I choose my weapon carefully. It is a dangerous one, and one for which I have to seek permission. It is the right to question a man about himself.
Khurahtaten takes me before the three Assessors who examine my motives, my emotions and my conscience. I am given permission, with the proviso that I am not to ask anything I would not be prepared to answer myself.
I look at Ma-nan, and he is there.
He seems to have grown in stature. He towers above me, magnificent in the robes of an adept, the inevitable symbols of his trade, the staff, the sphere, the feather. Behind him, rising like a thunder cloud, his god Amun, with eyes of fire burning into mine.
I cannot help but tremble. Do I sense that beyond him there are others, waiting? Are they waiting to see what the outcome will be, or waiting
