Blade didn't succeed either.

Eventually the first half hour was gone. The Steppeman raised a hand to signal the trumpeters and drummers. They blew for a truce, and the Steppeman spurred his lathered horse to a trot, away from Blade.

Blade was tempted not to change horses. That would be a grand gesture, certainly. It would also be a dangerous one. His horse was sweating and beginning to lose speed. No doubt it would help his side if he put on a good show in this duel, but not at the risk of getting his head cut off.

So he rode back, inspected the harness and gear on his new horse, and rode out onto the dueling ground for the second round. As the Steppeman approached, Blade scanned every detail of his clothing and horse. There were no changes that he could see. So far the Steppeman seemed ready to play this game by the rules.

The second round went by in the same way as the first. By now both sides were shouting in amazement at the skill of both riders, so loudly that Blade could barely hear the drums and trumpets that signaled the end of the round.

The third round began and passed. So did the fourth round. Two hours in the saddle, two hours with the sword in his hand, two hours of split-second alertness.

By now the sun was well up, the wind had dropped, and a blanket of stifling, sticky heat had fallen over the dueling grounds. Blade felt his body pouring sweat until he swore he could feel and hear it sloshing around in his boots.

When he rode back out for the fifth round, he noticed that one of the bags on the Steppeman's saddle now bulged and bounced. Apparently the man had decided to fill it with water so that he could take a drink from time to time, whenever he moved out of Blade's range. Not a bad idea. Blade made a mental note to hook a water bag onto his own saddle at the next change of horses.

The duelists settled into the same grim, deadly routine as before. Blade forced himself to remember the danger and forget about the routine. Otherwise, he knew he might forget that things could still change drastically and murderously at any second.

On and on. The Steppeman's horse seemed to be losing speed, though. He was also looking down more and more often at his water bag, although he hadn't yet taken a drink from it. Blade wondered if he would, or if his warrior's pride would make him fall out of the saddle first.

Blade also wondered how long this duel could go on. Perhaps one or the other of them would get lucky. Perhaps one or the other would collapse from the heat. And perhaps they would go on and on, round after round, until all the horses in the Steppemen's camp were dead or exhausted. Then they would go on fighting on foot, still circling round each other, still swinging at each other, until the stars went out and the sun turned cold and the universe itself came to an end.

Blade knew that couldn't possibly happen, but it was hard to fight off the feeling that it might.

He forced himself back to alertness as the Steppeman rode in again. He seemed to be going more slowly than before, and Blade got ready to launch an attack that might finally get through. He allowed hope to rise in him. This might be the moment. This had to be the moment. This-

In a sudden explosive movement, the Steppeman shifted his sword to one hand. The other hand plunged down and snatched at the mouth of the water bag. A jerk, and it sagged open. Something long and dark and writhing spilled out, seeming to fly through the air to land with a hiss almost under the feet of Blade's horse.

Blade had only a split second to realize what was happening. As fast as his reflexes were, they were not fast enough. His horse's instincts about snakes took over. It reared with a scream, so high that no one who wasn't tied to the saddle could have stayed on its back.

Blade felt himself going down, knew in the same moment that he had to stay clear of both the horse and the snake and hold on to his sword as well, then hit the ground with a crash. His breath went out of him and consciousness nearly went with it. Somehow he rolled clear of the horse's flailing hooves as it also went down and thrashed about. Somehow he did not roll within range of the snake's fangs before the panic-stricken horse rolled over it and crushed it fiat.

Somehow, also, the sword flew from his hand and thudded to the ground yards away.

Blade sprang to his feet just as the Steppeman turned his horse and rode toward the fallen sword. Blade lunged at it too. The Steppeman swung his own sword wide, and Blade sprang back to avoid having his belly sliced open. The Steppeman swung his sword down like a polo mallet, catching Blade's fallen weapon. It sailed glittering into the air and fell to the ground nearly fifty feet away.

This time Blade did not dash wildly toward it. He knew perfectly well that he had no hope of outrunning the mounted Steppeman. The Steppeman would be there first, no matter how often he tried to retrieve his sword. In fact, he would be giving the Steppeman an easy victory by moving along a predictable path.

Blade could not use speed or the power of his sword any more. That did not mean he had no resources left.

There was still his own enormous strength and the element of surprise.

Blade pushed the cheers of the Steppemen and the howls and groans of the pirates and Kukon's men out of his mind. He concentrated all his attention on the Steppeman, as his opponent whirled his horse around and swung back in toward him. This was going to require extremely fine timing, and he would get only one good chance.

As the Steppeman approached Blade, he slowed his horse almost to a trot. Perhaps he too wanted to put on a show. Perhaps he wanted to slice off Blade's head with a single neat stroke. Or perhaps he wanted to come in slowly merely so there would be no chance of a miss or a sloppy cut to the chest or arm or belly.

As the Steppeman's sword swung toward him, Blade fell into a crouch. The sword hissed over his head. Blade sprang up, whirling as he did so. His arms shot out and his hands clamped on the horse's tail as it swept past him. Then Blade threw himself backward. The horse screamed as it was dragged to a stop in midstride with its tail half pulled out by the roots. It reared. The Steppeman forgot about Blade, clutched his sword with one hand, and tried desperately to get his mount under control with the other.

That was a mistake-the Steppeman's last one. Blade let go of the horse's tail. As it settled back onto all fours he vaulted up onto its rump behind the rider. Again Blade's arms shot out and his hands clamped shut. This time they clamped shut on the Steppeman's throat.

Again Blade heaved. Both men sailed backward off the horse and landed with a crash on the ground behind it. The Steppeman's sword flew out of his hand. The horse snorted, shook its aching tail to make sure it was still there, and trotted off, obviously happy to have nothing further to do with this nonsense.

Blade landed with the Steppeman on top of him but almost helpless. The man tried to struggle as Blade's hands tightened on his windpipe. Then he stopped trying. His eyes bulged out, his swollen tongue thrust itself out between his teeth, and he stopped moving completely. Blade stood up and let the body drop to the ground at his feet.

There was a moment of the most total silence Blade had ever heard, as nearly ten thousand men tried to realize what they'd seen. Then the pirates and Kukon's men began to cheer. Their cheering swelled from a murmur into a roar and from a roar into a sound that was something tangible, battering at Blade like a landslide.

He started to brush himself off. Before he could finish, Emass ran out onto the field, just ahead of Kukon's men, led by Prince Durouman. The Speaker for the Seven Brothers was practically dancing with excitement.

«Prince Blade, that was magnificent, that was unbelievable, that was done by the favor of the gods to you and yours. The Free Brothers will stand beside Prince Durouman. Yes, absolutely, they will, now and forever. Oh, yes, it is certain that they will.»