Free The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels ) by Geraldine Harris

pressures he was too weak to resist. Then Kerish opened
his own mind and tried to draw Cil-Rahgen in. The Chirazian felt the mocking
circlet on his brow and saw himself through the Prince's compassionate eyes.
Horrified, Cil-Rahgen pushed back the inviting presence. In a second the link
was over and it was only a foreign hostage who sat beside the Khan.
    O-grak himself yawned. “On Gannoth, you
say?”
    “The Prince of Gannoth wishes to raise a
fleet to sail across the Great Ocean,” said Kerish, “and find the land of our
ancestors.”
    “A brave enterprise,” murmured Cil-Rahgen.
    “And a worthless one,” said O-grak grimly. “Young
men are alike in every country. Drink your wine, Prince, it is courteous to be
drunk during what is to follow.”
    “You will let the Galkians stay?” asked
Cil-Rahgen.
    “Our souls are shaped as much by our
enemies as by our friends,” answered O-grak. “Your souls are on your ship, and
we are not afraid to show ours to any man. You do not understand us, Prince.
Did you know that in the Five Kingdoms it is said that Galkians have no souls?”
    “All men have souls, “ said Kerish,
startled and intrigued.
    “Then show me yours,” demanded O-grak. “Ah,
you cannot, for all the Godborn think themselves so holy.”
    “Look into the eyes of a beast, and then
into mine, and perhaps you will see the soul.”
    “A good answer, Prince. I might even accept
it, but tell me, how do you know the shape of your soul and whether it is
growing fair or crookedly?”
    Kerish frowned. “I suppose, by reflecting
on my acts and thoughts.. “
    “Men make cloudy mirrors,” said O-grak, “and
how often do we look in them?”
    “Rarely.”
    “Your Gentle God trusts you too far,”
continued O-grak. “Our Goddess is more merciful. She lets us watch the shaping
of our souls.”
    The head and shoulders of a serf, stooping
to drag something heavy behind him, appeared in the stairwell.
    “I warn you, Prince, it is not permissible
to ask to whom a soul belongs, though I have not been struck down yet for
guessing in silence!”
    O-grak grinned but Cil-Rahgen's answering
smile was forced and it was obvious that silence would have fallen if custom
had not forbidden it.
    As a procession of serfs carried cloaked
burdens to the empty benches, all life and humor seeped out of the talk and
laughter at the tables. Kerish found himself wishing that he was closer to the
steady presence of his brother. Then across the room, their eyes met and he saw
that Forollkin was equally disturbed. The serfs stripped off the cloaks and
shuffled away, leaving Kerish with a clear view of the inhabitants of the Third
Tower.
    The wooden figures were mostly human in
shape, but none of them could be mistaken for the portrait of a living man. No
two were alike. One had eyes in the palms of its hands, a second bit its own
limbs, a third had grown a double-head whose faces could never see each other,
a fourth was covered in thorns, and a fifth had a jagged hole in its breast. In
some of the figures there was dignity or even beauty but most were hideous or
grotesque. Half fascinated and half horrified, Kerish wished the figures covered
again, but he couldn't stop himself wondering which of them was the soul of
O-grak.
    The Khan rose from his place. “Men of the
Towers of O-grak, speak of the deeds that shape our souls. Tell what has been
and what will be done.”
    He called on the oldest of his guards to
begin. The grey-haired warrior stood with his back to the silent benches. He
recounted his deeds in the last campaign against Galkis and vowed to kill twice
as many men in the next. A second man got up and admitted to cowardice in a snake
hunt, a third explained his failure to avenge a murdered cousin, a fourth
described his recent marriage, a fifth acknowledged that he was envious of his
elder brother. So it went on around the room, with straightforward accounts,
proud boasts or muttered confessions; all received in silence. How