Vanadorn
Motorcycling Paladin
“So how is it that you learned our language?”
Malocti drew in a deep inhalation from his pipe, savoring the rich tobacco before exhaling. “We learned your speech from the honorable people who follow Shaka Zulu. The people of Zimbabwe have many buildings with scrolls and learned men. It is from them that we have learned the speech of your people.”
“Amazing!” Rumius lowered his hoe, thankful for any excuse to stop working in his fields. “I’m fairly sure that no one knew of any peoples past the dark men to our west. And yet you’ve been there all this time.”
Malocti nodded, the huge disks in his distended earlobes swinging in time. “We have learned many things since the ancient days. Things that we would be willing to trade with the Romans. The concept of many gods is something that we would be interested in exploring with you. We know of the great spirit jaguar and of the other forces, but the fact that these forces are governed by beings as men are governed by kings?!? Preposterous!”
The Roman farmer smiled. “Nah, it’s a fairly old concept. However, I’m more interested in those coins you’re carrying. You’re telling me that those copper and bronze disks are just as valuable as either gold or my livestock.”
“It is called currency. And each piece is stamped with the face of our Great Instigator, Smoke Jaguar. It is easier to “buy” things with these coins if everyone agrees to their worth.”
Rumius spit. “Makes no sense.” He surveyed the lush land around him, his eyes drifting towards the distant city of Cumae. “But then again, I’m just a farmer. No one pays much attention to a farmer.”
The brown skinned Malocti laughed. “My friend,” he said, once able to control his giggling voice. “In my land, those who till the soil are looked on with great respect. You would be given the attention there as your iron skinned warriors are given here.”
“That’s a hoot! Me? As important as a Legionnaire? Ha! You do have strange customs Malocti.”
Still smiling, the Mayan traveler lifted his woven rucksack back onto his shoulders and grabbed his long thin javelins, propping the wobbling spears onto his shoulders. “Well Rumius,” he said, “I have truly enjoyed meeting with you. If you are an example of the types of people the Roman’s are, I think we’ll get along fine.” Looking at Cumae himself, Malocti asked, “Is that a place where I can talk to one of your chiefs? Perhaps he might be willing to trade knowledge with us.”
“Cumae? Yeah, the governor’s there. Should be able to sit and talk with him. The impressers have stopped the mad draft amongst the plebeians for the army since Carthage fell. Word is that Hannibal has set up shop further north near some place called Utica.” Rumius spit again. “So, the training grounds are pretty empty and the people are still feeling pretty good since we toppled them damned Carthaginians.”
Malocti looked deep in thought, watching the distant city with hooded eyes. “You are saying that your people have attacked and beaten an entire city?”
The Roman gave a bark of laughter. “One? Heck no. Try six. It was the last one that was tougher to crack than a senator’s grip on a conversation. But it makes sense, it was their capital.”
The Mayan traveler silently fingered his javelins. Finally, he said, “Maybe there are more things we can learn from you Romans. Any people that can attack another and capture many of their cities are the types of people we want to be friends with.”
Rumius nodded, swinging his hoe back to his fields. “Ain’t that the truth. The world needs more friends.”
Malocti waved. “Thank you again, Roman.”
“Any time, Malocti!”
Malocti drew in a deep inhalation from his pipe, savoring the rich tobacco before exhaling. “We learned your speech from the honorable people who follow Shaka Zulu. The people of Zimbabwe have many buildings with scrolls and learned men. It is from them that we have learned the speech of your people.”
“Amazing!” Rumius lowered his hoe, thankful for any excuse to stop working in his fields. “I’m fairly sure that no one knew of any peoples past the dark men to our west. And yet you’ve been there all this time.”
Malocti nodded, the huge disks in his distended earlobes swinging in time. “We have learned many things since the ancient days. Things that we would be willing to trade with the Romans. The concept of many gods is something that we would be interested in exploring with you. We know of the great spirit jaguar and of the other forces, but the fact that these forces are governed by beings as men are governed by kings?!? Preposterous!”
The Roman farmer smiled. “Nah, it’s a fairly old concept. However, I’m more interested in those coins you’re carrying. You’re telling me that those copper and bronze disks are just as valuable as either gold or my livestock.”
“It is called currency. And each piece is stamped with the face of our Great Instigator, Smoke Jaguar. It is easier to “buy” things with these coins if everyone agrees to their worth.”
Rumius spit. “Makes no sense.” He surveyed the lush land around him, his eyes drifting towards the distant city of Cumae. “But then again, I’m just a farmer. No one pays much attention to a farmer.”
The brown skinned Malocti laughed. “My friend,” he said, once able to control his giggling voice. “In my land, those who till the soil are looked on with great respect. You would be given the attention there as your iron skinned warriors are given here.”
“That’s a hoot! Me? As important as a Legionnaire? Ha! You do have strange customs Malocti.”
Still smiling, the Mayan traveler lifted his woven rucksack back onto his shoulders and grabbed his long thin javelins, propping the wobbling spears onto his shoulders. “Well Rumius,” he said, “I have truly enjoyed meeting with you. If you are an example of the types of people the Roman’s are, I think we’ll get along fine.” Looking at Cumae himself, Malocti asked, “Is that a place where I can talk to one of your chiefs? Perhaps he might be willing to trade knowledge with us.”
“Cumae? Yeah, the governor’s there. Should be able to sit and talk with him. The impressers have stopped the mad draft amongst the plebeians for the army since Carthage fell. Word is that Hannibal has set up shop further north near some place called Utica.” Rumius spit again. “So, the training grounds are pretty empty and the people are still feeling pretty good since we toppled them damned Carthaginians.”
Malocti looked deep in thought, watching the distant city with hooded eyes. “You are saying that your people have attacked and beaten an entire city?”
The Roman gave a bark of laughter. “One? Heck no. Try six. It was the last one that was tougher to crack than a senator’s grip on a conversation. But it makes sense, it was their capital.”
The Mayan traveler silently fingered his javelins. Finally, he said, “Maybe there are more things we can learn from you Romans. Any people that can attack another and capture many of their cities are the types of people we want to be friends with.”
Rumius nodded, swinging his hoe back to his fields. “Ain’t that the truth. The world needs more friends.”
Malocti waved. “Thank you again, Roman.”
“Any time, Malocti!”
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