The sky between the mountains was as clear and blue as the deep sea, reflecting the myriad aspects of the world. Under the sky of Granada, the young knight Giovanni trembled all over, pointing at the bewildered Moorish noble captive, his face full of disbelief.
"Three hundred thousand, three hundred thousand gold ducats!"
"Exactly! Giovanni, you calculated quickly and accurately. You will be an excellent heir to old Silvestre and will become an outstanding Venetian senator. Perhaps, with the connections of the Holy Roman Emperor, you even have a chance at the Republic's Council of Ten..."
Old knight Lorenzo's lips curled up, his voice softly persuasive. Then, with a "clang," he drew the knight's longsword from his waist and placed it into Giovanni's hand.
"Go on! Child! For the interests of the Republic of Venice, go kill him, kill this heathen messenger!"
"Ah! Kill him!"
