Casca wore a cloak of wild goatskin and breeches of camel skins made pliable by the chewing of the hides and scraping and pounding of the women of the Yueh-chih. The wind was blowing from behind, in from the plains, soon the direction would change and the wind would come from the seas bringing the spring rains and floods, but for now the jacket and breeches were welcome to cut the chill edges that searched through the lacings of his clothes. His hair had grown long and hung to his shoulders; his face was darkened by the winds and the sun. Old Shiu Lao Tze was right, the wall seemed to run forever. He had told Casca on the galley that it had been started by the Emperor Shih Huang Ti, two hundred and fourteen years before the birth of the crucified prophet, Yesuah. It had been designed to keep out the marauding Mongolian peoples who preceded the Huns. Riding alongside the wall, after four days he finally came to a portal where one of the permanent garrisons was maintained.
