wilbursmith_warlock-第118部分
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d 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 ta
