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“Yes.” Durnish said, “That is exactly the problem we’ve summoned you here to talk about.”

I scratched my jaw. “I don’t understand why I need one, all of the sudden.”

“You have earned more than a thousand silver in a day.” Nrnglk said. “The issue is one of how we should tax you.”

I had earned more than ten thousand silver in a day, and closer to thirty than twenty, but that wasn’t the proper time to speak that truth.

“I understood I was in the Foreigner tax bracket. Or Inhuman, or whatever you choose to call that.”

Gurnbash ground her foot into the floor. “That is not an option. Your earnings are far too high. Either we accept you into proper society, or we exile you. Rich, wounded, you would not get far before being enslaved.”

“That would make us seem poor hosts.” Nrnglk said.

Durnish blinked. “What Nrnglk means to say is that it would be wrong of us to cast you out for succeeding.”

.....

“Fair enough.” Nrnglk said. “That as well.”

“Then I truly don’t understand. Why does my caste matter?”

Gurnbash tsked (such that the duhric races can do that). “Caste controls what you can, and more importantly, cannot do.”

“Well then... wait, cannot do what?”

“Merchants do not fight in the arena.” Nrnglk said. “Artisans do not sell their own wares. Warriors do not haggle in marketplaces.”

“So you can see our dilemma.” Gurnbash said. “If you are a Warrior, a Merchant, and an Artisan, then you always owe more in taxes than you earn.”

I rubbed my eyes. “But as a non-member, I do all of these things. More, if you count the brewing of healing potions as magic.”

Durnish exhaled. “Yes, there is that, as well.”

“The Labor Caste still wants someone to teach him to make healing potions that work on our kind.” Nrnglk said.

“That might no longer be possible.” Gurnbash said.

“I don’t see why I cannot continue as a Foreigner.” I said.

They all blinked at me. “This is simply not done.” Nrnglk said.

“You have made too much profit, too quickly.” Gurnbash said.

Durnish inhaled deeply. “Even if we find a caste for you, the lack of a proper fit will disrupt society.”

“And the penalties for improper behavior once you have a caste will be... extreme.” Gurnbash said.

“Okay.” I said. “I have enough money, I don’t have to sell anything I make. I can give up being part of the marketplace.”

Nrnglk blinked at me. “You would consent to use our Coin-Kindred system?”

It was my turn to blink at them.

“You’ve not heard of this, have you?” Durnish asked.

“My understanding is that it works like the Daurian merchant caste. I hand over coins and let them know what I want, which they then go and purchase on my behalf.”

“And a seperate coin-kindred for your sales.” Nrnglk said.

“And a third,” Durnish said, “for your investments in society.”

“It is not uncommon,” Gurnbash said, “to simply contract a coin-family, and let them manage your entire finances.”

“At your level of income,” Durnish said, “there might be no other option.”

“If you were, for example, to continue fighting in the arena, as a member of the Warrior caste.” Nrnglk said.

I rubbed my forehead with my knuckles, wishing I had a headache. “I didn’t want to be inside the Ring in the first place.”

“We don’t care about your wishes.” Nrnglk said. “We care about limiting the disruption you cause to our society.”

“Well, all right.” I said. “My desire is to gather potential harem-mates for a female minotaur named Uma. Once I have them gathered, I presume we can leave in a caravan or such.”

Durnish cleared his throat, the grating of stone on stone. “Oh, you don’t understand at all.”

“He is already a quarter of the way toward the costs of such a venture.” Nrnglk said.

“I’m not certain that you understand how much I’ve made.” I said.

Nrnglk named exactly the number of silver coins. Serves me right for getting a dwarvish bookie.

“How is a simple caravan THAT expensive?” I asked. “I’m not making the carts out of gold!”

“You JUST said you would trust our coin-kindred!” Nrnglk objected.

“Up to two dozen minotaurs, on foot, all the way from here to the eastern lands.” Durnish said. “You need food, which means an Artisan to cook that much. You need tents, firewood, supplies. Foragers, to cut down on what you need.”

“And Warriors, to see the staff safely there and back.” Gurnbash said.

I made a frustrated noise. “You’re talking about close to eighty people.”

“No.” Gurnbash said. “We are talking about exactly ninety two people.”

My hands fell into my lap. “At that point, we might as well make a formal caravan of it, asking the Merchant caste if they desire to make a convoy of the matter.”

Nrnglk nodded. “Yes. Yes. You understand the magnitude of which you desire to attempt.”

“And,” Durnish said, “you have a sufficiently large initial deposit to cover training in whatever caste you choose.”

“Even after taxes.” Gurnbash said.

“The training should not even take long.” Nrnglk said. “Unless you choose to be an Artisan or such.”

“And how do I change my caste, if I find it does not suit me?” I asked.

“This is not done.” Nrnglk said.

“If he reaches the status of Dwarf-Lord, it can be done.” Durnish said.

“Is there an Explorer caste?” I asked. Yes, I actually asked. I could hear Rakkal, thundering to train as a formal dwarven Warrior. Uma, trying to impress upon me the need for strength. And yet... how could I betray what I knew to be my core purpose in life?

I won’t go over that discussion, mainly because I only translated half of it myself.

Gurbash eventually (literally) put her foot down. “Not in front of the youngster!” she chided.

“Okay.” Nrnglk said.

“All right.” Durnish said. Then, to me, “The closest match for what you seem to desire is to become a Tunnel Warden, of the Warrior Caste. They are the ones who patrol our frontiers, dispatch those threats that they can, and report those they cannot to their caste.”

“So, something similar to a scout?” I asked. I had to explain what that was.

And, by the end of the day, I’d been introduced to a small coin-family. (Tunnel Wardens didn’t make much, unless they collected on a LOT of bounties.)

“So how much do I have after taxes?” I asked Gilitina. (Not an actual name, hers is literally Duhric for ’emerald chips glisten in her skin’. Gilitina is her choice of ‘outsider name’, translated into ancient Achean, and then modernized.)

“Taxes?” she asked.

I explained the concept to her.

“Oh. You mean your contributions and investments to the community. I like doing that, anyway. I presume you want to donate to living conditions in the Foreign quarter?”

I scratched an itchy spot inside my thigh. “Where will my family be staying?” I asked.

In the end, I decided upon a division between the Foreign quarter, Warrior Barracks, and the general expansion of the Blackstone colony. (They had a better market for herbs and medicines than the main city.)

“Is it an option to pay for the training of an herbalist?” I asked.

“It is.” she beamed, “but we need to see to YOUR training, first.”

“I was told that I had more than enough for training.”

“Oh you do, you do. Of course you do. But let’s start there, and not have to skimp on your training and equipment.”

Two days. For two days, I was marched all over the Artisan’s quarter. Fittings for armor, measured for custom pick...

“Why can’t I just use a sword?” I asked.

“Don’t be silly.” the Toolmaster said. “Pick and hammer are the weapons of the Tunnel Warden. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, what if I want to expand my armory? Like use a shield?”

“Talk to your trainer first.” she told me, “Then, and only then, come and see me.”

The third Artisan I asked for other equipment, Gilitina thumped me on the head. Not smashed, nothing the likes of what Kismet would have done. But it was firm and absolutely got my attention.

“Quit trying to be your old self. Trust your caste, and learn to be a Warrior before you go around making changes, okay?”

“But I think...”

She calmly put a hand atop my head, pressing firmly down. “You feel that?”

.....

“Of course.” I said.

“That is NOTHING compared to the weight that will strike you if you defy tradition. You have a caste now. Act like it.”

I let out a long sigh. I could already tell, I was claiming every bounty that I could.

No, there is no correct spelling for this name. Make a bellows out of flexible stone, and you’ll be able to pronounce it correctly. I debated calling him Nurrin or Nurnok, the way a human would, but he has earned the respect of as close to his proper name as I can get.

Okay, this is an oversimplification. Dwarves are a meritocracy; they literally don’t understand the idea of inherited aristocracy. They understand that the offspring of a champion can be expected to be champions themselves, but also that it just rarely happens. But that can be a text unto itself; the point is that I had to make a household name of myself.