Harold Lamb

“ Rusudan rested her head on her arms, her lips half smiling. And then she caught her breath, hearing close behind her a groan that seemed to have come from an animal rather than a human being.
She looked around. The deaf mute still knelt by the couch holding the tray on her arms, but the eyes of the negro were rolling wildly, and on the couch Lascaris lay, tearing at his body with quivering fingers. ”

“ RUSUDAN stood by the couch, voiceless. The Arab leaned over the emperor, one knee on the couch, and touched his throat. He seized the chin of the struggling man and looked swiftly into the contorted face. Then he stepped back, glancing at the empty golden dish that had held the rice curry, and at the Georgian girl.
“No man may escape his fate,” he said calmly. ”

“ Lascaris fingered his thin lips. “Thou, hakim, and the girl Rusudan cause me no anxiety. The others all come to beg for something.”
He gazed at the Georgian captive with pleasure, because he took delight in beauty and knew it when he saw it. Often he had thanked the gods that Choaspes had seen fit to make her a hostage. He did not quite know what Choaspes planned to do with the Georgian, but it was advisable not to have a young woman in the throne of one of the most warlike of the frontier peoples and, besides, he might arrange a marriage for her—with a Greek. ”