Gord shrugged indifferently. The two other nomads clapped their hands and cried agreement, however. "He sees and hears like a pharzool!" said Ushtwer. That one is as fierce as such hunters – Eflam, you name him well!"
Then the four men settled down to conversation and a bit of bragging. When Gord mentioned the Al-babur, all the Okmani scowled. These were hereditary enemies of their tribe. Then Eflam, the brightest of the three and their natural leader, laughed. "We Okmani are very perceptive, too," he said. "You are adopted by the Al-babur – the Tribes of the Tiger, do you see?" Gord shook his head.
"We have named you as a cat!" Eflam exclaimed. "The tiger-folk have no merit in their adoption. I now make you a brother warrior of the Okmani, Pharzool!" All three then jumped up and pounded the young adventurer on the back. Gord, although he did not wish to belittle the privilege just bestowed upon him, could not help wondering why these tribes were so free with their pronouncements of brotherhood – first the Al-babur, and now these Okmani. He was just about to say something to this effect, when he found out what "brotherhood" meant in the Okmani sense of the word.
"You have nothing much to give us as presents for this honor," Ushtwer said as he eyed Gord's fine stallion. The horse laid back its ears at the approach of the nomad, and then it snorted and bared its teeth. Ushtwer took a cautious step backward.
"Don't worry, brother," Hukkasin said to Ushtwer. "Tomorrow we will find a caravan to plunder or wild horses to capture. Then will our new brother, Pharzool the Generous, bestow his gifts of appreciation upon us."
"I have a much better idea," Gord said loudly to be sure that he had the full attention of all three Okmani warriors. "In gratitude for your generosity in making me a fellow warrior of your worthy tribe, I will give you all a lesson in the weapon play of my people." With that the young man was on his feet, and his hands displayed long dagger and short sword. Not having seen him draw either blade, the nomads made signs against magic.
"There is no need for any gifts, brother," Eflam assured the small, gray-eyed man who stood poised before him. "We have sufficient honor in sharing your food and camp and in counting you amongst the ranks of the Men of Okman!" Both Hukkasin and Ushtwer seemed to agree very much with that statement. They stopped sweating when Gord put his weapons away and sat down again. Then they began sharing stories, and kept that up until they set-tied down to spend the night around Gord's fire.
Morning brought with it a heavy, patchy fog. Gord could make out large features of the landscape, but details were not visible from more than a few hundred yards away. He realized that his special sight did not give him any advantage in this sort of condition, and this worried him, but only briefly. After the group had readied for the day's travel, Eflam suddenly pointed into the distance and began to shout a high, yipping call. The other two Okmani warriors took up this cry, and Gord demanded to know what was the matter. "Nothing is the matter, Pharzool," said Eflam in a vaguely condescending tone. "That line of riders there, see? That is the rest of our group. Soon the other warriors of our tribe will greet you, and we can all ride to ravage the lands of the Yollite dogs!"
The nomads mounted and kicked their mounts into a gallop, not bothering to see if their new brother was following, intent on going to meet their fellow Okmani raiders. Hukkasin, the smallest of the three and the one riding the swiftest horse, took the lead, opening a gap of a few dozen yards between himself and the other two. Gord followed their lead but kept Windeater to a canter, allowing the nomad warriors to stay ahead. A minute later he still could not figure out how many men were approaching through the fog, because they seemed to be riding in close quarters. Then Hukkasin's yip-ping cries turned to another sort of sound, a braying shout, and he reined in his steed.
"Hurry, Pharzool!" Eflam called over his shoulder. "Those are the curs of Yoll before us!" As he spoke, he and his comrade slowed their movement to a trot. Hukkasin had wheeled his horse and was almost back with the rest.
"What made you so sure that these would be your men?" Gord said as he came up near the nomads.
"See the two low ridges on the horizon?" Eflam said, pointing with his head as he fumbled free a small bow from its case on his steed's flank. "The space between them marks a place of rendezvous for the Okmani warriors. The disease-ridden Yollites must have accidentally come through there."
"What now?" the young adventurer asked. The question was voiced in an offhand tone, but as he spoke it Gord pulled his sling from his belt and reached into his pouch for a stone.
Eflam looked resigned as he nocked a broad-headed arrow. "We stand and shoot until they are upon us. Then we fight," and so saying he released the shaft at the charging Yollites.
Gord saw that the other two Okmani had done likewise, so he spun his sling and sent a stone flying forth. A pair of the foemen fell from arrows, and a second later Gord's stone hit a horse. The steed stumbled and sent its rider tumbling, to be trampled beneath the hooves of the other animals.
"Good shot, Pharzool!" Eflam cried. "Give those dogs another such kiss!"
There was no time for that, Gord knew. The Okmani were drawing back their next arrows, but it would take him too long to reload his sling. Gord tucked away that weapon and drew his light lance from its leather sleeve just as another Yollite went down with an Okmani arrow in his chest. Crouched low, his lance aimed, Gord coaxed Windeater into a trot, heading toward the Yollites, The trot changed to a canter and was just opening into a full gallop when he was all but closed with the enemy.
From this close distance, Gord could see what he and the Okmani were up against. The Yoli warriors were armed with scimitars, and many also carried lances similar to the one that Gord plied. They had bow cases too, and as he approached the charging line of enemy warriors Gord supposed they either disdained using missiles against so numerically inferior a foe or else didn't wish to risk wasting arrows. Shooting from a galloping horse was difficult, and few could perform such a feat with accuracy even in clear air. In this fog, it would have been all but impossible to hit a solitary target. There were about a score of the Yoli nomads still – five to one against them, Gord estimated. And now they had fanned out, apparently trying to surround the four of them. Gord was glad to see that they held their positions in this spread-out formation, because that meant he would only have to contend with two or three of the enemy at one time.
"Yoll-Yoll-Yoll!" That sound washed over Gord as he maneuvered to keep the Yollites from getting at his back. He chose a target at the same time the target chose him, and a warrior voicing this strange chant at the top of his lungs lowered his lance and thundered toward Gord. As they closed, Gord swayed quickly in his high saddle to avoid the wavy-bladed lance that threatened to pierce his chest. The point of his own lance took the Yollite in the shoulder – a poor hit. He had been aiming at the heart, but his movement to avoid the foe's weapon had spoiled his own attack. Nevertheless, Gord's hit was sufficient to dismount the Yoli warrior, and then Gord was past the enemy and pivoting Windeater to charge again. Just before he turned back toward the fray, Gord thought he detected another group of riders approaching in the mist, and he instantly feared the worst. If the Yollites they were now engaged with only comprised an advance group, then he and his compatriots were surely doomed. Gord silently resolved to make one more pass through the enemy ranks and do what he could, but then he would turn from the battle and drive Windeater as hard as he could away from this futile cause.