"One day you will," the younger man promised, "but sure, bold strokes are essential. The Shah of Persia would stop you. You balk at crossing his frontiers. You would return to Karakorum and rest."
"Yes. My capital is a beautiful city, and I would rest."
"You must never rest, not with all mankind ready to fall at your feet! The Shah of Persia anticipates border actions, clashes, sorties, patrols. Fool him. Strike with your entire army at the gateway city. It is far to the south of here, in a warmer land, but it is the gateway to the West for your people, Oh Kahn."
"Who is he?" Tedor whispered.
"Working for the monopolist, from our own time. Here in this age they call him Chepe Noyon and he is one of the Kahn's two greatest generals. Shh."
"I will lead your army, Oh Kahn. I, Chepe will lead it, and if I fall you may have me flayed."
"He can work magic," said the shaman.
"He had better," the Kahn declared dryly. "For we march from here to Karakorum to resupply our Army and from Karakorum we will take the southern route across the mountains to Tibet to the West. We will hit Bokhara in the spring."
"The Kahn is wise," said Chepe Noyon, still scratching at his yakskin garments.
"Let's get out of here," Tedor whispered.