As you near the scene, you start hesitating. What compels you to meddle in other people’s affairs? Why didn’t you just leave this inferno behind the way your friends left you — casting off dead weight in the middle of a long, unforgiving journey. You’re not sure what exactly you expected to see. But as you approach the main square, the horror becomes clear: the two traders’ bodies, tied to the pillory, put on display in the name of justice. As if that weren’t enough, the crowd hurls curses at ears that can no longer hear and spits on faces that can no longer feel their contempt. You feel as if you’re about to vomit—not bile, but blood from a heart wounded by this dark side of humanity. You turn to flee that godless place when a voice shouts behind you:
— That man! I’m sure he was with them! He’s riding one of their dromedaries!
You spur your animal with all your might, but it’s in vain—they’ve already surrounded you. There’s no time to think; swords are being drawn. You have only one option:
You hurl your golden coins in every direction, a sudden glimmering distraction—just enough to slip away into the desert.
You draw your sword and, with swift precision, cut down anyone in your path until a narrow opening appears—your way out, leading straight into the desert.
One Comment