He found Yerevats in his own room and said: "If the fight doesn't go my way, take as much of this gold as you can carry, and the buggy, and get out of town fast."
"Oh, wonderful master must win fight!"
"That's as the stars decide. Hope for the best but expect the worst."
"But master, how shall pull buggy?"
"Keep the aya too. Volhaj is lending me his oversized one for the scrap. Tell you what: when we go out to the field, bring one of those bags inside your clothes."
An hour later, Yerevats buckled the last strap of Borel's borrowed harness. The suit was a composite, chain mail over the joints and plate armor elsewhere. Borel found that it hampered him less than he expected, considering how heavy it had seemed when he hefted before putting it on.
He stepped out of the tent at his end of the field. Volhaj was holding the big aya, which turned and looked at him suspiciously from under its horns. At the far end, Shurgez already sat his mount. Borel, although outwardly calm, was reviling himself for not having thought of this and that: he should have hinted that his weapon would be a gun; he should have bought a bishtar £nd sat high up on its elephantine back, out of reach of Shurgez, while he potted his enemy with his crossbow…
Yerevats, bustling about the animal's saddle, secured the bag he had brought with him. Although he tried to do so secretly, the jingle of coin attracted the attention of Volhaj, who asked: "A bag of gold on your saddle? Why do you that, friend?"
"Luck," said Borel, feeling for the stirrup. His first effort to swing his leg over his mount failed because of the extra weight he was carrying, and they had to give him a boost. Yerevats handed him up his spiked helmet, which he carefully wiggled down onto his head. At once the outside noises acquired a muffled quality as the sound was filtered through the steel and the padding. Borel buckled his chin strap.
A horn blew. As he had seen the other knights do the day of the previous battle, Borel kicked the animal into motion and rode slowly down the field towards his opponent, who advanced to meet him. Thank the Lord he knew how to ride a Terr an horse! This was not much different, save that the fact that the saddle was directly over the aya's intermediate pair of legs caused its rider to be jarred unpleasantly in the trot.
Borel could hardly recognize Shurgez behind the nasal of his helmet, and he supposed that his own features were equally hidden. Without a word they wheeled towards the side of the field where the Grand Master sat in his booth. They walked their animals over to the stand and listened side by side while Sir Juvain droned the rules of the contest at them. Borel thought it an awful lot of words to say that, for all practical purposes, anything went.
Beside the Grand Master sat Kubanan, stony-faced except at the last, when he tipped Borel a wink. Borel also caught a glimpse of Zerdai in the stands; catching his eye, she waved frantically.
The Grand Master finished and made motions with his baton. The fighters wheeled away from each other and trotted back to their respective tents, where Volhaj handed Borel his lance and buckler, saying: "Hold your shaft level; watch his…" Borel, preoccupied, heard none of it.
"Get you ready," said Volhaj. The trumpet blew.
Borel, almost bursting with excitement said: "Good-bye, and thanks."
The hooves of Shurgez's mount were already drumming on the moss before Borel collected his wits enough to put his own beast into motion. For a long time, it seemed, he rode towards a little figure on aya-back that got no nearer. Then all at once the aya and its rider expanded to life-size and Borel's foe was upon him.
Since Shurgez had started sooner and ridden harder, they met short of the mid-point of the field. As his enemy bore down, Borel rose in his stirrups and threw his lance at Shurgez, then instantly hauled on the reins braided into the aya's mustache to guide it to the right.
Shurgez ducked as the lance hurtled toward him, so that the point of his own lance wavered and missed Borel by a meter. Borel heard the thrown spear hit sideways with a clank against Shurgez's armor. Then he was past and headed for Shurgez's tent at the far end. He leaned forward and spurred his aya mercilessly.
Just before he reached the end of the field, he jerked a look back. Shurgez was still reining in to turn his mount. Borel switched his attention back to where he was going and aimed for a gap on one side of Shurgez's tent. The people around the tent stood staring until the last minute, then frantically dove out of the way as the aya thundered through. Yells rose behind.
Borel guided his beast over to the main road towards Novorecife, secured the reins to the projection on the front of the saddle, and began shedding impedimenta. Off went the pretty damascened helmet, to fall with a clank to the roadway. Away went sword and battle ax. After some fumbling, he got rid of the brassets on his forearms and their attached gauntlets, and then the cuirass with its little chain sleeves. The iron pants would have to await a better opportunity.
The aya kept on at a dead run until Mishe dwindled in the distance. When the beast began to puff alarmingly, Borel let it slow to a walk for a while. However, when he looked back he thought he saw little dots on the road that might be pursuers, and spurred his mount to a gallop once more. When the dots disappeared he slowed again. Gallop—trot— walk—trot—gallop—that was how you covered long distances on a horse, so it should work on this six-legged equivalent. After this, he would confine his efforts to Earth, where at least you knew the score.
He looked scornfully down at the bag of gold clinking faintly at the side of his saddle. One bag was all he had dared to take for fear of slowing his mount. It was not a bad haul for small-time stuff and would let him live and travel long enough to case his next set of suckers. Still, it was nothing compared to what he would have made if the damned Shurgez hadn't popped up so inopportunely. If, now, he had been able to get away with the proceeds both of the stock sale and of the lottery…
Next morning found Borel still on the aya's back, plodding over the causeway through the Koloft Swamps. Flying things buzzed and bit; bubbles of stinking gas rose through the black water and burst. Now and then some sluggish swamp-dwelling creature roiled the surface or grunted a mating call. A shower had soaked Borel during the night, and in this dank atmosphere his clothes seemed never to dry.
With yelping cries, the tailed men of Koloft broke from the bushes and ran towards him: Yerevats's wild brethren with stone-bladed knives and spears, hairy, naked, and fearful-looking. Borel spurred the aya into a shambling trot. The tailed men scrambled to the causeway just too late to seize him; a thrown spear went past his head with a swish.
Borel threw away his kindness-to-animals principle and dug spurs into the aya's flanks. They pounded after him. In fact, by squirming around, he could see that they were- actually gaining on him. Another spear came whistling along. Borel flinched, and the spear-head struck the cantle of his saddle and broke, leaving a sliver of obsidian sticking into the saddle as the shaft clattered to the causeway. The next one, he thought gloomily, would be a hit.
Then inspiration seized him. If he could get his money-bag open and throw a handful of gold to the roadway, these savages might stop to scramble for it. His fingers tore at Yerevats's lashings.
And then the twenty-kilo weight of the gold snatched the whole bag from his grasp. Clank! Gold pieces spilled out of the open mouth of the sack and rolled in little circles on the causeway. The tailed men whooped and pounced on them, abandoning their chase. While Borel was glad not to have to dodge any more spears, he did think the price a little steep. However, to go back to dispute possession of the money now would be merely a messy form of suicide, so he rode wearily on.
He reeled into Novorecife about noon. He was no sooner inside the wall than a man in the uniform of Abreu's security force said: "Is the senhor Felix Borel?"