Polgar had the ability to see through a person's power and use it for him, and Porcha was fully aware of his ability almost the moment he brought his horse back and took him into his hands. Pen Fun Pavilion www.biquge.info he acted purely on instinct like a machine that had lost its soul. Polgar managed to help him get into the city, and he pulled out his horse and searched for a way out of the endless grasslands in exchange for a few days of food for himself. He had now learned the oily and scoundrel style of the marketmen, like a puddle of mud mixed into a mold that would have become exactly like that. Slowly, he also got to know some thieves, ringing horses, and the lowliest robbers, and he would ask them with smiling faces if they needed help, and then lead them by taking a few dinarls to buy a glass of ale. Polgar has seen through this man, the more Polcha is like this, the more relieved he is, in his opinion, there will be no difference between Porcha now and Porcha in a few decades, and he seems destined for decades without any passion and light, only mediocrity and shamelessness.

Polgar was intelligent, calm, and especially good at seeing, and he had already seen the joy and insatiability of the Khan of Gerak, just as he now understood the simple ignorance of Feljans. When the Khan of Gerak won successive battles and added Rana and Halma to the territory of the Khanate, he sneered at the cheering people left behind on the street corner. It was not until the time when the Khan of Gerak had returned from a great defeat at the hands of Marshal Mars at Alib that the old Kugit fellows had a dull and hopeless expression, and he only walked out of the tavern lazily yawning as if he had heard a boring joke. He had even expected that the old khan would never see the sun rising in Tulga again.

When the new Khan Saiga returned with his army, he brought the news of the old Khan's death with him, ignoring the stunned eyes of the crowd and the gloomy and angry eyes of Dastam, and declared that his father Khan had died of illness on the way home, and that he was going to take on the task alone. Polgar's team has expanded to more than a dozen people, and Porcha is no longer just stealing horses as before, he is more of a guide for this slave trader, after all, in the war years, time is indeed the lifeline. The civil war spread like wildfire throughout the steppe, but it was all in Polgar's hands, and he stood firmly on Saiga's side, even in the most difficult time when Saiga's army was repeatedly defeated by Dastam and even Saiga's life was threatened, he still used the dinar he had earned over the years to provide him with a steady stream of financial aid to Saiga, and when he spent his last dinar, the news of the victory of the new Khan Saiga came, and he gave him 10,000 dinars as a thank-you gift, and this was not the most important thing. Polgar's slavery business was recognized by the Saiga, and the Kugits finally learned the example of the Nords, and Polgar became a giant among them.

Porcha still wandered in the steppe as before, and did things according to his instincts, and Polgar's wealth and poverty seemed to have nothing to do with him, and he always wanted to fill his stomach, and sometimes he could have a cup of the lowest ale and numb his muddy mind a little deeper. Ever since he had gulped down the bread that gloomy afternoon, he had not seen himself as a living person in his heart.

It was not until one ordinary summer afternoon, when the blazing sun was baking the streets and the air was lazy, that Porcha, while wandering through the streets of the city of Tulga, had taken a fancy to a steed, and he was still acting on instinct, trying to untie the reins, not knowing that a pair of large hands were waiting for him behind the stables. The horse dealer had lost several horses at Porcha's hands and had been waiting for him for a long time. Before Porcha could understand what was happening, he felt pulled out by a sudden force, and he was beaten for a long time. He didn't feel much pain, but thought that he would have to do some odd jobs to get two drinks. He actually owed the tavern owner a lot of money, but he didn't think of it at the time. Later, he saw two men in nomadic robes coming, and he did not expect that the horse dealer would call the guards directly. He was captured by the guards, but he kept defending himself, using what he had learned for a long time: he insisted that he was wrong, that he had a horse that looked very similar, and this time he was just wrong. The horse dealer had no evidence that the horses had been stolen by Porcha, and he kept shouting: Can his eyes still deceive him?

Porcha's memories always go back to that hot afternoon, when he fell into a place he didn't know how vile, dirty, and nasty, when he was dazed in that lifeless, dark, stinking gutter, when someone stretched out his arm and pulled him out of there, wiped him clean, smoothed his wounds, and bathed him in the sun again. When he was held in the tavern by the two guards, he didn't know how to get out, and he didn't think about it anymore, he had always acted on instinct, maybe he would find a chance to get out of the way, or Polgar would find a way to get him out, anyway, he didn't care much about that, he just watched the two guards drink and felt very thirsty, and wanted to beg for a drink. Then he saw a man in chain armor walk in from outside the house, run to the counter and order a can of wine. His face was tightly obscured by the Germanic helmet, and his two eyes were exposed, which were calm and gentle, and had the unique intimacy of a young man. Porcha thought that this was the dress of the ordinary Nord warriors, and that it was often worn by the pirates, but this young man did not give him the same feeling as the barbarians he had seen on the coast, but had a certain noble demeanor of the ancient Kalads. But he didn't think much more, he just felt thirsty, so he shouted bluntly: "Give me a drink, I'm dying of thirst." ”

The guard gave him a contemptuous look, sneered a few times, and drank his own wine again. The young man seemed to hear his shouts and walked slowly, the guard glancing at him and clenching his scimitar, the young man did not seem to notice the two guards, but handed the wine to Porcha. Porcha didn't bother to thank him, he took the clay pot and drank it, and his throat continued to make a rapid grunt. Soon the pot was empty, and Porcha burped twice, and that drunken red appeared on his face. Then he stared at the young man for a few seconds, and then suddenly he shouted loudly again, louder and more energetic than before: "Thank you, Egir, alas, I am so embarrassed now. I saw a very beautiful steed at the door of the tavern just now, and do you remember that I had one before, a very beautiful white steed with a little spot on his forehead. Hey, my eyes were so confused, and my damn hands went to untie the reins, and it turned out to be like this, can you help me?"

"Two chiefs, this is my friend. He did have such a horse before, and I gave it to him. Please forgive him for his stupid mistake. The young man spoke earnestly, and the guard looked at him suspiciously. Then he pulled out two more purses, which Porcha estimated to be about two hundred dinars. The two guards weighed it, smiled with satisfaction, waved their hands, and signaled that he could lead Polcha away, but Porcha still looked so drunk, and followed his mouth of Egil Haha.

There was a familiar Carad accent in the youth's discourse, mellow and earthy. This was the first thing that came to Porcha's mind, and he inexplicably recalled his father, whose accents were similar, except that his father's voice was deeper. He muttered and repeated the words: "Two hundred dinars... Two hundred dinars—" As if he had not yet understood the meaning of the sentence, his eyes were bewildered and trembling, as if many scenes flashed before him, and he did not know what was really happening and what was imaginary. Then he looked around, and saw that there were no pedestrians in the street, and the young man was still staring at him coldly as before, and he wiped the sweat from his forehead, trying to stabilize his tone, but finally anger made him cry out, "You bastards!" The muscles on his face trembled violently, and his eyes burned with anger, like a campfire in the night. It was not as if he was scolding at the young man, but at the many people around him, what he could see and what he could not see. His body was still trembling, he didn't seem to be able to calm himself yet, in fact he hadn't lost his temper for a long time, this time it seemed to be too hard, and his emotions couldn't bear it well.

When the young man saw his angry look, his eyes softened a lot, but they were still so calm and mysterious. He suddenly stepped forward and hugged Porcha tightly, Polcha was completely stunned, but his body was still shaking, and the blazing sun shone into his pupils, and he had not felt such a tight warmth in many years.

When Polcha returned to reality from his thoughts, the knock on the door became more urgent, and the people outside the door began to cry out impatiently: "Old Porcha, don't you plan to do business when it comes?" Polcha hurriedly wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and hurried to open the door. He felt a voice crying out from within himself, but in fact, it had been heard many times since he had returned to this vile business, and yet he tried to keep it to a damn that he didn't want to remember the rest of the story, for it only confirmed again and again what he had said that day: these people were bastards.