[Anguirel]

Sangalazin was in a splendid mood. He had returned to his habitual divan, and his full, incongruously tall length was stretched across it. In front of him a table had been positioned; but it did not hold the customary hookah. Instead, it was topped with a chess board, the individual squares of well-polished ebony and ivory shining. The pieces were all laid out; King, Queen, Mumakil, Knights, Galleys and Pawns. This arrangement was a strange compromise of Sangalazin's devising between the chess of Umbar and Gondor; a Queen instead of a Vizier, Knights instead of Captains, and Pawns instead of Corsairs.

The Lord stretched, smiling contentedly. He always felt satisfied after a strangling; it was a civilised way of releasing the atavistic energy that made men beasts, just like indulgences of the flesh and the table.

"The Easterling put up a poor performance, Your Majesty," the bodyguard Captain Andlang commented. The guard of Sangalazin were trained to address him as though he were already undisputed King of Gondor. "Even though in your nobility you allowed him the use of a blade."

Sangalazin laughed; a pleasant, ringing sound. "He'd scarcely handled a dagger in his life. He fought even worse than he played his footling little instrument. Truly, he deserved the garotte. Quite laughable."

Andlang and the two other guards shared their master's mirth. Sangalazin admired them. What wondrous creations, perfect sycophants and courtiers, things of beauty, and unequalled warriors.

"Will Captain Chatazrakin be joining me soon?" he queried.

"Oh, directly," replied Andlang. "He's just having to deal with indiscipline among the slaves. Most degrading for a Captain of his rank..."