wilbursmith_warlock-第95部分

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h。　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　clean　hit。　You　have　done　it。'
　　
　　'Not　yet；'　Nefer　told　him；　and　snatched　the　last　javelin　from　the　bin。　'One　more　to　go。'
　　
　　They　came　down　fast　on　the　last　target；　and　the　men　were　tense　as　drawn　bow　stocks；　every　muscle　rigid　and　every　nerve　stretched　tautly。　Krus　sensed　it；　felt　it　in　the　reins　from　Meren's　right　hand；　with　his　right　eye　he　saw　the　target　e　up；　knew　precisely　the　instant　at　which　Nefer　would　throw　and　instinctively　fell　into　his　wicked　old　habit　and　broke　step。　The　carriage　lurched　and　swayed　just　as　Nefer　released。　Even　then　it　might　have　scored；　were　it　not　for　the　wind。　A　hot　gust　swept　over　them；　strong　enough　to　flog　the　heavy　hair　braids　on　the　flag　staffs。　The　javelin　was　already　slightly　off…line；　but　the　wind　aggravated　the　error。　It　drifted　even　further　to　the　right　and　missed　the　red　inner　by　the　width　of　two　fingers　and　quivered　in　the　outer　ring。　Shabako　held　raised　the　black　flag　high　above　his　head　and　waved　it　from　side　to　side　so　that　folds　of　cloth　volleyed　and　flogged　loudly；　the　signal　of　failure。
　　
　　Their　first　run　had　been　disqualified。　They　must　retrieve　the　javelins　and　run　the　butts　again。
　　
　　Grimly　silent；　Nefer　snatched　the　reins　back　from　Meren　and　spun　the　chariot　into　a　tight　turn　around　the　end　of　the　thorn　fence　and　they　started　back。　He　pushed　the　horses　to　the　top　of　their　speed…there　was　no　thought　of　husbanding　their　strength　now。　For　all　Nefer　knew；　one　of　the　fighting　cocks　was　already　slain　and　ten　chariots　had　begun　the　chase。
　　
　　They　flew　back　along　the　line　of　targets；　passing　them　so　closely　that　Meren　was　able　to　pluck　the　javelins　from　the　packed　straw　bodies　without　having　to　bring　the　chariot　to　a　plete　stop。　The　fourth　javelin　that　had　missed　the　target　pletely　lay　in　the　open；　but　even　from　a　distance　Nefer　saw　that　the　impact　with　the　rocky　ground　had　snapped　the　shaft　in　two。　They　were　left　with　only　four　missiles　to　score　four　red　flags。　A　single　miss　would　mean　that　they　would　have　to　make　their　stand　here；　two　against　ten　picked　warriors：　they　would　have　to　capitulate　or　fight　to　the　death。
　　
　　With　only　four　javelins　in　the　bin；　they　reached　the　start　of　the　line　and　Nefer　halted　the　chariot　and　jumped　down　to　the　ground。　He　ran　to　Krus'　head　and　stroked　his　forehead。　'Run　true　now；　my　darling。
　　
　　Don't　fail　me　again。'
　　
　　From　a　great　distance　came　the　sound　of　a　long；　sustained　cheering。
　　
　　This　time　it　did　not　fade　away。
　　
　　'One　of　the　birds　is　dead！'　Meren　called。　The　chase　has　begun。'　Nefer　knew　it　was　true。　One　of　the　cocks　had　succumbed　and　the　chasers　were　released　to　follow　them。　They　had　lost　their　starting　advantage。　The　pursuing　chariots　did　not　have　to　run　the　test　of　the　javelins。　They　would　race　past　the　butts　without　a　check。　Even　if　this　time　they　managed　a　clean　pass　of　the　butts　with　four　red　flags；　ahead　of　Nefer　and　Meren　waited　the　wrestlers。
　　
　　*　　*　　*
　　
　　Mintaka　and　Merykara　stood　side　by　side；　looking　down　into　the　cockpit。　Though　stools　had　been　placed　for　them　they　could　not　sit　for　their　blood　was　afire　with　anxiety　as　they　watched　the　closing　stages　of　the　bloody　conflict　below　them。
　　
　　The　two　fighting　cocks　had　been　carefully　matched；　veterans　of　many　epic　battles；　both　had　proved　their　courage　and　stamina。　They　were　long…legged　but　their　thighs　were　pact　and　balled　with　muscle。　They　could　drive　their　wicked　black　spurs　deeply　through　flesh　to　an　adversary's　bone。　With　serpentine　necks　and　massive　hooked　beaks　they　could　reach　out　to　rip　away　feathers　and　flesh；　and　when　they　had　bled　and　weakened　their　opponent；　they　would　seize　the　death…hold；　pinning　him　while　they　stabbed　into　his　vitals。
　　
　　The　older　bird　had　feathers　of　gold　and　copper；　bright　as　the　sunrise。　His　tail　was　a　proud　cascade　shot　with　sapphire　lights。　The　other　bird　was　black；　but　lustrous　sparkling　black；　and　his　bare　head　was　purple　red。
　　
　　They　circled　each　other　now。　They　had　fought　hard　and　long；　loose　feathers　strewed　the　san