Read The Tatja Grimm's World for Free Online

high priests. “It will be necessary to inspect both your boat and your persons. More blashphemers may come in fair forms … . Don’t be angered; it is but a formality. I, we recognize you from before. And if the writings you bring speak to our questions, you can expect payment even more generous than usual.”
    Away from the pier, the smell of burned petroleum products faded, replaced by a barnyard smell and the acrid stench of the tiny insects that built the mounds. Up close, the tower walls were not smooth sweeps. Glabrous patches were surrounded by warty growths. The “windows” were holes hacked in the irregular surface. Even Seraph’s blue light could not make such things beautiful. Behind the front tier of mounds, stone corrals held a few dozen skoats: the source of the farm smell. The place really was a village, similar to backward villages the world over. Without modern science, they had no way of making strong or hard materials. Their spearheads were fire-hardened wood and obsidian. Where the termites did not build for them, their structures were simple piles of stone … . It was no wonder travelers had seen no danger from these people; a squad of crossbow-armed troops could take them over. No one guessed they had access to petroleum or the knowledge to produce flammables.
    They walked some distance through the shadows between the towers. The Great Hall was cut into the side of one of the largest mounds. The resulting talus was pressed into steps as broad as in front of any government building in Crownesse. At the top of the steps, carved wooden barricades blocked the entrance. Rey’s
guide called out something Hurdic and ceremonial-sounding. Spear-toting priests slid aside the barricades.
    Their porters carried the crate of Fantasies toward the altar at the back of the Hall. The place was exactly as Rey remembered it: at least one hundred feet from entrance to altar, but with a ceiling that was nowhere more than seven feet high. It seemed more like a mine than a building. Twelve-foot-wide pillars stood in a rectangular grid across the floor. The pillars were native moundstuff, painted white. The only light came from ranks of candles that circled each of them. As the Tarulle people walked toward the altar, they saw hundreds of Termite Folk standing quietly between the farther pillars. The room couldn’t be more than one hundred feet across, but the pillars seemed to go on forever. On his last visit, Rey had walked to the side of the hall (an act of unknowing bravado, he realized now), and discovered that the pillars there were smaller, more closely spaced, and the walls were painted with the image of more pillars stretching off to a faked infinity; cleverly placed flecks of glass simulated hundreds of faraway candles. Like a lot of primitive folk, the Termiters had their own subtleties.
    Rey expected the threatened body searches would come next. Instead, the Tarulle people were gestured to sit before the altar. There was a moment of near silence after Guille was asked to open the crate. Now he could hear a faint buzzing that came from all around, the sound of the real termites. They were, after all, inside an enormous hive. He pulled up the lid of the crate, and the insect sound was lost behind the villagers’ soft chanting.
    The high priests lifted the top sheets from the crates. These
were color illustrations that would be inside/outside covers on normally bound editions. The color didn’t show well in the candlelight, but the Termiters didn’t seem to mind; the best pictures from previous issues were mounted in the walls behind the altar. The priests pored over the illos, just like ordinary fans thrilled with the latest issue of their favorite magazine. Before, Rey would have smiled. at their enthusiasm. Now he held his breath. At least one of those pictures showed Hrala carrying a spring-gun; could that be blasphemy?
    Then the tall priest looked up, and Rey saw that he was smiling. “Wonderful,