The gold tarns had been paid, an amount sufficient to pay for the death of a Ubar. Though I suspected I was hired to topple a throne, my target was not the Ubar. No, I sought the power behind the throne, the intelligence that guided policy, the intelligence that determined the course of action.

None of this was presented to me when I took on the contract. I simply read between the lines, assessing the identity of my employer, his city, the target, the target’s city, and more. I was politically savvy enough to understand the repercussions of my mission. This was more than a simple vengeance kill. It was definitely not a second kill. This kill was intended to cause great reverberations.

Though I knew a few things about my target, I still needed to gather additional intelligence. Like most in my Caste, I carefully planned out my assassinations. And proper information was vital to my chances of success. One rarely went into such situations in the dark.

First, I spoke to my usual contacts, amassing further details. My network of spies, gossips and informants. And nothing contradicted my initial impressions. Few disputed that the target was the true power behind the curule chair. Though not all would openly agree to that conclusion.

The rest of the intelligence would need to be gathered in the target’s city. So, garbed in the black of my Caste, I traveled to the city of Messenia, a port city to the south of Brundisium. Messenia was known for its finely crafted weapons, especially its swords. Its wine tempered blades were considered some of the best in northern Gor. Even I owned a Messenian gladius.

I chose to arrive by ship, to disembark at its harbor. I knew that my method of arrival would lead to much speculation. My appearance in a city always raised such speculation but my method of arrival would lead to specific, intended speculations. Especially concerning the potential identity of my employer. Deliberate sleight of hand.

Those in Messenia would be more likely to suspect an island or port city as my employer. Deflecting speculation away from my true employer. And leading the Messenian guards to follow up on the wrong type of leads. As well as better concealing the intent behind the assassination.

With a black dagger on my forehead, the Messenian guards permitted me entrance into the city, though I noticed a couple guards rushing away from the harbor, ostensibly to warn the Ubar of my presence. Nothing unusual in that regard. The presence of a member of my Caste often caused fear and paranoia. For my target could be anyone. And city rulers understood they were often high profile targets.

Word would quickly spread throughout the city of my arrival. And many men with enemies would start taking adding precautions, bolstering their security. Many might start remaining in their cylinders, fearful of traveling through the city. Some might even try to leave the city.

I spent a Hand wandering through the city, garnering intelligence on my target, yet being careful to conceal my intentions. For I asked about a number of potential targets, sufficiently so that my true target would not be readily identified. The data I acquired was useful, and would be helpful in planning the assassination.

My choice would be the crossbow, a weapon with which I was superbly skilled. I used a custom-made weapon, specially adjusted for me. I was highly accurate, even at a distance, which is where many of my shots were made. Such a distance enhanced my chances at escape, and also lessened the chances of my detection prior to the actual assassination attempt.

Often I only had time for a single shot, so it was vital that I was accurate. And the crossbow possessed the best accuracy of all the bows I might choose. With my current target, I believed that only a single shot would be necessary. My target lacked the awareness and reflexes of a Warrior. That provided me with a greater edge.

The Messenian city guards kept a close eye on me. They understood the danger I posed and they awaited any error that I might make. I knew they desired to pounce on me, to take me down if I posed an evident threat to their city. My only concern was that they might make a pre-emptive strike, that they might be ordered to apprehend or kill me prior to knowing my actual target. Much depended on the paranoia of the throne.

Though if they knew my true target, I might actually garner some support. For I was cognizant that not all of the citizens of Messenia were pleased with the current regime. They understood how the Ubar was being controlled, manipulated. Yet they dared do nothing to change matters. If need be, I would exploit those feelings.

As expected, my target received less protection than the Ubar. My target was considered to be at lesser risk. Which should provide me with a sufficient opening. I needed only a short opportunity, time enough for the pull of the trigger on my crossbow. Time enough for the rapid flight of an iron quarrel. Time enough to kill.

There are many types of Ubars. There are the exceptional men, like Marlenus of Ar. Men who are both brilliant and skilled, superb Warriors and expert tacticians. Men who instill great loyalty and trust. There are the ruthless men, whose brutality helps enforce their rule, like the obese Lurius of Jad. Men who make up for their lesser intelligence with an oppressive rule, who instill more fear that trust. Then there are those who rule only because of those behind them, their supporters. Such Ubars are more akin to puppets, controlled by others. Though that control may or may not be obvious. Without such backing, these men would never have become Ubar.

The Ubar of Messenia was one of the latter types. He was of average intelligence at best, and some speculated that he was not even that high. It was clear that he was not highly literate, that he lacked the skills of a Scribe, but some Warriors did revel in being as such. It was a badge of honor to them. Thus, such illiteracy could not automatically be considered as a sign of lesser intelligence.

Though it was curious that occasionally the Ubar evidenced literacy far beyond what was considered his usual capabilities. That was the first clue that maybe there was a power behind the curule chair, directing his actions, providing cover for his failings. Especially as the Ubar tried to pass it off as his own, concealing the true author of such texts and documents.

Yet how could the Ubar realistically believe that the citizens would be so duped? The differences were so blatant, so obvious, that nearly anyone could discern them. Yet how many citizens would dare question their ruler? Sycophants and toadies.

All good Ubars surround themselves with fine men, skilled individuals who assist in the city’s administration. Choosing such men is an important duty of a Ubar. Yet there is sometimes a fine line between assistance and control. How does one determine when an assistant actually pulls the strings, when an assistant is the one who sets policy, when a Ubar has ceded control to another?

I was familiar with the phenomenon of such puppet masters. The most successful were those who blended into the background, who chose to hide in the shadows rather than bathe in the rays of Lar-Torvis. That helped conceal their power, even their very existence. And their subtle touch could be quite difficult to discern. Such men see little reason to be visibly or even vocally prominent.

The puppet master in Messenia did not resemble this ideal. This puppet master stepped forward, loudly voicing support, shrilly expressing opinions, harshly berating critics. There was little attempt at any manner of concealment. And despite repeated denials, the truth was self-evident.

A woman controlled the throne of Messenia. The Ubara. She pulled the Ubar’s strings, directing the course of the city. It was her intelligence that guided Messenian policy. It was her prejudices that influenced the citizens. It was her desires that fuelled the objectives of the city. Such great power in the hands of a mere woman.

A shrewish harridan said to possess the face and body of a she-tarsk, a sow. And with the disposition of a rabid urt. Feminine was not a term many would attribute to her. She was in denial of her womanhood, suppressing her natural inclinations. A repressed, confused and frustrated woman who under other circumstances might have fled to the northern forests. Except for her avarice for power.

An unquenchable thirst for power was her primary motivation. And some said that she Companioned a man she knew she could control, a man she felt she could turn into a Ubar. She had planned well for her future. She had manipulated circumstances to bring about a fate she desired.

But why didn’t she seek power on her own? At the very least, she wanted some illusion that a man was in control. She knew the usual fate of female rulers, those Tatrices and lone Ubaras who thought themselves capable of surviving without men. A steel collar. And she certainly did not desire that fate.

Until now, the Ubara had been successful. She had her power and relished what it allowed her to accomplish. She felt herself secure in her position, protected from a collar by the presence of the Ubar. Her puppet. But, the Ubara’s luck had now ended. And the Ubar could not stave off the peril I posed.

Killing the Ubara would create an enormous void in the Ubar’s administration. It would deprive the Ubar of his primary source of intelligence. It would leave him defenseless in many regards. Without her counsel, his mistakes would accumulate and accumulate. And the city would suffer. Ripe for the taking by a would-be conqueror.

Without having been told as much, I knew this was the result my employer intended. I knew the rapaciousness of his city, his desire for conquest. And acquiring a port city would greatly enhance his power. As well as contribute to his economic prosperity, opening up numerous markets to his Merchants.

Despite his recent efforts to forge closer ties to Messenia, trade and otherwise, I could tell that such efforts were part and parcel of an overall scheme of deception. He wanted to make Messenia believe that his city posed no threat, that his city cherished their treaties and alliances. All but a ruse.

None of that mattered to my contract. I had been paid and I would do the appointed task. I would assassinate the Ubara. I would pull the trigger and launch an iron quarrel into her head, or her heart. I would kill her and then leave Messenia. And then move on to my next contract.

I cared not if Messenia was later conquered. Though it was intriguing to consider the ramifications of my simple task. The death of a single person causing the eventual fall of an entire city. The death of a mere woman.

Killing a woman did not bother me at all. This would not be the first time I had done such. And after my formidable training, my emotions had been purged from me. They were a weakness that I could not afford to possess in my profession. My heart had hardened. There was now only gold and steel.

Fortunately for me, the Ubara was a creature of habit in some ways. Despite my presence in the city, she chose not to miss her weekly visit to the Leukadia Baths, the most elite private baths in the city. Very expensive, catering only to the wealthiest and highest status women.

On the first day of each Hand, a fancy palanquin would carry the Ubara to the baths. She would then spend about three or four Ahn at the baths, afterwards being returned to the Central Cylinder by the same palanquin. The palanquin waited just outside, for whenever the Ubara chose to depart.

As the palanquin was covered, I could not kill her while she was traveling. I needed to be able to see her to target her with my crossbow. Gaining access to the baths was possible but definitely not easy. My best opportunity would occur when the Ubara arrived at the baths and descended from the palanquin.

The Ubara would walk a short distance from the palanquin to the entry door of the baths. Within that short time frame, I should be able to aim and fire upon her. Several Ihn of vulnerability. Sufficient for me.

Donning a disguise, the garb of a Merchant, I went to examine the area near the entrance to the Leukadia Baths. I obviously could not effectively scout out the area dressed as an Assassin. I could not draw any attention to this location. I thus blended into the neighborhood, drawing no attention or suspicion. And my eyes scrutinized everything, every nook and corner, every area within line of sight.

There were seven potential lines of attack, seven reasonable places from where I could make my killing shot. Two had to be eliminated because the sun would likely be in my eyes. Three others had to be eliminated because they were too obvious and too open. They posed too great of a risk of being discovered before I could get off a shot.

Two places remained, both about the same distance from where the Ubara would be located. Both also provided adequate cover. And the two places were relatively close to each other. There was little difference between the two to choose one over the other.

As I pondered the matter, a plan came to mind, a ruse that I had relied upon before to great efficacy. The new Hand would begin in two days so I had time to arrange matters. The Ubara would now die on the first day of the new Hand, just before she entered the Leukadia Baths. And if things went well, my escape was assured.

The first day of the new Hand arrived. A sunny day with few clouds. From my spot, the sun was behind me and thus would not be an obstacle. I watched the Ubara’s palanquin carried down the street by muscular kajiri. Ten city guardsmen accompanied the palanquin, their eyes ever wary.

Those guardsmen might have detected me if I had been placed at some of the other potential spots. As I expected. I felt secure in my current position. I had a clear line of sight and was not readily noticeable to the guardsman as a potential threat. So far, everything was proceeding as planned.

The palanquin neared the Baths and then stopped. A guardsman stepped forward and then pulled back the curtain on the palanquin. He assisted the Ubara out of the palanquin. She was garbed in expensive silks of a multitude of vibrant colors. Only her dark eyes were visible beneath the bulky robes and layers of veils. From the fact that she towered over the guardsman by at least a foot, I suspected she wore platform shoes as well.

I pulled the crossbow up to my shoulder, sighting down upon the Ubara, aiming for a head shot. Due to those bulky robes, a body shot might not actually be lethal. It might get encumbered in all that stiff fabric. The veils though posed a thinner layer, a more vulnerable one. At this distance, a head shot would be only a moderately challenging shot. Something I could hit seven times out of ten.

My plan might permit me a second shot, dependent on the actions of her guards. I hoped a second shot was not necessary, but it was good to know that I might have the opportunity if it does become essential. Though a second shot would obviously make my escape more difficult.

The Ubara walked forward, taking slow, short steps. With her within my sights, I adjusted my aim accordingly. My finger slowly squeezed the trigger, firing an iron quarrel, sending it on its deadly path. And I immediately began to reload the crossbow. Just in case.

But it was not needed. The quarrel struck dead on, tearing through the thin veils, boring into her head. The great gush of blood reflected the obvious success of my bolt. And the Ubara immediately crumpled to the ground. I had seen enough successful kills to know what I had witnessed. My assassination was a success.

A couple guardsmen rushed to the Ubara’s side, hoping she was not dead, wanting to tend to her wound. The others looked for me, turning toward my direction after a quick analysis of the quarrel’s flight path. And then six of them charged forward, to apprehend the assassin. Or at least whom they suspected was the killer.

For when they turned in my direction, they witnessed a man in black fleeing the scene. A man I had paid to do exactly that. A man I had paid well. He would try to get out of sight and then abandon the black clothes. While the guards pursued him, the “obvious” killer. And while they did so, I could safely flee in the opposite direction.

Everything fell into place. I immediately left Messenia, without encountering any difficulties. Leaving a dead Ubara in my wake. I immediately returned to the headquarters of my Caste, to tell them of my success. News of the assassination would soon travel wide, enhancing the reputation of the Black Caste.

It would be interesting to see the future of Messenia now. How would the Ubara’s death affect the city? How soon would the Ubar self-destruct without the Ubara? How soon would it be before my employer tried to conquer the city? So many interesting questions.

I assumed that I might also expect further work from this employer, especially due to his rapacious nature and my success in Messenia. And that was always welcome. Gold and steel fuelled my Caste. And killing the Ubara had garnered quite a fee.

Post Script:

So, what did the future entail?

Six Hands after the Ubara’s death, an army attacked Messenia. An army belonging to the man who hired me to kill the Ubara. A large, well-organized army, prepared for siege warfare. A very intimidating force.

The Ubar of Messenia grabbed a significant portion of the treasury and fled by tarn, accompanied by about one hundred Warriors. He abandoned his city to save himself, knowing he was incapable of waging a war against his attackers. They headed north, eventually fleeing into the Vosk Delta, hoping to hide there.

Messenia easily fell. They met with little resistance and chose not to inflict the usual spoils of war upon the citizenry, if the people would swear fealty to their new liege. And many did, feeling abandoned by their former Ubar.

As for the former Ubar, his fate is unknown though rumors insist he and his men all perished in the swamps. Apparently Rencers, armed with long bows, attacked the fleeing Warriors. And during this battle, while the former Ubar was trying to hide in some thick brush, he encountered a large, hungry tharlarion. That was the last anyone saw of the former Ubar.