He was unwary; his attention was fully focused on his target; did he think I was a slave girl on the plains of the Wagon Peoples, standing, a tospit in my mouth for his lance sport?

I moved to the side and, with both hands, a yard behind the point, turning, caught the lance; the rider, crying out, was torn from the saddle and fell rolling in the sand as the kaiila sped by; the lance strap broke; I lifted the lance and, as he rolled onto his back, eyes looking up, horrified, thrust it through his body, pinning him to the sand; I jerked the lance from his body, holding it down with my left foot and swirled to meet the charge of the next man. I was startled. He had not charged. He had missed his chance. He was not skillful.

I motioned him to charge.

He remained in his position, not moving. There was fear in his face.

I motioned him again to charge. He lifted his lance; he lowered it; then he did not charge; he backed his kaiila away.

I turned my back to him and, slowly, insolently, walked to fetch the kaiila with the empty saddle. If he had approached, I would have heard him.

I caught the rein of the other animal. The pack kaii1a were near the other man, untended.

I put my foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. The other rider turned his kaiila about, and fled. He neglected the pack animals.

I rode my kaiila to the other animals and brought them back to the slain warrior.

It would not be difficult to follow the trail of the other man. I would do so at my leisure. I took what I needed, weapons and boots and clothing from the fallen rider. I did not take the shirt but threw it aside, for it was bloodied. Then, on my kaiila, leading the other animals, I returned to the ship, to sort through the packs, and, from them, and the stores of the ship, to choose my supplies.

It would not be necessary to follow the backtrail of the two riders who had approached the ship. There would be a fresher trail to follow. I would let the fleeing man lead me from the desert. He could not have had more than a one-talu water bag at his saddle.

I slept during the late afternoon, and then, when it was night, and cool, the kaiila fed from their pack supplies, and watered from the stores at the ship, I set forth. In I the light of the moons, the trail was not difficult to follow.

23 I Make the Acquaintance of Haroun, High Pasha of the Kavars

I could hear the drums of war.

“For whom do you ride?” challenged the man.

“I ride with the Kavars,” I told him. I moved the kaiila, with the string of pack animals, over the crest of the hill. The wretch, stripped, wrists crossed, and bound on a tether to my pommel, stumbled behind me and to the side. I had taken even his boots. He was almost lame; his feet were bloody; his legs were covered with dust and sweat, and marked with blood, where he had followed, tethered, through brush. I had followed him for four days, using his trail, and then, when I had found him in the sand, delirious and weak, trembling, thirsting, unable even to move, I had stripped and bound him. I then revived him with water and salt. I then climbed again to my saddle.

“Do not leave me!” he wept.

“I no longer need your trail,” I told him. “I can find Red Rock now,” I told him.

“Do not leave me!” he cried out. He knelt naked in the hot sand, his ankles bound, his wrists tied behind his back.

I moved the kaiila, and the pack animals, slowly from him. When I had gone a few yards, I turned in the saddle.

“There is to be war,” I said. “The Kavars, and the Aretai, and their attendant vassal tribes, gather.”

“Do not leave me!” cried the man. He could not rise to his feet.

“Do you know where will be the field of their war?” I asked him.

“Yes! Yes!” he cried.

I regarded him.

“Yes,” he said, “Master.”

“Can you lead me there?” I asked.

“Yes, Master!” he cried. “Yes, Master!”

His own kaiila was gone, wandered away. The pack kaiila were tied together, the long, lead rein of the first animal looped about my pommel. I redistributed the burdens of the animals. I untied the ankles of the man and put him, hands still tied together behind his back, on the lead animal. His ankles I then tied together beneath the belly of the animal.

“Lead me I told him.

“Yes,” he said.

I unsheathed the scimitar I carried.

He tensed himself. “Yes, Master!” he said.

I resheathed the scimitar.

Two days later we arrived in the vicinity of the field. Some five hours from the field, I slashed the ropes that tied his ankles beneath the kaiila and, thrusting up on his left foot, sprawled him in the gravel, turning him then to his stomach.

“Do not kill me now!” he wept.

I tied together his ankles. I redistributed the burdens again on the pack animals.

“Do you wish to fight me to the death?” I asked him.

“No! No, Master!” he said.

I then crossed and tied his hands together before his body, and ran a tether from his hands to the pommel of my saddle.

I could bear the drums of war.

“For whom do you ride?” challenged the man.

“I ride with the Kavars,” I told him. I moved the kaiila to the crest of the hill.

It was a splendid sight.

In the field below, or the plain, there might have been some ten thousand riders. They were stretched out for pasangs, several deep. I could hear the drums. I saw the pennons, the standards. They were separated by some four hundred yards. Lances bristled in the ranks. Behind each of the arrangements of lines were hundreds of tents, striped in different colors.

My kaiila shifted on the crest of the hill. The blood of the warrior in me raced.

“Are you Kavar, come late to the formations?” asked the man.

“No,” I said.

“Of what vassal tribe are you?” asked the man.

“Of no vassal tribe,” I said. “But it is with the Kavars that I choose to ride.”

“Welcome,” said the man, delightedly, lifting his lance. The others, too, behind him, lifted their lances. “It should be a magnificent battle,” said the man.

I stood in the stirrups. I could see the Kavar center, white. On the left flank were the pennons of the Ta`Kara and the purple of the Bakahs. On the right flank were the golden Char and the diverse reds and bright yellows of the Kashani.

“By what name are you known?” asked the man.

“Hakim of Tor,” I said.

“Will you ride to battle leading pack kaiila?” asked the man.

“I think not,” I said. “I give them to you.”

The man gestured and one of those with him led away the kaiila, making a great circuit that would lead him behind the Kavar lines, to the tents. There were hundreds of pack kaiila in evidence among the tents.

“Who is this?” asked the man, pointing to the wretch tethered at my pommel.

I addressed myself to the wretch. “Do you wish to fight me to the death?” I asked.

He put down his head. “No, Master,” he said.

“He is a slave,” I said to the man. “I have no further use for him. I give him to you.”

“We can use him,” said the man. “Such are useful in hoeing vegetables at remote oases.”

I threw the wretch’s tether to one of the riders, one indicated by the man with whom I spoke.

“Come, Slave,” said the rider, he who now held the tether.

“Yes, Master!” said the man. Only too pleased was he that his tether no longer was looped about my pommel. The rider moved his kaiila away. He did not spare the wretch, who struggled to keep his pace. Behind the Kavar lines, among the tents, with the kaiila and other goods, the man would be chained, to await his disposition among masters.

To my right were the lines of the Aretai. The Aretai themselves, of course, with black kaffiyeh and white agal cording, held their center. Their right flank was held by the Luraz and the Tashid. Their left flank was held by the Raviri, and four minor tribes, the Ti, the Zevar, the Arani and the Tajuks. The Tajuks are not actually a vassal tribe of the Aretai, though they ride with them. More than two hundred years ago a wandering Tajuk had been rescued in the desert by Aretai riders, who had treated him well, and had given him water and a kaiila. The man had found his way back to his own tents. Since that time the Tajuks had, whenever they heard the Aretai were gathering, and summoning tribes, come to ride with them. They had never been summoned by the Aretai, who had no right to do this, but they had never failed to come. Usually an Aretai merchant, selling small goods, would visit the tents of the Khan of the Tajuks, the black kaffiyeh and white agal cording guaranteeing him safe passage, and, at the campfire of the Khan, after his trading, while drinking tea, would say, “I have heard that the Aretai gathering for war.”