"How many more, Papak?" Cyrus asked, looking more annoyed by the minute. They had spent the last few hours of the morning meeting with visiting dignitaries, emba.s.sies, and merchants from the surrounding lands. It could all be very tedious, and Cyrus still hoped to do battle with his brother this day. The armies had squared up earlier in the morning, and as soldier stared down soldier, no one could quite find the will to proceed. So it was there that they stood, facing each other in the heat of midday, almost daring the other side to blink. If the battle could wait, then Cyrus would take the time meet with those that wished to see him, hoping to catch up on the mountain of work that awaited the Great King of Persia.

"Two more merchants, sir. From the lands of Arabia to the south, of the tribe of Tamim, wish to pay sovereignty," announced Papak.

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Cyrus sighed, "Very well, send them in." He began to fiddle with a gold coin in his fingers, casually flipping it between each digit as he awaited the merchants. Fiddling with the little coin was about the only ounce of enjoyment he could conjure from meeting with stuffy dignitaries. He wished to be out on the battlefield, putting an end to this war and a.s.suming his rightful place on the throne. Soon, he thought, as Papak reemerged with two mud-slicked merchants.

"May I present, his royal highness Cyrus, son of Darius, Shahanshah of the Great Persian Empire, King of Kings, and first Lord of Persia, Elam, Media, Babylonia, Lydia, Phrygia, Caria, and Ionia, as well as Pharaoh of Egypt," boomed Papak, producing flourishes with his hands with every successive t.i.tle. Cyrus watched as both merchants, a portly younger man, and a slim older one, a.s.sumed the knees before him, touching their heads to the ground in reverence. It was the type of reaction that Cyrus never tired of seeing.

"Rise, my children," began Cyrus, extending each arm out and raising them to the ceiling. Both merchants tentatively a.s.sumed their feet. By their dark, sun-kissed skin and heavy robes, Cyrus could have told they were desert people even before Papak's announcement. Their dress made them stand out almost as much as a Scythian.

"Thank you, Great King. A thousand thank yous," said the older merchant, as he stood on both feet, with his head slightly bowed.

"Papak here tells me you are from the deserts of the south, in Arabia. Of the tribe of Tamim," stated Cyrus, looking between both men.

"That is correct, sir. My apprentice and I have traveled three weeks to meet with your royal highness," returned Papak, pointing to himself and Amit.

"And your names are, worth merchants?"

"I am called Yazid by my peoples, sire. And this is Amit," said Yazid. Amit attempted an extremely clumsy bow, with a portion of his robes coming undone and hitting the floor. It made Cyrus smile at the boy's inexperience.