"Krpya, sriman. I am poor. I have nothing to give you." His hands fly up, covering his eyes from the sight before him – a boy with yellow eyes, who despite the turban knotted around his head, revealed half a face of mottled scars and distortions.
"Sri Ajit says otherwise."
The man's pallor, under other circumstances, reminiscent of café-au-lait, with rose-tinged cheeks, dulled now to the color of mud. His gaze shifted to the thuggee standing behind the monster. The Indian's visage might well be that of a statue – one of stunning beauty, an antithesis to that of his associate with the exception of their mutual contempt for his life.
"Turn him around and use the lasso as you were taught," he commanded. "He lies about his poverty."
"No, I wish to see his life leave him."
"No, please, sriman," the merchant pleaded, pulling on a string in his dhoti, he withdrew a bag of gold coins – offering it to them. "Here, this is all I have."
"Too late, I fear," Erik responded, taking a step back to throw the lasso, smiling as he saw it glide perfectly over the man's head, settling on his shoulders. Tightening it slowly, he watched the struggle against the catgut, cutting his fingers, trying to prevent it cutting into his throat, to no avail – blood flowed from both. Tears filled eyes threatening to burst from his head, a red tongue poked through bloated lips. A gurgling sound escaped those same lips and the air was soon fouled with the odor of agonal urination and defecation. The body slumps to the ground – the only thing holding him up is Erik's grip on the garrote.
Satisfied that the man was dead, Erik shook him loose then removed the lasso from his neck. After wiping away the blood with a cloth, he wrapped the cord neatly into a loop and thrust it into his pocket along with the bag of gold.
"Even the jamadar prefers not to see the face of those he kills."
"I was curious as to how I looked, when garroted," Erik said.
"The lasso was never so tight with you – you still have much to learn about how to guide the lasso. I think watching him die held more interest for you."
"Yes, I suppose that might be so - I wished to see his soul, if there is such a thing, leave the body."
"And did you?"
"No."