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.Temujin, as it appeared was going to be his manner, took nothing but the best.Boots of red leather of Samarkand.Trousers of deep blue wool.A long white cotton undershirt with the tail hanging below the waist, and over this a surcoat of the fine cloth of Chin made from the spinning of worms embroidered with three toed dragons of gold.On his head he chose to wear a spike-tipped helmet of the Syrian style, with a red cotton band around the brim and the tail of it hanging to his shoulders.He almost looked the part of an Oriental warrior-prince.Casca was fully lost by midday, but Temujin kept moving through the maze of valleys and canyons, sometimes dropping two or three thousand feet only to climb four or five.Temujin was in the front, Casca behind.Somehow Casca felt this was the way it would be for all who came into close contact with the young Mongol.He would always lead.It was his nature and it would be hard to keep up with him.He saw how Temujin's mind had absorbed all that he had given him, and cataloged it neatly for recall.He knew also that it was just the beginning.This boy was a sponge who would suck him dry of all he knew.He and a hundred like him would not be enough to satisfy the youth's craving to learn.Courage he had.It was obvious.A sense of honor of sorts, too, was demonstrated by his intensity about keeping his word.Here was the raw, unrefined material of one of the Great Ones, that is, if he wasn't killed first.Even an elephant can be brought down by a pack of jackals if there are enough of them.From the sun and the stars he knew they were moving to the north, always to the north.On the ride Temujin asked few questions.Casca felt that Temujin wanted to wait till they rested, when he could devote his complete attention to his questions and to the answers he was given.For now, this first day of his new freedom, he enjoyed the clear skies and ragged ice-capped ranges that rose and fell around them.The air was crisp but not freezing.The great cold would come later, when all this land would be impassable save for a few herds of wild yaks who paid little attention to man or nature.Death of a thousand sorts had ridden through these wild passes, and of their sign there was little remaining: a patch of white where the rib cage of an animal or human glistened cleanly in the high, cold sun; a patch of fur beneath the cleft of some rocks where some unfortunate had sought shelter and died.Some signs but not many.For time, the elements, and the animals had kept these mountains pristine and free of the trash of humankind or its passing.Temujin rode as what he was: one born to the saddle.His back was straight; the war bow unstrung and in its sheath to protect it and its strings from the elements; his sword flapping comfortably by his side; strands of wild, unclipped hair peeking out from under his helmet to play with the wind.The boy was happy.Everything in his manner showed that.He had a goal and he was going to achieve it.Casca felt that even Temujin had no idea of his limits, if he had any.By the forces or gods or whatever elements ruled over the universe, it was good.His mother had been right.All of that would come to pass.He had found the Old Young One and bound him to him.It was amazing, though.This scarred man from legendary Rome talked of the past as if he had been there, not like the storytellers of his tribe, who kept the memories of the past alive for the young.This one spoke as if all had just recently happened in his memory.And he knew much.But Temujin knew that he was going to have to pull all of it out of him.The Old Young One didn't know how much he knew.He thinks he has forgotten much.But I shall make him recall everything and give it to me.He is bringing me the gift of knowledge from centuries past, and I will know how and when to use his gift.At midday Temujin called a rest, more for their horses than for them.He could have ridden for six days, even easing his bowels from the saddle if need be.But the horses had to rest, and they were far too valuable to abuse.Without them they would have to walk again, like moles on the ground.He shuddered at the thought.He picked for their resting place, a rise where long valleys stretched to the north and south between peaks that touched the skies.He squatted, content beside the trail, waiting for Casca to come up with the packhorse and join him.When Casca reached him to do likewise and dismount, it was with relief.He had never been much of a cavalryman, and this first day on the back of the horse had spread his thighs almost to the breaking point.For him it was a pleasure to sit down on his rump and stretch his legs out, feeling the joints crack and stretch.It felt good, and he sighed in the pure pleasure of it.Temujin looked at him with just a touch of the contempt all horsemen felt toward those who preferred to travel on their own two feet.Casca caught the look and didn't let it pass."Temujin, if you want to get along with me, wait until you have done something of note before passing judgment on others.I have ridden more miles than you will ever see.I have had more women than you have days in your life.I have slain more men and generally kicked more ass than you will ever do by yourself.And one thing more." He whispered so softly, it was almost lost on the winds."I shall be here long after you and all you have known, loved, hated, and done has turned to dust."Temujin shivered, not from the winds but from his words.There was truth in the Old Young One's words.The braggadocio about women and killing didn't bother him; he had heard such a thousand times before around the campfires of the Buryat.But the part about him being here long after he, Temujin, had turned to dust – that, and the way it was said, had truly bothered him.It was not a boast, it was not a threat.It was a statement from one who knew it to be true."You are right, Old Young One.I apologize.It is my failing to have little tolerance for others and their customs.I will try to control my words.I know you are sent to help me.Perhaps humility is a subject we should soon touch upon, for I feel I have great need of it."Somewhat mollified, Casca grunted his acceptance of the apology.Natural-born leader or not, he was not going to put up with any lip from a wet-nosed kid – even if the kid had killed four or five men in the last couple of days.Temujin pointed to the east."I know that there is the empire of the Tang.Beyond the Great Wall and to the north of my tribe, there are only frozen lands and great dark forests.To the west are the Rus, and south and west of us there is the khanate of the Khitan.Beyond this I do not know very much.Tell me of the other lands you have traveled through.Who rules them and how are they ruled? I would know of their religions and leaders."Casca thought for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts and let his flashing moment of temper pass."Very well.As you said, to the south and west there is the Black Khitan.They are between you and the Ghuzz.Next in line, running from the Caspian Sea north of the Ghuzz, are the Cumans [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]