The harbors were full of ships from the mainland, all identifiable by the colors of sails and standards flying from prow and mast, yet Khama saw no sign of invaders’ ships. No looming dreadnought floating in the clouds above the green palace. He wondered how the emissary of Zyung had come to Ongthaia. Perhaps he flew under his own power. He might even be one of the Old Breed. Khama could remember few of their names after so many ages.
The royal harbor of Morovanga was crowded with vessels, mostly Jade Isle traders. The Bird of War and the Kingspear had entered the harbor with an escort of six ships. The rest of the triple fleet assembled itself in a crescent that enclosed the western side of the great island. Ongthaia kept no warships among its own fleet. The Jade Folk traded peaceably with every country–even Khyrei during Ianthe’s rule–therefore they had no need of armies or galleons of war. However, their traders were big and sleek, with massive hulls that could hold half a legion if required. In previous ages those holds had carried slaves, and the Jade Isles had built their early reputation in that unwholesome trade.
Some recent ancestor of Zharua’s had received a message from the Sea God that slave-trading was an unholy practice, so that noble monarch outlawed it forevermore. Khama believed there must still be an illegal black market for slaves here. The Jade Folk still kept slaves for themselves, but they no longer bought or sold them with outsiders. On these islands slaves were simply the lowest form of social class. The poorest of the poor were born into it, yet any of them could gain freedom through years of hard work and loyalty.
Khama wondered how many slaves staffed the great Jade Palace as he walked through its gates in the company of Undutu and D’zan. A company of Mumbazans in white cloaks and plumed helms followed them, as well as a cadre of Yaskathans in chain mail and crimson tabards. As a sign of respect for the Jade King’s court, they carried no spears. Yet each warrior retained his sword, curved cutlasses for the Mumbazans and longblades for the Yaskathans, all worn at the waist. The Yaskathan King was the sole exception: D’zan carried a greatsword on his back. The Sun God’s mark was set into the scabbard with a pattern of rubies and diamonds. Khama carried no weapons at all; it had never been his custom to bear arms. Word of his powers usually assured a peaceful reception wherever he traveled. Perhaps this would not be the case with an emissary of Zyung waiting inside these viridian walls.
The procession had wound through the narrow streets from the royal harbor, drawing the stares of curious Jade Folk and the smiles of scampering children. Sages and merchant lords watched the mainland Kings from the balconies of their green towers and the eaves of garden walks. There were few horses on the Jades, so most of the wealthy here traveled on slave-borne litters. The poor walked, and those who could afford beasts of burden rode shaggy yaks with curved horns. A squad of guardsmen mounted on these curious beasts had greeted Undutu and D’zan at the wharves, guided them on the quickest route through the metropolis, and now granted them access through the King’s Gate.
The city itself smelled of sea winds, ripe citrus, and the smokes of spicy cooking. Within the walls of the Jade Palace these odors were replaced entirely by incense redolent of jasmine and purple lotus blossoms. Murals in a thousand colors decorated every surface, from floor to walls to ceiling. Precious stones gleamed in swirling arabesques and glyphs between pillars of smoky quartz, ruddy chalcedony, or the ever-present jade. Slaves in gaudy robes dropped to their knees as the mainland Kings passed through the palace halls.
Tiny red monkeys skittered up and down the pillars wearing jeweled collars. Young nobles gathered the tittering beasts on their shoulders and made way for the foreign delegation. A sense of urgency hung in the air stronger than the smoke of incense that burned in ubiquitous braziers. Sunbeams fell through cleverly designed skylights, bringing the colors of the palace to life in all their splendor.
King Zharua was a fat man with tiny eyes. He sat upon a throne of pale jade–what else?–carved into the likeness of a thirteen-rayed sun above his round head. His hair was black, cut short, and his eyes were dark slits above brown cheeks and a tiny chin. A wisp of mustache fell from either side of his broad-lipped mouth. A necklace heavy with topazes and opals hung on the breast of his silk robe, and his tall golden collar rose higher than his golden crown. Khama marveled at the crown’s simplicity, given the opulence of everything else in the Jade King’s domain. A single emerald was set directly at the center of Zharua’s forehead.
A black tiger slept at the Jade King’s feet, its collar chained to a ring at the base of the throne. A bevy of beautiful women lay upon cushions spread across the royal dais. Zharua kept a harem that was the envy of the world. Beauties from every kingdom lounged about the monarch and his tiger; they stared at the visiting Kings with heavy-lidded eyes. Yet many of these concubines were natives of the Jade Isles with flowing black hair and olive skin. Khama had heard an old saying: “To be born beautiful in the Jade Isles is to be the King’s treasure.” Now he saw the truth of the adage. He thought of Emi’s dark eyes staring into his own, and he looked from the harem girls toward the emissary of Zyung.