wilbursmith_warlock-第116部分
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'You don't know everything； old man； even though you think you do。'
He reached into the cart and snatched one of the long heavy arrows from the quiver that carried the cartouche of Trok embossed in the polished leather。 Like the bow it had been salvaged from the buried chariot。 He strode back to the firing…line and took his stance。 He nocked the arrow。 His chest swelled as he sucked in a full breath。 His jaw clenched and he began the draw。 It came back slowly at first and reached the median line。 He grunted and his breath hissed out through his throat； the muscles in his arms stood proud and hard and he came back to the full draw； kissing the bowstring like a lover。 In the same movement he loosed； and the heavy arrow leaped away； singing against the blue； made its noon and dropped； flying high over the line of targets； going on and on； twice the distance。 Then the flint head struck a bright spur of sparks from a distant rock and the shaft snapped with the terrible power of the strike。
Nefer stared after the arrow in astonishment； and Taita murmured； 'Perhaps you are right。'
Nefer dropped the bow and embraced him。 'You know enough； Old Father；' he said。 'Enough for all of us。'
* * *
Taita took Nefer and Meren into the desert； three days' travel through the harsh and beautiful land。 He led them to the hidden valley where the black liquid oozed to the surface through a deep cleft in the rock。 This was the same thick； tarry substance that they had used to set alight the jackals' fur on the night raid at Thane。
They filled the clay pots they had brought with them and returned to the workshop at Gallala。 Taita refined the black liquid； boiling it down over a slow fire until it felt slippery as fine silk between the fingers。 'It will lubricate the wheel hubs smoother and longer than clarified pigs lard； or any other concoction。 It will give you an advantage of fifty paces in a thousand。 Perhaps the difference between success or failure； or even life and death。'
Nefer was inclined to run the royal chariot on the Red Road； but Taita asked； 'Do you really want to ride in a golden sarcophagus？'
'The goldwork weighs only two taels。 You weighed it yourself。'
'It might just as well be two hundred when you go out there。'
Taita went over every one of the one hundred and five chariots they had exhumed from the sands； selected ten and stripped them down。 He weighed the chassis and tested the strength of the joints in the carriagework。 He spun the wheels on their hubs； judging by eye the slightest wobble in their rotation。 At last he made his final choice。
He modified the hub assembly on the chosen vehicle so that the wheels were held by a single bronze pin that could be removed with a mallet blow。 When he reassembled the chariot he discarded the dashboard and side panels； ridding it of every last tael of superfluous weight。 Without the support of the struts and panels the riders would have to rely on their own sense of balance and a single loop of rope spliced to the footplate to steady themselves over the roughest ground。 Finally he lubricated the wheel hubs with the black grease from the desert well。
Under Taita's supervision； they went over the harness an inch at a time； and Mintaka； Merykara and their maids sat up late into the night stitching and double stitching the joins and seams。
Then they chose the weapons they would carry； rolling the javelins and the arrows to detect any imperfection； suspending them on the special balance board Taita had designed； adding a bead of lead at haft or head until they were perfect。 They sharpened the points so they would bite and hold in the targets。 They resoled their sandals and filed the bronze cleats into spikes。 They shaped new leather guards to protect their forearms from the whip of the bowstring and the javelin thong。 They selected three swords each； for the bronze blades often snapped in the heat of bat。 They sharpened the edges then burnished them with powdered pumice stone until they could shave the hair from their own forearms。
They cured and twisted spare bowstrings； to be carried as belts tied around their waists。 Other than leather helmets and jerkins； they would wear no armour on the road； to lighten the load that Dov and Krus must draw。 They worked behind the locked doors of the workshop； so that no others would learn of their preparations。
But above all else they trained and practised； built up their strength and stamina； and the trust of the horses。
For Dov and Krus the fire would be the worst of the ordeal。 They built their own fires out in the desert； stacking faggots of wood and bundles of dry straw。 They let the horses see the flames and smell the smoke； then blindfolded them。 Though at first Krus balked and whinnied with terror； in the end he would run blind； trusting the man upon his back； so close to the crackling flames that they singed his mane。
Mintaka and Merykara spent long hours during the waiting days in the newly renovated temple of Hathor； sacrificing for their men and praying for the protection and intervention of the goddess on their behalf。
* * *
Thirty…five days before the full of the moon of Horus a strange caravan arrived in Gallala。 It had e up from the coast； from the port of Safaga。 It was led by a one…eyed and one…armed giant of a man named Aartla。 The five warriors of the Red Road went out to meet him when he was still three leagues outside the city walls。 They carried him back to Gallala in honour； for he was a brother warrior of the third degree who had run the Red Road almost thirty years before。 Twenty years ago an arrow had pierced his eye during the Libyan campaign of Pharaoh Tamose； and five years later a Nubian axeman had sheared his arm with a single stroke below the elbow。
Aartla was a wealthy man now。 He owned a travelling pany of entertainers； men and women of special talents and skills。 One of his troupe was reputed to be the strongest woman in the world。 She could lift two horses into the air； one with each hand； and she could bite the end off a bronze rod and then bend the metal stump with the grip of her vagina。 Another of his women was famed as the most beautiful in the world； though few had set eyes on her face。 She came from a land so far to the north that at certain seasons of the year the rivers turned to white stone and ceased to flow。 Aartla charged ten taels of silver for the privilege of seeing her face unveiled。 They said she had golden hair that hung to the ground； and eyes of different colours； one golden and the other blue。 The price that Aartla charged for viewing the rest of her charms was in proportion； and only a rich man might sample all her delights。
In addition Aartla possessed a black slave girl who ate fire； covered herself from head to foot with a cloak of live scorpions； and draped a great python around her neck。 At the climax of her performance she enticed the serpent to crawl into the secret opening of her body until all its length had disappeared into her womb。
These wonders were intended merely to whet the appetite of the audience for the main attractions of Aartla's circus； which were his champions： a pany of fighting men； wrestlers and swordsmen who stood to meet all contenders in bat。 Aartla offered a purse of a hundred taels of pure gold to any man who could defeat one of his champions。 The side wagers made on these contests were legendary and were the source of Aartla's immense wealth。 Though nowadays he never fought； he was still a warrior at heart and a devotee of the Red God。
When word reached him that a pharaoh of the Tamosian dynasty was determined to run the Red Road； he brought his champions across half the world to oppose him。 He loved the game so well that he made no charge for this service。
His brother warriors had prepared one of the ancient palaces of the city to house Aartla and his troupe。 On the night after his arrival they held for him a great wele banquet； to which only Nefer and Meren were not invited。 'We could not have accepte
