wilbursmith_warlock-第86章

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t　the　threat　of　failure。　Now　Nefer　would　have　to　rely　more　than　ever　on　the　great　war　bow　to　counter　it。
　　
　　Taita　said　nothing　to　Nefer　of　his　misgivings。　Instead；　he　turned　and　cast　his　eyes　down　the　avenue。　The　sun　was　not　yet　risen；　but　it　seemed　that　half　the　populace　of　Gallala　was　streaming　out　of　the　city　gates。
　　
　　They　are　anxious　to　secure　vantage…points　along　the　course；　and　to　watch　as　much　of　the　run　as　possible；'　he　told　Nefer。　'No　one　except　the　participants　and　the　judges　are　allowed　to　ride。　All　others　must　follow　the　chase　on　foot。　Some　argue　that　it　might　be　possible　to　watch　the　javelin　and　the　wrestling；　then　cut　across　the　hills　to　look　down　on　the　swordplay　from　close　at　hand。　Those　who　are　less　fleet　of　foot　will　climb　to　the　summit　of　Eagle　Mount　and　watch　the　crossing　of　the　chasm　below　them　then　run　back　here　to　see　the　finish。'
　　
　　Despite　the　great　exodus　from　the　city　many　hundreds　of　others　had　chosen　to　watch　the　start　and　crowded　into　the　forum。　Others　had　climbed　high　above　the　square　and　were　perched　on　the　walls　and　balconies。　Even　so　early　in　the　day　the　air　was　festive　and　the　mood　feverishly　excited。　Some　of　those　on　the　walls　had　brought　their　breakfast　and　chewed　bones　and　scraps　showered　on　to　those　below。　Others　shouted　their　wagers　to　Aartla　and　his　scribes。　Aartla　was　offering　even　money　that　Nefer　and　Meren　would　cross　the　chasm；　two　to　one　against　them　passing　the　swordsmen　and　four　to　one　against　them　finishing　the　course　without　being　overtaken　by　the　pursuit。
　　
　　As　the　sun　rose　above　the　walls　the　ten　chariots　of　the　pursuers　filed　into　the　forum。　The　gongs　beat；　the　drums　rolled　and　the　sistrum　rattled；　women　squealed　and　threw　flowers；　and　children　danced　around　them；　but　the　charioteers　were　grim　and　intent　as　they　lined　up　along　the　starting　barrier。
　　
　　There　was　an　interval　now　of　tense　expectation　and　then　the　sound　of　cheering　from　the　cavalry　lines；　swelling　and　ing　closer。　Then；　to　an　explosion　of　'Bak…her！'；　the　stripped…down　chariot　of　the　novices　entered　between　the　eroded　columns　at　the　entrance　to　the　forum。
　　
　　Dov　and　Krus　had　been　groomed　until　their　coats　shone　like　burnished　metal　in　the　early　sunlight。　Their　manes　were　plaited；　coloured　ribbons　twisted　into　the　strands；　their　tails　were　clubbed。
　　
　　Nefer　and　Meren　wore　only　light　leather　armour；　and　their　bodies　were　oiled　for　the　wrestling。　They　stepped　down　from　the　footplate　of　the　chariot　and　went　down　on　their　knees；　with　their　hands　resting　on　the　hilts　of　their　swords。　Taita　came　forward　and　stood　over　them。　He　recited　a　prayer　to　Horus　and　the　Red　God；　asking　for　their　blessing　and　protection。　Finally；　he　took　an　amulet　from　around　his　own　neck　and　placed　it　over　Nefer's　bowed　head。
　　
　　Nefer　looked　down　at　the　object　as　it　dangled　on　his　chest　and　felt　a　tingle　of　shock；　almost　as　though　a　strange　current　of　power　flowed　from　it。　It　was　the　golden　Periapt　of　Lostris；　the　locket　of　his　grandmother；　which　nobody　but　Taita　had　ever　touched。
　　
　　Then　Hilto；　wearing　the　red　cape　of　the　third　degree　of　the　order；　mounted　to　the　stone　platform　in　the　centre　of　the　forum。　He　read　aloud　the　rules。　When　he　had　finished　he　asked；　in　a　stern　voice；　'Do　you　understand　and　undertake　to　abide　by　the　rules　of　the　order　of　the　Red　Road？'
　　
　　'In　the　name　of　the　Red　God！'　Nefer　affirmed。
　　
　　'Who　will　cut　the　hair　braids？'　Hilto　asked；　and　Mintaka　and　Merykara　stepped　up　behind　the　kneeling　warriors。　Mintaka's　eyes　were　heavily　underscored　with　purple；　for　she　had　not　slept　the　previous　night。　They　were　both　pale　and　tense　with　anxiety。　Nefer　and　Meren　bowed　their　heads；　and　lovingly　the　women　lifted　the　braids　and　sheared　them　away。　They　handed　them　to　Hilto；　who　attached　them　to　the　tips　of　the　tall　pennant　rods　on　each　side　of　the　footplate　of　their　chariot。　These　were　the　trophies　that　the　pursuers　must　attempt　to　snatch；　and　which　Nefer　and　Meren　must　defend　with　their　lives。
　　
　　'Mount　your　chariot；'　Hilto　ordered；　and　Nefer　and　Meren　climbed　to　the　footplate。　Nefer　gathered　up　the　reins。　Dov　and　Krus　arched　their　necks；　stamped　and　backed　up　a　single　turn　of　the　wheels。
　　
　　'Bring　on　the　birds！'　Hilto　ordered。
　　
　　The　handlers　climbed　into　the　circular　sanded　cockpit；　each　with　a　fighting　cock　under　his　arm。　The　wattles　of　both　birds　had　been　cut　away　so　their　heads　were　sleek；　almost　reptilian；　with　no　dangling　flesh　or　skin　to　give　the　enemy　bird　purchase。　The　sunlight　gleamed　on　their　plumage　with　the　iridescence　of　oil　spilled　on　water。
　　
　　A　tense；　aching　silence　fell　over　the　crowded　forum。　The　handlers　knelt；　facing　each　other；　in　the　centre　of　the　sanded　pit；　and　held　their　birds　in　front　of　them。　The　birds　did　not　have　artificial　spurs　strapped　to　their　feet：　the　long　metal　spikes　would　make　a　kill　too　swift　and　certain；　but　their　natural　spurs　had　been　sharpened　and　polished。
　　
　　'Bait　your　birds！'　Hilto　called；　and　the　handlers　thrust　them　at　each　other；　without　allowing　them　to　touch。　The　eyes　of　the　two　roosters　gleamed　with　malice；　their　heads　began　to　swell　with　rage　and　the　naked　skin　of　their　heads　and　throats　turned　an　angry　crimson。　They　beat　their　wings；　and　tried　to　break　from　the　handlers'　grip　to　fly　at　each　other。
　　
　　With　his　drawn　sword　Hilto　pointed　across　the　forum　at　the　ruined　roof　of　the　temple　of　Bes；　the　patron　god　of　Gallala；　where　a　blue　flag　flapped　idly　in　the　hot　breeze。　'The　novices　will　start　when　the　birds　are　released。　The　flag　will　be　lowered　when　one　of　the　birds　is　killed；　and　only　then　will　the　chase　begin。　The　Red　God；　in　his　infinite　wisdom；　will　determine　how　long　the　birds　will　survive　and　how　long　the　lead　time　will　be。　Now；　hold　yourselves　in　readiness。'
　　
　　Every　eye；　even　those　of　Nefer　and　Meren；　turned　to　the　challenging　cock…birds。　Hilto　lifted　his　sword。　The　birds'　hackles　were　raised；　they　were　crimson　with　rage；　fighting　to　be　at　each　other。
　　
　　'Now！'　cried　Hilto；　and　the　handlers　set　them　free。　They　flew　across　the　sand　in　a　flutter　of　bright　wings；　leaping　high；　thrusting　with　claws　and　spurs。
　　
　　'Ha；　Dov！　Ha；　Krus！'　Nefer　called　and　they　sprang　away；　throwing　gravel　and　dust　from　under　their　hoofs。　A　mighty　shout　went　up　from　the　crowd　and　the　chariot　raced　once　around　the　forum　then　out　into　the　open　avenue。　Behind　them　the　cheering　faded　as　they　tore　through　the　gates　and　turned　on　to　the　track　that　led　into　the　hills；　its　length　marked　every　two　hundred　paces　with　white　linen　flags；　which　shook　and　flapped　lazily　in　the　early　breeze　that　came　in　off　the　desert。　'Keep　the　flags　to　the　right！'　Meren　reminded　Nefer。　If　they　missed　a　flag　on　the　wrong　side　the　judges　would　send　them　back　to　round　it　fairly。
　　
　　While　he　drove；　saving　the　horses；　bringing　them　down　to　a　trot　as　the　slope　rose　steeply　under　them　Nefer　assessed　that　breeze　by　flag　and　dust；　judging　its　strength　and　direction。　It　was　ing　harsh　and　hot　from　the　west；　strong　enough　to　blow　the　dustcloud　aside　behind　them。　This　was　the　worst　possible　wind。　It　would　drain　the　horses；　and　confuse　the　range　when　they　came　to　the　trial　of　javelin　and　bow。　He　thrust　the　thought　aside　to　concentrate　first　on　the　ascent　of　the　hills。
　　
　　The　gradient　tilted　sharply　upwards；　and　at　a　word　of　mand　from　Nefer　they　sprang　down　from　the　footplate　and　ran　beside　the　horses；　to　lighten　the　burden。　Dov　and　Krus　surged　ahead　so　strongly　that　they　had　to　take　a　grip　on　the　harness　to　keep　pace　with　them。　As　they　reached　the　crest；　Nefer　halted　them　and　let　them　rest　for　a　measured　three　hundred　beats　of　his　own　heart。
　　
　　He　looked　back　at　the　city　walls　below　and　heard　the　regular　roar　swelling　and　subsiding　like　the　sound　of　distant　surf　on　a　coral　reef；　the　characteristic　sound　of　the　cockfight　as　the　crowd　hailed　each　attack　of　the　birds。　But　the　flag　still　flew　on　the　crumbling　top　of　the　temple　of　Bes　to　signal　that　the　fight　had　not　been　decided。　He　turned　away　and　looked　down　the　length　of　the　level　plain　that　stretched　ahead；　and　picked　out　the　line　of　javelin　butts；　five　of　them　spaced　at　intervals　of　two　hundred　paces。　There　was　a　low　fence　of　thorn　brush　running　parallel　to　them　that　would　keep　the　chariot　at　a　range　of　fifty　paces。
　　
　　Nefer　jumped　to　the　footplate；　and　called；　'e　away！'　and　the　pair　strode　forward。　He　glanced　back　and　the　blue　flag　still　flew　on　the　tower　of　Bes。
　　
　　As　they　raced　in　on　the　line　of　targets；　Nefer　wound　the　thong　around　his　wrist　and　posed　himself；　seeing　in　his　mind's　eye　the　target；　imagining　the　flight　of　the　missile　from　his　hand　to　the　inner　red　circle；　ignoring　the　yellow　outer。　He　watched　the　wind　moving　the　flags。
　　
　　He　saw　Shabako　standing　on　a　low　knoll　near　the　centre　of　the　line。　He　would　show　a　red　flag　for　an　inner；　and　a　yellow　for　a　miss。　They　carried　only　five　javelins；　and　they　would　be　allowed　only　one　yellow。　If　they　failed　on　the　first　run　they　must　turn　back；　retrieve　the　thrown　javelins；　and　run　again　until　they　had　scored　the　four　reds。
　　
　　Nefer　handed　the　reins　to　Meren；　who　steered　in　close　to　the　dividing　fence　to　give　Nefer　the　best　shot。　The　first　target　came　up　fast；　and　Nefer　braced　himself　on　the　bouncing　swerving　footplate。
　　
　　'Nile！'　He　gave　the　mand　and　instantly　Dov　and　Krus　changed　their　gait　into　that　wonderful　gliding　motion。　The　chariot　steadied　under　him　and　he　rode　the　easy　movement　with　his　legs　and　he　threw。　There　was　never　a　doubt　from　the　moment　the　javelin　left　his　hand；　its　velocity　accelerated　by　the　whip　of　the　thong…he　had　allowed　for　the　wind。　It　flew　fifty　paces　swinging　across　the　wind　into　the　heart　of　the　red　circle；　and　from　the　corner　of　his　eye　Nefer　saw　Shabako　wave　the　red　flag　to　acknowledge　the　strike。　He　snatched　another　javelin　from　the　bin；　and　wound　the　thong。　He　felt　a　supreme　almost　godlike　confidence：　he　knew　that　the　next　four　darts　would　fly　as　true　as　the　first。　He　watched　the　second　target　e　up；　and　he　threw　again。　It　was　another　perfect　throw。　He　did　not　even　have　to　glance　at　the　flag；　and　beside　him　Meren　shouted；　'Bak…her；　brother！'　and　steered　for　the　third。
　　
　　They　were　running　in　close；　and　the　thorn　fence　flew　by　the　off…wheel　in　a　blur。　Nefer　lined　up　and　whipped　his　right　arm　into　the　throw；　and　at　exactly　that　moment　the　wheel　touched　the　fence　and　the　chariot　swerved　violently　and　hung　for　a　moment　on　the　verge　of　capsizing。　The　horses　pulled　it　straight　with　their　bined　weight；　but　the　javelin　was　already　in　flight。　With　despair　in　his　heart　Nefer　saw　it　fly　wide；　missing　the　target　pletely；　and　the　yellow　flag　went　up。
　　
　　'It　was　me；'　Meren　gritted。　'I　ran　too　fine。'
　　
　　'Hold　her　true　now；'　Nefer　snapped　at　him。　'We　need　two　more　reds。'
　　
　　The　fourth　target　came　up　but　Nefer　felt　the　altered　motion　under　him。　Krus　was　leading　with　the　wrong　foot；　the　collision　with　the　fence　had　unbalanced　him。
　　
　　'Ho；　Krus；'　Meren　called；　and　tried　to　steady　him　with　the　touch　of　reins。　Then　Dov　leaned　lightly　against　him　and　he　felt　her　rhythm　and　picked　up　the　step　from　her　just　as　the　fourth　target　came　up。
　　
　　Nefer　threw　and　beside　him　Meren　called；　'Red！　A