The Lamp of Darkness - - (best finance books of all time TXT) 📗

that was crouched on four legs, its head reaching as high as the man’s chest. The animal threw open its jaws and roared, and glints of sunlight sparkled off its neck.

“Yonaton, is that bear wearing…?”

“Jewels,” he whispered, stupefied.

The man in the cage stepped forward, and the bear reared up on its hind legs. One more step, and the beast swung yellowed claws as long as my fingers, like a set of curved knives, a handsbreadth from the man’s face. A spectator reached his hand between the bars of the cage, trying to grab a golden bracelet off the bear’s wrist. The beast turned with a snap of its jaws, and the challenger in the cage advanced, arm outstretched.

The bear spun back to him, swatting with its massive, brown paw. The man jumped back, but not far enough, and a sharp claw caught the end of his nose. He brought his hands to his face as the crowd gasped. His wife’s cries reached a frenzied pitch at the sight of blood pouring through his fingers. “Get out of that cage!”

The man retreated to the corner, removed his hands from his nose, and wiped the blood on his tunic. He advanced again, circling to the right of the angry bear. The smell of blood only provoked the beast. It launched forward, slashing its paws. The man ducked under its arm and lunged for the back of the bear’s neck. His greedy fingers closed around the golden chain of a ruby necklace. The beast whirled around, the back of a paw slammed into the side of its opponent’s head. The blow lifted the man completely off his feet. He crashed into the iron bars of the cage and slid down, collapsing at the bear’s feet.

Two soldiers with spears leapt into the cage. The bear growled but retreated before the sharp iron points. A third soldier dragged the challenger out and left him in the dirt outside the cage. Awareness slowly returned to his face, now swollen purple. He opened his eyes and sat up, blinking furiously to clear his eyes of the blood flowing from a gash on his forehead. He unclenched his fist and surveyed his palm. It was empty. The bear was pressed against the far side of the cage, the red stone still suspended from its shaggy neck.

Someone from the crowd helped the man to his feet. As he staggered forward, his wife pounced, hitting him in the chest with both fists, less powerfully than the bear, but no less fierce. The crowd’s laughter mingled with the wife’s screams as she pulled him away. A scrawny man with large, bulging eyes climbed to the top of the cage, and the laughter immediately ceased. “A handsbreadth away from a lifetime of riches! Who will be the next to try?”

Two men stepped forward from different parts of the crowd. “One at a time,” the announcer said. “You. You climb in. You can go next. Unless… Ovadia, have you come to try? I’ll let you go first!”

The crowd turned to watch Ovadia approach the cage. He stared long and hard at the bear, now back on four legs, circling its enclosure. The crowd was quiet, silenced by the prospect of seeing the King’s steward in a death struggle for treasure. “Not today, Aviad.” Ovadia’s calm gaze met the shaky eyes of the announcer.

But his refusal only excited Aviad. “Come, come…surely one who enters the throne room of the King isn’t afraid to step into a bear’s den?” The crowd laughed at the bold taunt, but Ovadia shook his head. Aviad raised his voice higher, “Can any man have too many riches?”

“A fool may be blinded by the jewels, Aviad, but a wise man sees the claws.”

Ovadia turned away, and his eyes fell upon the two of us. “Ah, boys, I was hoping to find you. Can you come with me?” We followed him away from the crowd. Once out of earshot, Ovadia pulled out a sealed scroll. “Please take this to Uzziah ben Hanan. He is the foreman in charge of readying the gates. Wait for his response, then come report to me at the palace. I’ll instruct the guards to allow you entry.”

I was anticipating a meal after a long morning of practice, but couldn’t bring myself to refuse. We found the city gates thrown open and people streaming through, most on foot, some on donkeys, and quite a few nobles riding horses. Workmen washed the gates and smoothed out rough patches in the road under the supervision of a tall man who walked among them, inspecting their work. Yonaton approached him, “Are you Uzziah ben Hanan?”

He nodded, took the scroll from Yonaton’s outstretched hand, and examined the clay seal in the image of a footstool. “So, what does Ovadia want now?” He broke the seal, read the scroll, then turned to one of the workmen washing the gates. “Shama, take your horn and position yourself on that hill. When Tzidon’s caravan comes into view, sound three long blasts.” He turned back to Yonaton. “You may tell Ovadia that everything has been arranged.”

The first part of our task done, we headed back up the hill toward the palace at the top—but something about our errand didn’t feel right to me. “Does it seem strange to you…” I asked Yonaton, “…that Ovadia would use us as his messengers?”

“He’s far too busy to go himself.”

“Of course he is, but he must have other servants.”

“Look around, everyone’s busy.” Indeed they were. All around us pavers were being washed, bushes trimmed, and even a canopy erected below the palace. “He probably needs all the help he can get.”

“Maybe.” But something still didn’t feel right to me. Uriel may have convinced Ovadia to take us into his house, but why would he make us his messengers as well? If he needs extra help, why not use his personal servants?

Three guards blocked the palace entrance. One put out his hand to stop us. “We’re looking for Ovadia,” I said.

The guard caught sight of the kinnor hanging over my shoulder and nodded. “You’re the musicians?” He smirked, probably expecting men, not boys. “Go through. You’ll find Ovadia in the entryway.”

From Ovadia’s house, I’d seen only the top of the palace, but as we stepped through the gates, I entered a city within the city. All the houses inside Levonah’s town walls combined together would hardly equal the size of the palace. It was at least five times as wide as Ovadia’s house and rose to a full three stories. In the courtyard, a double row of thick limestone columns led up to the palace gate. The whole enclosure was buzzing like a beehive: slaves sluiced down the broad flagstones of the courtyard, gardeners pruned grapevines, and servants darted from place to place, each one burdened by his own load.

Under the arched and pillared entryway to the palace, Ovadia inspected a stately oak throne, oiled and buffed to a warm glow in the sunlight. Beside him, a man in linen robes specked with sawdust gestured to an elaborately carved cedar tree on the back of the throne. “Had there been more time—”

“Nonsense,” Ovadia said. “No visiting king could expect more. King Ahav will be pleased.” He turned at our approach. “Ah boys, everything’s been arranged? Excellent. I’m sure you’re hungry. You can return to the house and Batya will fix you something to eat. I may join you there soon, once I find servants to carry this into the throne room.”

I eyed the throne of dark-tinted wood. It looked heavy, but not too heavy for us to carry. The next time I saw Seguv, he’d surely tell me about his appearance in the King’s court. How I’d love to tell him that I’d been there as well.

I might be dreaming of spending the rest of my life playing music at the court, but I know how much my dreams are worth. This might be the only chance I ever get.

Yonaton read my face and nodded—he wanted to do it too. I spoke up, in the deepest tone I could manage. “We can carry it.”

Ovadia’s lips curled into a bemused smile. “You probably can. But the King is sitting on his throne and will be watching. For all the world, I would not be the one to drop this throne in front of King Ahav.”

“We won’t drop it.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt. The craftsman shifted from foot to foot, clearly displeased with the idea of mere boys carrying his creation. But he wouldn’t voice his opposition before Ovadia.

Ovadia ran his eyes slowly over my face, then down to my chest and hands. He gave the same inspection to Yonaton, who was shorter and more solidly built. I expected Ovadia to refuse, but he raised his eyebrows and nodded, appearing pleased with our proposal. “Very well, two stout hearts are worth many strong arms. The throne belongs next to the King, on his left side. It is unacceptable to set it down in the throne room or to show any strain. If you feel it slipping, say ‘Where would you like it, sir?’ and I will come to your aid.”

We picked up the throne and immediately discovered it was heavier than it looked. The effort I saw on Yonaton’s face mirrored my own. Ovadia hesitated, but then took a step backward, directing us forward. At his nod, servants opened two tall wooden doors, and Ovadia backed into the throne room. It was long and narrow, with black basalt columns, carved like date palms and just as tall, marching in two lines down the center of the room. Beams of light shined through windows high in the southern wall. The King, a crown of woven gold on his head, sat on a raised platform three steps above the stone floor. The room held noblemen in dyed linen garments, soldiers bearing the emblem of the royal ox, commoners waiting to petition the King, and scribes recording all that occurred—about twenty people in all. We entered, and with great effort wiped the strain from our faces.

Ovadia walked in reverse ahead of us, twisting slightly to avoid showing his back to the King. His approaching presence parted the crowd as he directed us up the long aisle. I could see the tension creeping back into Yonaton’s face, and the muscles of my own jaw tightened. Both of us leaned forward, using the back of the throne to hide our faces from the King, but this only made its weight harder to carry. My arms burned, my back was screaming, and I could no longer keep the distress from my face. Hunched and struggling, we carried the throne between the columns to the foot of the dais, but to place it on the platform, we would have to lift it waist high and pass right before the King.

“Where shall we put it, sir?” The strain in Yonaton’s voice rang out like a bell.

Ovadia grabbed the back of the throne with two broad hands and lifted it with surprising power. “Right over here.” The three of us carried it over the steps with ease, and Yonaton and I were able to relax our expressions before passing the King. We set it down next to him and backed away, bowing as we went.

“Nicely done, Ovadia. It is truly as beautiful as you claimed.” A loud cheer came from outside, and everyone but the King turned toward the sound of the commotion. “Has someone just taken a jewel from the bear?”

“I believe so, my King.”

“A rather brutal form of entertainment.”

“Apparently quite popular in Tzidon. Princess Izevel thought it would amuse our guests.”

“They do sound as if they’re enjoying themselves. Still, we don’t need any more cripples in Shomron—I’m feeding quite enough already.”

Three long blasts echoed from outside the city. The King sat up tall and stately, a match for any of the pillars lining his great hall. “Could Tzidon have arrived already?” He sank back into his throne. “Ovadia, go and meet him outside the walls and escort him to me.”

“Very good, my King. What of his wife and daughter?”

“Show them to their accommodations first. Women