The Arkadians by Lloyd Alexander

Author:Lloyd Alexander
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

15 - The Game of Warriors

The feasting, with more dancing and music, kept on I well past daybreak. Fronto, having investigated several basins of mare's milk, snuffled about for yet another. Lucian would have gladly crawled under a blanket to sleep; but Swift-Arrow, still fresh-eyed, jumped up, stripped off his shirt, and called for his comrades to fetch their horses.

"My young hotheads will play the Game of Warriors," See-Far-Ahead explained. "Their blood stirs, and better for them to sport than quarrel."

"Local custom?" said Fronto, belching luxuriously. "Always interested in local customs. Because, you see, they're so interesting."

"What kind of game?" asked Lucian.

"A simple one," replied Swift-Arrow, smiling. "Horsemen gather within a circle. A leather ball stuffed with grass is put in play. Each rider strives to seize and carry it past the boundary."

"That's all?"

"No rider may dismount," said Swift-Arrow. "If he leaves his horse's back for any reason, he forfeits the game. That is the one and only rule. A harmless amusement, but it demands a small measure of strength and skill. It might please you to observe our sport-from a comfortable distance."

"It might please me even more," said Lucian, returning Swift-Arrow's glance, "to try this harmless amusement. I'd enjoy it."

"Your presence would honor us," replied Swift-Arrow as Lucian began peeling off his shirt. "We shall find a gentle old nag that will suit you best."

"Here, here, no need for that," put in Franta. "I'll be delighted to serve. I'd enjoy a little romp. This delicious beverage has made me feel marvelously light-footed."

Swift-Arrow burst out laughing. "A jackass? In the noble game?"

"You told me there was only one rule," said Lucian. "I'll ride Fronto." "A jackass, then. Perhaps two." Swift-Arrow strode from the tent and whistled for his horse. Joy-in-the Dance seemed about to speak; but Lucian turned on his heel and hurried after the warrior. Licking up the last few drops from the basin, Franta trotted eagerly to join them.

The dance ground had been cleared, and a circle had been marked out. The folk of the camp made way for the riders. Lucian, perched on Franta, entered the ring, and the onlookers closed ranks. A young boy ran up with a ball several times larger than Lucian's head and, at a signal from Swift-Arrow, tossed it into the ring.

The warriors all seemed to go mad at that same instant, whooping and yip-yipping, yelling and screaming until Lucian feared his ears would split. Franta burst into raucous hee-haws and went lurching toward the wheeling, rearing horses. One rider had already leaned from his mount and snatched up the ball, which was attached to long, rawhide loops. As he made for the boundary, the whole band galloped straight for him, jostling their steeds against his, jabbing him with elbows and fists, and, by sheer force, knocking the ball from his grasp. When a second rider scooped it up, he, too, was kicked and pummeled until he dropped it.

"All against all, every man for himself?" Lucian felt his blood rising. "Well, then: Yip-yip-yip!" Franta needed no urging.

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