The
injustice. But what was justice? What, but that which Master Rababull
saw fit to declare so?
She had not been alive too long, especially compared to the hundreds of
years of her Master, but the boy who had been in the wrong was
obviously too young by far to merit such grievous punishment. For one
of so tender years, there were always other ways. The good boy could
have been set free for the sake of his lost eye, for instance, and the
bad boy who had put his eye out could have been taken to the front
gate, the better to watch with his two good eyes, the other go free. To
Si'Wren's mind, that would have been a perfectly fair and reasonable
punishment.
Except that Master Rababull would have lost a valuable slave in the
process. The old idol gods whom Si'Wren had known all her life would no
doubt have strongly approved of Master Rababull's harsh decision. Would
the Invisible God have approved also?
What a question. Si'Wren thought on this, but in the end, she could
only reflect that she could not bring herself to agree with Master
Rababull's harsh decision. Perhaps in time, she might gain a better
idea. It was certainly a question to nag at one's conscience.
Soon enough, as Nelatha had expected, Habrunt sent a runner boy over to
the spice tent as Si'Wren and Nelatha watched silently.
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