"So your mighty 'solar race' is really a breed of God- cursed common bandits."
"Bandits, they are. They always have been. Common, no. They're professionals, honorable men of high caste."
"High-caste thieves. Like some of the merchants I've met." Hawksworth paused and tried to find his tongue. His mouth was like cotton. "How long've we been here?"
"This is the morning of our second day. We arrived yesterday, after traveling all night."
"I feel like I've been keelhauled for a week." Hawksworth gingerly touched his forehead and there was a pulse of pain.
Vasant Rao listened with a puzzled expression. "You were tied over your horse. Some of the clan wanted to kill you and leave you there, but then they decided that would give you too much honor."
"What the hell are you talking about? I remember I gave them a fight."
"You used a pistol. You killed a man, the head of this dynasty, with a pistol."
The words seemed to cut through the shadows of the room. The pain returned and ached through Hawksworth's body.
More deaths. The two men who died on the Discovery. I saw Nayka die with an arrow in his throat. And how many of the Rajput guards died? Why am I always in the middle of fighting and death?