatings pull you toward death. But on the inside, you must stand tall; you must seek life. And know that despite whatever I do on the outside, for the sake of others, I also want you to live.”
    Voisanne shuddered, trying to hold back a sob.
    “So tomorrow, when you leave this room, leave it as if I’ve broken you. Always leave it as if I’ve broken you.”
    “Why?” she said, her voice quiet but ragged. “Why do you help me?”
    “Because you’ve suffered enough. I am a Cham. The blood of your people is on my sword, on my hands. But I say you’ve suffered enough and there’s time yet for you to live.”
    A tiring but manageable walk to the northwest of Angkor Wat, the ancient, elegant temple of Baksei Chamkrong rose into the dark night. The temple was similar to a stepped pyramid except for the top, which was dominated by a brick tower encased in stucco and carved with inscriptions that praised previous Khmer kings.
    Baksei Chamkrong meant “the bird who shelters under itswings” and referred to the legend of a Khmer king who was forced to flee a siege. As he made his way from the battle, an immense bird landed next to him and spread its wings, protecting him. He was then able to stay and fight his foes. Indeed, the temple seemed to have been created to celebrate such protection, because inside the tower a golden statue of the Hindu God Shiva, and his consort, Devi, stood on a raised platform.
    The golden statue appeared to sway in the candlelight, and Indravarman studied it carefully. Though he had already plundered Angkor of some of its riches, he wasn’t certain what to do with this statue. He admired it greatly and, now that he was the ruler of Angkor, he was in no rush to destroy its beauty.
    Standing next to Indravarman was his chief assassin, Po Rame, who was tall, lean, and well muscled. Though Po Rame carried a spear, his weapons of choice were poison, knives, and a braided cord that he used to strangle his enemies from behind. Hanging from Po Rame’s neck was a tiger’s claw that came from a beast he had stalked and killed. The man’s regal face reminded Indravarman of those of the countless stone statues around Angkor—with mouths fixed permanently in half smiles and eyes that seemed to see all. The assassin’s skin was lighter in color than most of his countrymen’s, which pleased him.
    Indravarman looked down into the courtyard that surrounded the temple. Several colossal ficus trees sheltered his men from a steady rain. Standing next to one of the trees was Thida, who had been captured after the invasion and was the most beautiful woman Indravarman had ever seen. Even Angkor Wat, he thought, replete in all its splendor, could not duplicate her exquisiteness. It was as if the sun had never touched her skin, which appeared as smooth as Siamese silk. Her body was sculpted and perfect. Her eyes were wider than those of most Khmers, and her voluptuous lips seemed to celebrate the virtues of her femininity.Her name meant “full moon” and Indravarman thought her parents had been wise to select it for her.
    During the past several weeks, the Cham king had reveled in the company of many Khmer women. But earlier that day, once he’d seen Thida, the other women had been sent away. He hadn’t spoken to her yet, however, and now, as he watched her stand in the rain, he wanted to touch those