“Do you see it?” Paris pointed a finger at what was happening. Contrary to the laws of physics, the liquid filled the hieroglyphs unevenly. It skirted some of them, and all the trickles sought out a single symbol, the lowest hieroglyph. “It’s a pretty entertaining sight, isn’t it?”
“What does that symbol mean?” Hadjar asked after almost the entire solution had gathered in one of the hieroglyphs, leaving a few drops behind here and there or bypassing some of the others completely.
“You see,” Paris was clearly puzzled by what was happening, “we don’t know their exact meaning. We got the stone after an imperial caravan fell into quicksand. We don’t know where they were bringing it.”
Hadjar could take a guess, but said nothing.
“In all honesty, this particular hieroglyph can mean a sword, a saber, or war, or music, or dancing, or fishing. Or maybe nothing at all.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
“We don’t know how to determine the direction of the talent, but can see its depth...” Paris’ smile was a little dodgy. “Watch carefully, Northerner, and observe how it shines.”
Hadjar really did witness a show that he’d never seen before.
The monolithic stone suddenly became like a glass vessel with transparent walls that had a whirlwind of unknown power inside it. This whirlwind swirled and raged, trying to break out, but failed. The vessel began to shine as it emitted energy. Hadjar had to squint at the glare. Then darkness came again.
“Well, not bad,” Paris issued his verdict. “In the Empire, this level is classified as yellow.”
“Yellow?”
“Yes. There are several levels of talent: white is the simplest, lowest one. The vast majority of people have it. Then gray, which is a little better. Those who have it are faster on the path of cultivation. Then yellow. That’s yours. Then orange, blue, and rainbow. They say that the people who have a rainbow talent are geniuses who are blessed by the Heavens themselves. According to the legends, someone with a rainbow talent founded the Empire of Darnassus, and by the age of nine, he reached the level of Spirit Knight, and by the end of his first century of life, he became an Immortal.”
He became a Spirit Knight at nine...
“But don’t despair. With a yellow talent, you will be welcomed with open arms in most of the schools and sects of the Empire.”
Hadjar didn’t understand why he was so surprised by the words at first.
“Why did you say ‘you will be’?”
“I’ve lived long enough in this world, Northerner. I understand where you are going and why. I wish you success on your journey. It came to pass that our roads crossed and we’ll be working together for some time, but then we’ll part. I like to leave friends, not enemies, in my wake.”
Paris smiled broadly, put the bowl back, and handed Hadjar three square emerald coins with holes in the middle.
“Three emerald imperial coins. They’ll be enough for you to buy something. I would advise you to attend the weekly merchants’ auction which will begin in a few hours. Your friend will be free by then and you’ll be able to go together. Believe me, the sight will greatly... change you.”
Three emerald imperial coins... In Lidus, you can build a castle with this kind of money! And Paris had given them to him as casually as if they were nothing.
“Oh, don’t think that’s charity on my part. The Research Chamber takes care of its employees. It’s an investment in our future collaboration. Everyone who chooses a blue amulet receives this amount regularly. Now leave. Any citizen will be able to tell you how to get to the House of the Hundred Coins.”
Chapter 344
After leaving the building, Hadjar sat on the pavement. He toyed with the coins in his hands and thought about what had happened to him over the past two months. Of course, he’d spent most of that time in the liquid prison, but, even after that, he was still in a cell, albeit a more convenient and far larger one.
The blue bracelet on his arm only confirmed his thoughts. These coins were just handouts. Surely, if Hadjar had died today, Glen would’ve gotten them. The maintenance of the prisoners... Einen had been right when he’d said that they were in a prison. Which was worse — being a slave or a prisoner — he didn’t know.
About half an hour later, the islander left the building as well. He hobbled slightly and his right leg was bandaged.
“What injured you like that?” Hadjar asked, noticing the three coins tucked into his friend’s belt. There were no pockets on Einen’s clothes.
“A giant dung beetle,” Einen said. “Don’t look at me like that, barbarian. That monstrosity was the size of my father’s best frigate!”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“You haven’t seen the sea, either.”
“I’m talking about the bug.” Hadjar could hardly keep from laughing.
Einen looked at his friend and saw the mark left behind by Paris’ needle.
“What color?” The islander asked simply.
“Yellow,” Hadjar answered.
Einen nodded, “Me too,” he said, “but I don’t believe in the trustworthiness of all these stones from unknown countries. I’ve heard from travelers that they are easy to fool, and that it often happens in the Empire.”
“Nothing is perfect,” Hadjar shrugged. “Anyway, you seem to be feeling unusually talkative.”
For some reason, a spark of resentment appeared in Einen’s eyes, but it quickly went out and was replaced by understanding.
“Barbarian,” he explained patiently, “in my homeland, it isn’t customary to talk idly with strangers. Demons can hide under very convincing masks, and they will pull out one’s soul through lips that are too loose.”
Hadjar understood the hint and didn’t press further.
Together, they first went over to the barracks. The light was still spilling out through the open door and the sounds of merrymaking could be heard coming from within. Apparently, when its residents didn’t need to do any tasks for the Chamber, they drank and had fun, relieving stress.
Hadjar suspected that he and Einen had fought against the weakest monsters they had and that the ones that came next would be much more dangerous. When a person straddled the line between life and death every day... Well, Hadjar wasn’t going to drink alcohol, but he would probably become addicted to deep meditation.
They went to the pier. When the ferryman informed them that getting ferried across the river would cost them a coin, the friends glanced at each other, silently pulled off their caftans, and dived into the water. The ferryman looked at them with a mixture of disgust and surprise, but they didn’t care.
After crossing the river, pleasantly refreshed by the icy water, they climbed directly onto the embankment of a busy avenue. Wet, bald, barefoot, and with their caftans folded over their arms, they stood out in even the most motely of crowds. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that children pointed at them and adults cast displeased and condemning glances at them. It was difficult for them to find someone who would talk to them and give them directions to the House of the Hundred Coins.
“Turn when you get to Fountain Street,” a drunkard muttered. Hadjar had also never seen drunkards among practitioners in his entire life. This damned city was so unusual in its... usualness that it drove him crazy. “You’ll see a street there, at the end of which is a large building. That’s the House of the Hundred Coins.”