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Gandhi Kahn the Wise

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  • Gandhi Kahn the Wise

    Editor's Forward:
    In the colleges of the Political Sciences, the memoirs of the "Emperor of all Emperors", Gandhi Kahn the Wise, are studied by undergraduates and analyzed minutely by graduate students, but, curiously, an abridged version for teenaged learners has never before been attempted.

    This edition contains much of the framework and flavor of the actual memoirs, but sacrifices many details in favor of brevity. Furthermore, rather than presenting the subject using statistics and maps, the memoirs have been fictionalized to aid the young student's interest and enjoyment.

    The entire sixteen-volume set is beyond all but the most advanced non-matriculated students. It is our hope to bring this inspiring subject to the inquisitive scholar and to whet the appetite for further study.

    The Sino-Indian War

    "For a regent bent on peaceful co-existence, I've had to resort to a lot of violence. Perhaps in some alternate universe, the name Gandhi evokes thoughts of peace, and the name Genghis doesn't bring to mind the non-violent liberation of the Mongols from the Chinese empire. Of course, if you read that sort of claptrap, then the evil alternate Genghis would have the requisite goatee instead of his smooth shaven face. Don't know why they always use the goatee to signify evilness. I've always rather liked mine."
    Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, Chronicles of Gandhi Kahn the Wise

    The council meeting was going about as I had expected.

    The schedule for the annual Celebration of Empire had been approved. The budget compromise had been passed, although my Science Advisor, Siddheiers, still wanted more for research, and Domestic Advisor Dhanyata thought more money for luxuries was the path to a better empire.

    The only item remaining on the agenda was finding a solution to the Chinese-Egyptian problem. Nehru, my Foreign Advisor, was holding out for a diplomatic solution. Of course, I enjoy absolute power, and could order the assault without the consent of any of my advisors, but I have always found it better to seek accord before action. I believe that internal agreement prevents insurgent conflict.

    "Nehru," I argued, "can't you see that diplomacy will not work in this situation? We don't have enough clout with Cleopatra to convince her to call off her chariots."

    He frowned. "Sire, the Sino-Indian war ended when we promised Mao we would cease hostilities. If we break our word, no other civilization will believe us when we claim to come in peace."

    Devon, my Military Advisor, jumped in before I could. "If Cleo beats us to Beijing, we will have no access to our new cities. We can rebuild our 'reputation,' but it will cost Indian blood to retake those cities."

    "I'm afraid I must concur, Nehru," said Sangita, my Cultural Advisor. "My departmental analysis shows that Shanghai and Nanking will become Egyptian within two generations of an Egyptian conquest of Beijing, either through armed conflict or revolt."

    "You don't have my support, either, old boy," said Trade Advisor, Rujula. "If we lose Nanking, we lose its silk farms, and we'll have to start paying Cleo for that luxury. The budget is already too tight in the luxury department."

    "Rujula, you needlessly deplete your karma," I said. "In a good compromise, everyone's a little unhappy. If you complain again, I may have to recommend a reanalysis and a vote on a new budget, which, I assure you, would make you much unhappier!"

    Rujula's grimace was thoroughly rewarding.

    "Nehru," I said, returning to the debate, "we went through all this at the beginning of the war. That little baby-faced boy-king may look innocent, but remember how they plunked down all their new cities on our border."

    Nehru puffed up into his academician pose, having indeed been one prior to selection to my cabinet. "And as I pointed out then, they did so because they were hemmed in by the Egyptians to the east, by the Western Ocean, and by the glory of India in the south."

    "And as *I* pointed out then, we merely joined in the reduction of China after the Egyptians and Japanese had already declared war. We'd all had enough of his bluster: 'Just you wait 'til we get our Riders trained! You'll all be absorbed into the Chinese Empire. We will bury you!' Whine, whine, whine!"

    "What about public opinion?" asked Nehru, searching for a better argument. "People won't be so happy about renewing the war when the casualty lists start getting longer and longer."

    "Are you kidding me?" shouted Devon, "Our swordsmen barely broke a sweat taking Canton and Tsingtao. When they massed around Beijing, Mao practically wet his pants."

    "Devon is right," I said, covering the contradiction to his early argument about spilling Indian blood. "The Chinese were so eager to avoid the carnage they would have signed anything! For Shiva's sake, you were the one with the brilliant idea to demand Shanghai and Nanking in the negotiations! Do you want to lose them now because you have qualms about our reputation?

    "Either we get the city or Cleo does," said Dhanyata.

    Suddenly, I saw the solution. "Nehru, if we declare war, exactly which nations will view our reputation as damaged?"

    "Egypt, Japan and Russia," he replied.

    I could see in his eyes a building hope that he was swaying the monarch. I paused for effect before I shoved the knife home.

    "Wouldn't our reputation with Egypt and Japan actually be increased if we join in their crusade against China?"

    Nehru looked stunned, then grinned. "You are right, of course. I hereby change my vote."

    "Very well. Devon, pass the order."

    Devon placed his palms together and raised them to touch the forehead, the position of the Third Eye. "As you command, O Mahatma. Namaskar."

    [Ed. Namaskar, the popular term of greeting and farewell, literally means 'I bow to thee.']

    More tomorrow...
    More! Give me more!
    A little dry - more bloodshed.
    We like you, we really do, but not your story.
    Please - I already get enough of this at school.

  • #2
    Very nice, cant wait for some fighting!

    war elephants are so cool....
    I'm going to rub some stakes on my face and pour beer on my chest while I listen Guns'nRoses welcome to the jungle and watch porno. Lesbian porno.
    Supercitzen Pekka


    • #3
      A rather interesting start,I will keep a look out for the next part.
      A proud member of the "Apolyton Story Writers Guild".There are many great stories at the Civ 3 stories forum, do yourself a favour and visit the forum. Lose yourself in one of many epic tales and be inspired to write yourself, as I was.


      • #4
        This story was written as excerpts from Gandhi's Memoirs, but I bow to the will of the rabble - well, two people who bothered to comment. More bloodshed it is!

        From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Two

        Mahavir peered through the gloom of fog that transfixed the countryside around Beijing. Marching in the fog was surreal, since normal sounds were muffled. The clanks, creaks, groans, grunts, curses, and cadences that normally accompanied the march were all but inaudible.

        Mahavir hoped that since he could barely hear the noises, the Egyptians wouldn't at all. Somewhere out there, Cleopatra's chariot forces waited for the fog to lift so they could make the final assault on the city, if indeed they hadn't taken it already. Mahavir's battalion of swordsmen, along with three others, had marched hard all night from Hangchow to beat the Egyptians to the city. The orders were clear - take the Chinese capitol first, or be continue on for garrison duty in far Nanking to subdue insurrection. The gossip in his company was that putting down revolts in Nanking would be an endless and hazardous duty.

        As they crested the rolling hill, the battalion commander called for a halt. After a short conference with two returning scouts, he gathered the swordsmen. He spoke in a normal tone, but Mahavir had to strain to hear him through the voiceless fog.

        "Men, Beijing is less than 300 hasta north of here. The Egyptians have arrived at the Western Gate, but they are camped, waiting for the fog to lift. We have - well, let's just say we've 'secured' a quick entry into the city and leave it at that."

        "Form into battle ranks and double-time it to the city. Keep your swords sheathed until we enter the city, and bind the sheaths with cloth to muffle the noise even more. Beijing will be ours!"

        Like his mates, Mahavir brought the back hem of his sari forward between his knees and up, binding it into his girdle and making sure the hilt of his sword remain unencumbered by the folds. As he loped with his squad over the crest of the hill, he saw the road widen as it prepared to enter Beijing. He was more than a little afraid of this mission because of the stories he had heard of Beijing's sturdy walls, walls that the fog still prevented him from seeing.

        In an impossibly short time, they slowed and halted, each man hand signaling the command to the row behind. Even though his squad was near the front, he could barely make out the first squads entering through the southeastern water gate. Hope rose in his heart -- perhaps this plan would work after all.

        Just before he entered the gate, he heard the alarm sound from within. He burst through the opening with dagger in hand and unsheathed his sword. Just ahead, a Chinese guard struggled to put his spear from a swordsman who would no longer rise. Mahavir sliced down with the sword, severing the spearman's arms, and then thrust home the point of the blade. Even as the hapless guard fell, Mahavir was pulling the sword free and pushing into the compound to make room for those behind him.

        He burst through the thin, hastily assembled line of spearmen and fell on the nearest archer. The poor man was only half-dressed, but he drew back the bow with deadly earnest. Mahavir sliced at the hand holding the bow, then thrust under it on the backstroke. The arrow careened wildly into the air as the bowman fell, but Mahavir was already on to the next.

        Less than twenty minutes later, he was breathing hard, bloodied, but alive, without an enemy in sight. Horns began sounding from outside the Western Gate.

        "Mahavir, Prajeet, Narhari," called the commander, "get up on the wall and drape the battalion banner and our national flag over the gate. We don't want to fight the Egyptians - " and he grinned, "yet."

        Mahavir scrambled to obey. As the banner unfurled, he looked out from the heights and had a commanding view as the fog continued it's late morning dissipation. He heard the angry shouts of the Egyptian soldiers as they caught sight of the banner.

        "Do they persist?" called the commander.

        "No, Dhirendra," yelled Mahavir, "their horses paw the ground but the charioteers hold."

        A cheer rose from the men.

        "Well, done," called the commander. "Post the guard and dispatch a runner to Delhi. Beijing is ours!"

        More tomorrow...


        • #5
          My sincere apologies for the grammatical errors. I'm doing this hastily, on-the-fly, rather than from my carefully prepared story.


          • #6
            I like it!
            I'm going to rub some stakes on my face and pour beer on my chest while I listen Guns'nRoses welcome to the jungle and watch porno. Lesbian porno.
            Supercitzen Pekka


            • #7
              Cracking please continue.
              A proud member of the "Apolyton Story Writers Guild".There are many great stories at the Civ 3 stories forum, do yourself a favour and visit the forum. Lose yourself in one of many epic tales and be inspired to write yourself, as I was.


              • #8
                From "Mukashi-Banashi: Japanese Tales of Yore"

                The Tao of Xiao
                The train of settlers was a short one, which made guard duty easy for the light company of spearmen marching with them. Somewhere in the train was Mao, dressed as a woman -- for 'security,' he said.

                The jungles near Osaka were renown for the beasts that roamed them, biped even more so than quadruped. But that was the least of their worries. With three of the four armies of the continent chasing them, there was only a slim chance of carrying on the short, but noble tradition of the Chinese people.

                Their hope was to reach unsettled territory near the Russians - neutral for now - and hold out for a negotiated peace. Mao had carefully explained to them the strategy of letting Egypt and India collide. With China out from the middle ground, he argued, Cleopatra and Gandhi would soon be at each other's throats, with tiny China all but forgotten. Tiny, but alive!

                Xiao Zhi Kai took little consolation from the hope that China would live. Regardless, his low station in life would remain on the bottom rung. Workers rated last on the social scale in this world, and he was a worker for a civilization rated last on the global scale. How low did that make him? He didn't pause long to contemplate the thought. Thinking was for the rich and learned, not for workers.

                The expeditionary force had veered deeper into the jungle after sighting a similar Indian force moving south along the inviting plains. After three weeks of slashing through dense jungle in search of a good place for building a city, Xiao Zhi didn't know which hurt more - his legs, his back or his arms.

                He stumbled as the jungle vegetation gave way to a modest clearing. The settlers gathered, pronounced the place habitable, and began planting the poles that would form the center of their first crude shelters. Xiao Zhi dropped to the ground exhausted. Tomorrow would mean more slashing at the jungle to clear land for farming, but for now, he could rest.

                A shout went up from the guards. "Swordsmen! Alarm!"

                The spearmen formed a rough cordon around the settlers, still struggling with their poles. Xiao Zhi called to one of them. "What is it? Bandits?"

                "Worse," shouted the soldier. "Japanese!"

                Xiao Zhi had huddled among the settlers with the other workers, but he suddenly squared his shoulders, squeezed the haft of his long, heavy brush knife, and ran to the line of spearmen. To a quizzical look, he called, "better to die a warrior than a worker."

                The Japanese swordsmen surged into the clearing and fell on the confused Chinese. Soldiers, women, children - all fell under the withering swarm of steel. Xiao Zhi desperately swung his knife right and left, fending off an attack to this side, slicing on that, his arms like lead. In a remote part of his brain, it registered that he was bleeding from many cuts, but he kept on swinging.

                Abruptly, the fighting ended. Xiao Zhi glared at the swordsmen who surrounded him, daring them to approach and end his pain.

                "Finish it!" he yelled. "Finish it."

                A worker may not be smart, but he must be strong. His attacks, though untrained, had held off the Japanese until their wrath was spent. The budding village was destroyed, its defenders draining their blood on the jungle floor.

                A large Japanese soldier, obviously the leader, pushed through the ranks of swordsmen. In broken Chinese, he said, "You fight well. You are brave and honorable. You join us."

                Xiao Zhi stared for a moment, then shrugged. "Why not," he said, "work is work."

                Screams caught the attention of the swordsmen and the leader. Some Chinese women had survived. It was clear what would become of them.

                Suddenly, one of the women burst from the grasp of her captor. He grabbed for her hair, but the hair - the wig - came loose in his fist.

                Another swordsman tackled the disguised woman. The Japanese leader strode to the scene, planted his boot on the captive's chest and rubbed off the heavy makeup. "Mao!" he spat.

                "This man is dishonorable," he pronounced. He pointed at Xiao Zhi. "This man is honorable."

                He motioned for Xiao Zhi, and waited for his approach.

                "Honor can dispel dishonor. You kill Mao."

                Mao was haughty, in spite of the situation. "He is a loyal Chinese. He will never obey you."

                Xiao Zhi looked at him with sad eyes. "I am a worker," he said, "and work is work."

                One last time for the day, his arms and back ached under their labor.

                Tomorrow: Bangalore...


                • #9
                  Will Xiao Zhi become a samurai,who knows.
                  This is very good especially this last part a sort of side note on the attempted escape of the emporer very entertaining.
                  A proud member of the "Apolyton Story Writers Guild".There are many great stories at the Civ 3 stories forum, do yourself a favour and visit the forum. Lose yourself in one of many epic tales and be inspired to write yourself, as I was.


                  • #10
                    Interesting. Please go on
                    XBox Live: VovanSim
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                    Halo 3 Service Record (I fail at FPS...)
                    Spore page


                    • #11
                      From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Three

                      From the moment the Egyptian force had become visible on the horizon, tension in Bangalore had grown. At one time or another, every citizen had appeared at the city's edge to watch the slow progress of the foreigners. Indeed, landlords of taller residences on the fringe were charging for the novelty of viewing the strange travelers from a safe location.

                      Government officials continued to repeat claims that the Egyptians were only passing through the territory. While it was true that the city lay very near the direct line to Egypt's southern cities, town gossips were weaving horrifying and convincing tales that Bangalore was their goal, not Busiris.

                      Now that the Egyptians were at their closest approach to the city, the uneasiness within the city had become a living, breathing mania that gripped every citizen, young and old. Without discussion or decree, nearly the entire city had assembled in the town square. To watch a battle, to help in defense, to seek reassurance - who knew why?

                      Vasu, the mayor of Bangalore, had finally been compelled to speak to the assembly. He appeared on the terrace of the governmental hall and raised his arms to quiet the crowd.

                      "Citizens, we have no need to worry. Even now, I have received word from Delhi. Our great Mahatma has demanded that Cleopatra remove her forces from our land. They will soon be gone. You can return to your jobs. This idleness does no good and only disturbs your inner balance."

                      "The Egyptians disturb my balance," called a heckler, "not the idleness."

                      "Regardless, we must continue our work to make Bangalore a great city. It is possible to work the fields on the FAR side of the city, is it not?"

                      "That's easy to say from behind a wall," called another skeptic. "Can you say it from the fields outside the city?"

                      "Wall or not, inside or outside, there is no threat. The Egyptians are merely passing - ghurck!"

                      Vasu collapsed on the terrace, the arrow through his throat clearly visible. More arrows rained on the crowd, though few found their mark as effectively as the first.

                      "To the defense!" yelled the garrison commander.

                      The small force of spearmen and swordsmen scrambled to set up a defensive line at the edge of town. There were no archers to answer the Egyptian attack, since none had been stationed in this lonely outpost.

                      The Egyptian archers remained in the rear, arching arrows into the town while the main force, several company of spearmen, drove into the city approaches. The first wave smashed against the disorganized ranks of the garrison. The veterans staggered, but held. Swordsmen dispatched the few Egyptian soldiers that pushed through the ragged line of spearmen.

                      The second wave smashed against the defense line, now bolstered by citizens with pitchforks and scythes. Many had rudimentary shields made from crating sides. From nearby rooftops, other civilians were flinging rocks from slings, as well as crude javelins, at the Egyptian archers. Some of the wounded archers began falling back, and then the entire company fell into retreat.

                      The third wave of Egyptian spearmen clashed with the defenders. Many slipped on the blood or the bodies of their fallen comrades. As they lost their balance, most also lost their lives to the angry mob. Citizens, soldiers - the distinction was lost in the melee.

                      As suddenly as they had begun, the Egyptians broke off and began to retreat. They continued heading south, towards Busiris, but their number was far fewer.

                      With the mayor dead or dying, the citizens turned to the garrison commander. "Care for the wounded!" he commanded. "Soldiers, attack!"

                      Within half an hour, the Egyptians had been vanquished. Their weapons were collected and distributed to the citizenry.

                      Within half a day, the garrison commander had been appointed mayor. Word was sent to Delhi.

                      Within half a week, the dead had been buried. Several citizens joined the army.

                      Within half a year, Bangalore had been acclaimed 'City of the Realm.' Tourism became the second highest grossing business in the city, with the sale of war souvenirs a close third. Many of the souvenirs never saw action in the short battle. Some had not even been in existence before the war, and a few were not even manufactured within the city.

                      Certain citizens, scallywags some said, commissioned a commemorative plaque that was placed on the square. It became part of the charm of the city and later efforts to remove it were abandoned following sustained public outcries. It remains there to this day. The inscription reads: "In this city, Egyptian invaders traded their journey to a different city for one to a different world."

                      Tomorrow: Lisht...


                      • #12
                        It has been pointed out to me that some readers could take offense at the description of Mao as a coward hiding under women's garb. It was not my intention to defame any real person, living or dead, merely to illustrate the game's ability to consider a city-less civilization alive so long as one settler survives. In the actual game, this caused war-weariness in my Indian citizens until the Chinese settler plunked down his tent pole and the Japanese wiped out the new city.

                        On with the story...

                        From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Three

                        Mahavir was glad to leave the mountains at last. Even though, on a map, the march had been short, it had required much climbing. He understood the advantage of having the protection of the heights during the sporadic Egyptian assaults, but his legs still ached.

                        The few chariots that had bothered to attack had been easily defeated. In spite of the terror created by their appearance, they were surprisingly weak. Perhaps having to attack up a steep incline, instead of on the flat battlefields for which they were suited, had blunted their abilities.

                        Fortunately, the army commanders had planned well. The force approaching Lisht had remained in the mountains or foothills all the way from the border. They would be attacking directly from the foothills into Lisht. Furthermore, their route had taken them through Egypt's only iron mine, which they had destroyed. Without the "metal of war", the Asp-Kissers would be limited to bronze weapons, arrows, and chariots.

                        The city lay below them, dully golden in the late afternoon sunlight. The walls remained half-finished, and no one worked them now. Every Egyptian in the vicinity had fled for the protection of the city, since the approach of the Indians had been no secret.

                        For several long moments, the future battlefield was calm. No noise came from the glowing city, and the attacking forces prepared for battle in silent prayer or meditation. Even the insects were respectfully quiet.

                        Finally, the order was raised. "Attack!"

                        Mahavir screamed as he rose and ran towards the city. His voice joined with hundreds of others as the band raced towards the half-walls and the outermost houses. The wind mingled with the warrior chorus to roar in his ears, whipping his war lust to a high pitch. His legs had ached before; now he felt as if he could run forever. He sensed, rather than saw, a swordsman to his left fall under an unlucky arrow strike. The distance to the wall narrowed quickly, and then he was there. In a swift movement, he was over the unfinished wall and fell upon the first archer he saw.

                        "Damned archer!" he yelled, slashing at the Egyptian. "Fight like a man!"

                        His sword sliced through the bowstring on the way to the soldier's gut. The weight of the collapsing man pulled the body free of the sword, and Mahavir pulled it up and out to strike the next archer. His victim turned to meet the attack and let the arrow fly too soon. An Egyptian spearman took the bolt through the shoulder and dropped his spear with a clatter.

                        Mahavir thrust the sword home to dispatch the second archer, then pulled him close while he worked loose his sword. Mahavir was startled as an ugly arrowhead halted inches from him, pierced through the dead archer. He kicked free his human shield and advanced on the next target.

                        Another arrow hissed past his ear and down into the ground as he sprinted towards a spearman. Mahavir didn't bother with a deathblow, racing by the spearman and hacking off one of his hands. Arrows continued to follow his dash past the building as he worked to disable the defenders, trusting those soldiers following to finish the job.

                        After numerous bolts had narrowly missed him, allowing him to maim several defenders, his nemesis finally adjusted aim enough to put a shaft neatly through Mahavir left shoulder. The force knocked Mahavir to the ground, where he scrambled into the shadow of the building to escape a finishing strike.

                        Rolling as much of his back as possible to the wall for protection, he peered back at the carnage. His fellow swordsmen were completing the route of the city. From the building opposite, he saw an Egyptian body fall, a quiver full of arrows cascading around the body. In the window was Prajeet, grinning and waving. Mahavir waved back with his sword arm, then sighed and leaned back against the sun-warmed building. The medics were coming. For this battle, at least, his war was over.

                        Tomorrow: Revolt!


                        • #13
                          Excellent,I like the way you have limited each part to one event in the story,although still very good stories some of the writers on this forum tend to try and write about several concurrent events at the same time which can sometimes get a little confusing.This style of clear and seperate scenes makes the reading easier and more enjoyable,Bravo keep up the good work.
                          A proud member of the "Apolyton Story Writers Guild".There are many great stories at the Civ 3 stories forum, do yourself a favour and visit the forum. Lose yourself in one of many epic tales and be inspired to write yourself, as I was.


                          • #14
                            Thanks, Chrisius Maximus. Looks as if I have enough battles to last the rest of the month.

                            From the Big Book of Indian War Stories, Volume Three

                            The Indian garrison in Lisht had been growing steadily smaller over the past few months. The square was now often clear of Indian soldiers for long stretches of time. No doubt the ones leaving were on their way to another conquest. The rumormongers whispered that Giza would be next to fall, and then what was to stop Gandhi's evil death-dealers from marching all the way to Thebes?

                            Adofo had listened to the whispers, and discussed the consequences with his friends. He had carefully observed the decreasing military presence, even as Indian citizens appeared in the city to skim off its wealth. He had felt the ugly mood of the Egyptian workers and citizens.

                            He had quietly observed, carefully planned, and cautiously recruited. Now it was time for action.

                            He received the high sign from his accomplices strategically planted at the approaches to the square, then jumped up onto a low balcony.

                            "Men of Lisht, listen to me!"

                            "Why do we submit to the Indian yoke? Are you happy kissing their sandals? Are you content to embrace their gods? Do you want your sons raised as Indians? When they defile your daughters, will you allow them marriage and welcome them at your table?"

                            The curious started to gather, although warily, with an eye out for the Indian spearmen.

                            "You have seen how lazy the Indians are compared to us. Even the lowliest worker among us does twice the work of an Indian! Do you want to become their servants and to let them live off of our toil?"

                            The knot of onlookers had grown to a respectable group. Some were shaking their heads.

                            "We are people of industry, but the Indians care nothing for that. They reward commerce. Their treasuries will be enriched by your labor. They will grow fat while we grow tired and weary. Do you want to be their slaves?"

                            The knot had grown to a cluster, and more were approaching. The Indians remained obligingly absent.

                            "When they took the city, they destroyed our temples. They claim that Ra and Isis are merely avatars," he said, sneering, "a face of their own many-armed gods. Are your gods a simple appendage of some Indian god?"

                            "No!" yelled a man at the front of the growing throng. Adofo had carefully rehearsed with Nakhti where that first 'no' was to be shouted.

                            "The Indians say they are religious - like us - and that they build temples - like us - but their gods are not our gods. Do you want your children raised to worship false gods, to turn up their noses and laugh at the faith held by you, and your fathers, and your fathers' fathers?"

                            "No!" yelled most of the crowd, for it was now a crowd, and an agitated one. Nakhti had done his work well.

                            "And they are not content to merely taint our children, to subvert our religion, to grow fat off of our toil. They prohibit the manufacture of a substance necessary to our religious practices. They ban the distribution of a staple used by every Egyptian laborer to relax after a hard day's work. They make it a crime for the common man to possess even half a hin of this essential substance. They deny us beer!"

                            "Beer!" roared the mob, and the blast of sound rocked the walls of the square. Adofo felt the balcony shake beneath his feet. He looked out over the throng that overflowed the sides and corners of the square. They were with him now. He reveled in the power of the moment, then continued.

                            "In the city's warehouses are vats of beer," he said, "our beer. It will go to rich men in the Indian Empire, to wet their throats and not ours. But in this city, there is also an armory full of weapons, taken from us during the Indian conquest. They held our power in contempt then, and think still less of us now. Even today, more Indian soldiers departed the city in search of further conquest."

                            "They do not fear us, but I say they should, for we are strong. I say, let us repossess what is ours! Let us redeem our sons, our wives, and our daughters! Let us regain our religion! Let us resume our rightful place in the Egyptian Empire! Let us take back our beer!"

                            "To the armory," shouted Nakhti, and the call was taken up by a hundred tongues.

                            In the northwest corner of the square, he caught sight of Sefu signaling. The Indians had caught on at last, but it was too late. The horde of angry Egyptians was surging towards the Armory. Even without weapons, the multitude would be far too much for the few remaining Indian spearmen.

                            Adofo grinned at Sefu and then gazed thoughtfully southwest towards Beijing. If men without weapons could take a city, he wondered, what could men with iron weapons do?

                            Tomorrow: Aftermath...


                            • #15
                              Ah and now you show us how to administer the good old "To Be Continued"trick,very good I,ll be back for more as soon! as you write it.
                              A proud member of the "Apolyton Story Writers Guild".There are many great stories at the Civ 3 stories forum, do yourself a favour and visit the forum. Lose yourself in one of many epic tales and be inspired to write yourself, as I was.