"Its actual name is the Aranthian Amphitheater," said Yakub Ben Tawfik, halting his horse. "But everyone calls it the Palace of Blood."

Jagutai Jen Shian reined up beside him, gazing at the coliseum, Khymir's mightiest, according to Yakub; it stood four hundred feet high at least, made all of purple-black marble veined with
scarlet.

"Unsurpassable," Yakub said, stretching his hands towards the brooding mass, his heavy silken sleeves slipping down his pudgy forearms, bunching at his elbows. "The slaughterhouse of
slaughterhouses---!"

A tremendous roar erupted from within.

"Listen to that crowd!" Yakub shouted. "I wonder what they saw?"

The sun glared down, hanging at zenith in a hazy blue sky; Jagutai wiped sweat from his brow, eyeing him with contempt. Distant thunder rolled, threatening rain that would never come.

Lowering his arms, Yakub sighed, folding his thick fingers over the gold pommel of his saddle. Jagutai noted, not for the first time, how the merchant's many rings bit into his swollen shiny
flesh.

"Yes, I know you despise me," the Kadjafi said. "Doubtless you won't enjoy the festivities today. But surely you can appreciate the genius that went into such an edifice. Just look at that facade!"

Every level was distinguished by a different style of column; between each brace of pillars, sheltered under arches writhing with carven vines, was a frieze depicting some sort of combat or
mutilation. The sheer variety of carnage was astonishing---Jagutai, who had fought on battlefields all over Thorgon Karrelssa, could not identify many of the weapons being portrayed. The reliefs seemed most skillful to him, although the competence of the work seemed to decrease the higher it was situated.

With the dry dourness that he had been at pains to perfect ever since childhood, Jagutai said: "The figures near the top are not so good."

"A concession to economy," Yakub answered. "The reliefs up there are the farthest away. The best sculptors were assigned to the bottom."

Jagutai shook his head. "The stone at the bottom is lighter." "So?"

"Faded. Slightly weathered, as well. That wall was built over decades. Centuries, perhaps."

"I don't follow you..."

Hardly surprising, Jagutai thought, explaining:

"The work at the top is less competent because the sculptors here are losing their skills."

"All of them?" Yakub asked skeptically.

"It's plainly a trend," Jagutai said. "Apparent everywhere we've gone. The best sculpture is older. Generally much older."

"I hadn't noticed," said Yakub. "Of course, I'm not the Khan's Eyes."

"He should thank the Almighty," Jagutai said.

Yakub laughed off the insult, and indicated a portal to the right of the cavernous main gate. "No need to enter with the riff-raff."

As they dismounted, two livery-boys came up. Yakub gave them each a silver coin, and they led the horses away.

"Will those boys remember us?" Jagutai asked.

"Your father has no stable hands?" Yakub asked. "Wherever did you acquire this urge to do everything for yourself?"

Jagutai did not bother to respond.

"Don't worry," Yakub said. "They're punished severely if they make a mistake. The last time I was here, one brought the wrong horse to the man I was staying with. My friend was allowed to bring the little wretch home with him. We removed a few non-essential parts, returned him sadder but wiser the next day."

Revolted, Jagutai could not help wondering if Yakub realized how he had undermined his own argument. They made for the portal.

"That was truly an evening," Yakub said wistfully.Jagutai felt an urge to spit on him, restrained himself. The native Khymirians were bad enough, but there was something peculiarly horrible about a Kadjafi who found their ways agreeable. Jagutai, a scion of the Urguz nomads who had conquered the Kadjafim, had great esteem for Kadjafi culture; the Urguz rulers had adopted their subjects' religion, and had come to regard themselves as the Protectors of the Faithful. How an obvious apostate like Yakub, a convert to Khymirian paganism, could continue to enjoy the Great Khan's confidence was beyond Jagutai. True, Yakub had spent considerable time in Khymir, knew the city and its people. He had made many friends, if indeed Khymirians could be described in such fashion. But the man was filth, utterly untrustworthy.

"You really should try to relax," Yakub said as they neared the archway. "There's so much in life to enjoy."

"Such as mangling stableboys?" Jagutai asked.

Yakub smiled at him. "Precisely."

Going to the gatekeeper, he said: "We're the guests of Duke Kassandimir."

"Certainly, my Lord," the other said. "Let me just consult my list..."

Yakub tapped his foot impatiently. "Yakub Ben Tawfik and Jagutai Jen Shian?"

"Ah yes, here, My Lord. Do you know the way to his box?"
Yakub nodded.

The keeper waved the guards aside. Jagutai and Yakub proceeded up the ramp. The tunnel was dark and cool, a welcome reprieve from the Khymirian heat; but it did not seem to make much difference to Yakub, who began to pant furiously as he wrestled his bulk up the incline.