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The warm yellow of the temple stone belied the dispassionate cold of those within it.

A man, clothed in filthy rags, was dragged in, manhandled by two guards, and thrown face first before an elaborate throne, carved into the temple itself.

The man, regaining his bearings, lifted his torso from the ground with tied hands and a grunt. Through scraggly, sand-papered locks he met the disgusted eyes of the Ghadol's council to his left; rich, coddled old men, no doubt displeased about having their lavish activities interrupted for the trial of a nobody.

He only hoped that the Ghadol would see the truth and give him freedom.

He tore his gaze from the nobles to meet that of the most noble of them all, and was grateful his unkempt, overgrown beard hid his shock.

The Ghadol was so young; barely older than a dozen years did he seem. Still, he held himself with the stature of a man, and owned eyes that were far beyond his age.

Those eyes... eyes of gold, like the stone, like the sun...

The young man on the throne held his gaze, budding manly features betraying no thought or feeling.

An eternity passed in seconds before the Ghadol made time begin again, all with the raise of his right hand. The herald unrolled the papyrus with practiced ease.

"The Trial of Justice begins now. This man's life will be read before the Ghadol, and he will be given time to appeal himself to the court."

The herald locked eyes with the man, unmoved but searching for the glint of understanding.

He nodded, clear and strong. The Ghadol's eyes shone in acknowledgement.

"The man before you has been charged with the unlawful theft of goods from the master merchant, the honorable Counsel Tzaphan."

The man did well to hide his relief. He would live. He had lived an upright life. The Ghadol would see the righteousness in feeding the children in the poor districts with the grains that would have spoiled. He waited for the herald to declare his time of entreaty.

The herald smirked at his determined eyes, and continued his missive.

"However, what is truly despicable, are the crimes this man has committed with the food he had stealthily pilfered!"

Confounded, the man listened on.

"With the stolen grains, he has lured beggar children to the storefront, disturbing the peace of the plaza!"

It is true that a boy had come to watch him during his working hours out of curiosity, he relented to himself. The child was a good, bright kid.

"What more, is that he has persuaded one of those children to steal from a patron!"

As if on cue, another guard emerged from the steps into the temple, lifting a scruffy boy by the hair, emotionless as he threw the lad forward to the man's right.

A pouch of coins tumbled out of the boy's worn tunic as he fell face-first onto the ground, unable to steady himself with his hands bound tightly behind his back. The scattered gold and silver glittered unabashedly, oblivious of the fate it had delivered.

At this, the man could hardly hide his shock. The boy, having turned and realised who was beside him, began to bawl. Tzaphan snickered as he watched the hope drain from the man's face.

'Fool. A merchant does not overlook the chance to profit.'

'You have stolen these opportunities from me, but no longer.'

'Those children will make wonderful slaves.'

_____________________________________________

These unsavory trials happened far too often.

Another one, thrown before the throne.

Again, their unpardonable sins were recited, sealing their fate. Always, their eyes pleaded for mercy. Mercy that the Ghadol, Wang Ming, could not give.

The herald declared the time of appeal, to only be met with silence. After 5 drops of water from the time-telling vase echoed in the temple, the herald continued.

"Benevolent Ghadol, what is your verdict?"

All waited for his word, as if there was any question. Guilty, to a punishment of death.

As the court sprung to action at his edict, he returned the guilty man's gaze, as he believed he should.

Justice did not balk before anyone.

'How many have gazed into those eyes? What or who shall they leave behind, when the light of life leaves them?'

It pained him that he would always know.

This one was dragged away with his head bowed, resigned and lost, the child wailing and attempting to follow as he was taken. There were some who had refused, kicking and screaming and thrashing until the end.

One thing was certain...

He continued to remain seated, as is customary for the Ghadol to be the last to leave the Temple of Maat. The faint cacophany of activity had long died down, and he was alone.

That gaze remained in his mind as he rose and approached the temple's only entrance and exit.

His shadow followed like a crimson trail of blood in the sunset.

The golden chain around his right ankle reminded him of its weight once more.

One thought resurfaced and settled heavily on his heart once again.

'A slave to Justice is what I am.'