The Dharadhil

By his dress and the way he rolled the words in his mouth as he begged for mercy, it was clear to Todar that he was no noble mastermind but the leader of a marginal people, in all likelihood some planetbound, ungovernable leader. The way his eyes goggled as he was dragged through the throne room suggested he had never even visited Pilesteh Prime before. 

“O Protector!” he cried, his voice stumbling over the words. “O Protector!”

What a shame, thought Todar to himself. That may be the only Saadi phrase the poor man knows. There was a soft cough, and the court fell silent as the Emperor began to speak.

“Do not beseech me in such tones, when you have so long been impudent.”

Immediately there was a scribbling as the scribes commenced their writing, each capturing a different aspect of the throne room: the words spoken, the murmuring of the courtiers, the yuzpalang pacing at the throne’s foot, the way the man was thrown onto the shiny black floor, above a trough used to collect spills. Todar, meanwhile, stepped forth to translate. He was hardly fluent in the prisoner’s native Shinhashani, but it would have to do–it was an unusual tongue indeed, rarely spoken beyond its home planet.

«Do not, a-a-ah…» Todar struggled with the words, «do not ask him for kindness, when you have been unkind.»

The prisoner’s eyes opened even wider, somehow. 

«You speak Jhata Horgha? Please, good man, please tell him–» One of the guards jostled him, and he fell into a soft whimpering.

“... You are sentenced, for the crime of sedition, to death.”

«You are to be killed.»

Here, the Emperor’s children and the wives and children of his courtiers shuffled from the room.

“As is customary, the execution will be performed by an elephant of my first regiment.”

Todar reached for the words “customary” and “execution” and “regiment” and settled on «You will be killed by a war-elephant.» He paused and added a half-hearted «Sorry.»

The man thrashed in the guard’s grip, unable to stop himself from yelling, stuttering out increasingly desperate pleas.

«You can’t do this to me! I am a scholar! I am a soldier of the Pilesteh! I–I am a father!» 

The Emperor looked expectantly at Todar, and he recounted the man’s statements. The emperor raised his wizened hand, and a vast pair of stone doors were pushed open. 

At the sight of the massive black-and-pink elephant trudging in, the rest of the courtiers filed out–first the singers, the Gosap ordermen, and the attendants, then the handlers and the yuzpalang (lest they dirty themselves in the aftermath). Finally, the translators began to leave just as the elephant reached the prone, weeping body of the prisoner. Todar moved to leave, but the Emperor beckoned him to stay.

“I wish to know if he should say anything more.”