Although Dumar had no preconceived ideas relating to the mode of transport they would be using, the reality was nothing like any of the few vague impressions which had flitted through his mind.
The carriage that arrived outside a gate which broke the monotony of the stone wall surrounding Grethron's home, was a four wheeled contraption harnessed to a pair of snorting Palta.
The animals were nowhere near the size of M'thar's Palta, Teghime, being much shorter, thinner and less muscular.
The vehicle itself stood twice the height of Dumar with carved and polished wood in dark hues abounding to create a frame into which thin fabric panels had been set in place of windows.
Rising to a pointed peak, the roof had been crafted from the same materials as the frame, was polished as highly as the rest and topped with an ornate golden ball.
Gilded seams surrounded each of the panels and picked out the spokes of each wheel.
"And you think I'm conspicuous," Dumar said to the old Necromancer after examining the showy carriage.
"If you are to travel," Grethron replied with a wink. "Travel in style."
He opened the door and climbed awkwardly inside, the whole carriage rocking on its suspension. Vilt clambered up next followed by Dumar who noted the interior was as highly decorated as the outside.
Plush, black seats covered in some kind of animal skinwere offset by lighter coloured side panelling. Crests and motifs had been set at regular intervals yet Dumar had no idea who or what any of them represented. Grethron leaned over and pulled the door shut at which point the carriage pulled away.
Dumar cast his gaze outside, through the gauzy fabric, to see a cobbled road that would allow at least three of these carriages to easily pass one another.
Across the highway the big man could see walled gardens similar to that of Grethron's own, although there seemed to be a wide variation in the materials used to construct the walls and homes.
Some of these looked to be made from different marbles, veined with vivid blues and reds, while others resembled sedimentary stones such as limestone or sandstone. An occasional tree shot from the ground providing peaceful shade and a gathering place for people, benches set around the trunks.
Dumar had only experience of the few people he had so far met at Grethron's house and the clothing they wore which, although functional, was fairly drab. The gatherings of people who stopped to chat, gossip or argue, however, were bathed in colour.
Vivid tones in numerous hues decorated members of the public and due to the heat, most were dressed in light fabrics to take advantage of any breeze that chanced their way.
The combination of odours here provided Dumar with a secondary picture of the activities taking place in this area, cooking foods predominated the miasma of scents with an underlying smell of decaying matter and stagnating water.
The faecal leavings of numerous Palta added to the mix alongside various perfumes and spiced scents, the ever-present wood smoke overlaid all else and it felt as if the smoke left a burning coating on the inside of Dumar's nose.
As the carriage bounced its way through the city, the scenery changed from the opulent, individual homes with sculpted gardens to smaller buildings which looked like they had been thrown together. Some of the taller constructions had even partially collapsed to lean dangerously against their neighbours.
People in these poorer areas had less time to stand and talk, busying themselves with various tasks. Shouting men, screaming women, yelling children and the cacophony of blacksmiths and metalworkers ceaseless hammering all combined to make a dull roar of sound which beat against Dumar's ears.
Dumar had been held in the Company building for his entire life, his only access to the outside world through a highly censored and monitored internet hub or on training missions where he was still held captive.
This opportunity to see people going about their daily lives and performing the normal day to day tasks before them, even though they were not from Earth, was one not to be missed.
The big man watched the city pass by, eyes darting from one sight to the next, ears detecting every sound within earshot and breathing deeply in order to sample each different scent, both pleasant and disgusting.
One odd thing the big man noticed, as he watched intently, were the teams of palta that had been harnessed to numerous carts, carriages and wagons throughout the city. All of these teams, regardless of the number of animals joined together, did not have any form of reins or straps with which they could be steered.
This was reinforced when one teamster, while sitting on a bench affixed to the top of a cart, seemed more intent on examining the contents of his nose than driving in a straight line.
"How do they control them?" He asked Grethron. "The palta I mean."
The old Necromancer turned from his own examination of the city to reply.
"The creatures have the ability to sense the intention of the driver, a peculiarity of the species," he scratched his beard idly. "As far as I am aware, nobody has been able to discern whether the ability comes from the palta or the person controlling them, however, not everyone is able to make the mental connection with a particular animal and not every palta will respond to someone who holds the ability to connect with others."
Dumar cast his mind back to the demonstration M'thar had given him with Teghime and a small smile turned the corners of his mouth up. Grethron looked at him in askance.
"I suppose M'thar's got the same kind of connection with that beast he rides?" Dumar asked and Grethron nodded.
"Although," the old man added. "The level of emotional contact with a full blood riding palta is infinitely stronger than these lesser beasts. I have heard some riders can actually sense what their palta is feeling through the link, although I have never experienced it personally."
Dumar shook his head recalling the headlong run at each other which, he thought now, must have been initiated by M'thar.
Dumar felt a sadness wash over him as he watched these people performing their everyday tasks, a sadness that turned into anger at what had been denied him.
McCabe and the Company had created his life in order to use him as a weapon and in the process had denied him the basic human rights afforded even the worst elements of society.
He had been held prisoner, tortured and beaten, had even been injected with drugs in an attempt to modify his behaviour and all due to the fact he had refused to kill for McCabe.
What right did they have to do any of it? Dumar wondered in anger.
Death would have been preferable to the treatment he had received. He grunted a small laugh, death had been preferable to it.
"Is something amiss?" Grethron wondered as he noted the change in Dumar.
The big man made a face and shook his head.
"Bad memories," Dumar said shortly.
Grethron turned his attention to the silent youth beside him.
"How are you faring?"
Vilt had been looking around, eyes wide, at the luxury of the carriage.
"I must confess," he admitted in almost a whisper. "I am quite nervous, lord."
The old man smiled kindly.
"Perfectly understandable," Grethron assured in his deep voice. "If I am speaking the truth, I myself have some trepidation."
Dumar looked round quickly as Grethron continued.
"I am not entirely sure of the welcome we will receive," he sighed and added. "Especially once I deliver the news I have."