Someone did this to him! This was why Shishupal desired a sheltered existence, where boys were left whole, women had single-coloured eyes, and goats were the only creatures sacrificed by priests.

Eklavvya nudged Shishupal. ‘Do not grieve for Eklavvya, friend. Though Eklavvya can never be as good as he used to be, he is grateful for it. For with a full set of ten fingers, Eklavvya would have no foes to challenge. Now the others at least have a chance.’

Shishupal laughed. ‘Very humble of you.’

‘Eklavvya was born with the mark of humility on his left bum.’ His hand suddenly darted out and pushed Shishupal down as a hammer went flying over their heads.

‘Assassins!’ Shishupal unsheathed his dagger.

Eklavvya laughed, helping him up. ‘No, no, just the usual evening entertainment in Valka camps. Best keep an eye out.’

Red-eyed, worried and hungry, Shishupal drew his cloak tighter and kept his head low as he warily surveyed the stirrings in the massive smoke-wreathed Valka encampment. Misstepping in a Valka camp was akin to pissing on an angry snake. The Valkas were considered to be exotic barbarians by cityfolk, though their civilization was far older than those who made such judgements. They were divided into numerous clans, each identified by their woad tattoos. Some said the tattoos depicted the history of their families. Duels to the death between rival clan members were common, tolerated, and even encouraged.

The Imperial briefing on the forestfolk all those years ago, had been detailed and thorough, and Shishupal could pick out the various clans by the standards fluttering above the haphazard groups of tents. He saw the troublesome banner of the two-hundred-strong camp of the Arja Clan, who were distinguished by their enormous neck rings. Perhaps the wildest of the clans was the Esseram, avowed enemies of the Nora Clan. With painted faces and strange nose-rings, they were dancing to a distinctive drumbeat when Shishupal walked past. Many of the clansmen paused their dance to briefly nod at Eklavvya.

Shishupal knew Eklavvya belonged to the Nora, marked by the bone fetishes in their hair. Their camp was at the centre of the encampment. Around them, a score of minor tribes contributed to the confused mix of Valkas. To an outsider, they maybe all Forestfolk or Valkas, but it was indeed a wonder how the Emperor had managed to rally these mutually antagonistic tribes with long histories of deadly rivalries, under one banner.

His historical musings were interrupted by the approach of a huge warrior. Bedecked in hair matted with human scalps and holding a platter in his hand, the giant greeted Eklavvya. On bended knee, he raised the platter above his head as an offering. ‘Chief, we catch a long sambar today. First offering.’

‘Excellent, Taur! Your Sanskrit is improving. May the Spirits bless you. But it is a large sambar, not a long one.’