snowy passes of the mountains. He liked them well enough and had even encountered a few with interesting personalities. On the whole, however, he thought a good goat or llama was far more valuable to a Kyranian.
But this creature seemed to exist on an entirely different plane than all other animals of its kind. He was almost godlike in beauty, so handsomely muscled he seemed like a great work of art from a master sculptor. He was tall, taller than any horse Safar had ever seen. He was the color of fresh cream, a deep and glossy off-white so full of depths he seemed to glow. His feet were black, as if he wore short boots on his hooves and he had a lighting bolt of black on his handsome forehead.
He ignored the crowd as he came out, giving off an aura of royal aloofness. When he came to the center he tossed his head high and pawed the ground as if he were anxious to be off on more important business than mere adulation.
Then Safar had a second shock as the horse turned his sculpted head and looked in Safar's direction.
The look flew across the distance and found him and he had a sudden feeling of warm and glad recognition. It was as if two souls had met and in the meeting an instant bond had been formed.
Safar whispered, 'Hello, old friend!' And the horse rose up on its hind legs, pawing the air and shrilling a glad greeting.
And he thought, this is it! This is what Asper wanted me to find.
Then all was confusion as the horse was led to the side and trumpets announced the final match. The last note had barely faded away when Ulan The Bald rushed his opponent. It was as if the sight of the horse had given him new life and he grasped Butar by the belt and hoisted him off the ground. The crowd screamed in ecstasy as all the days of suspense ended in a quick, breath-bursting second as Ulan slammed his opponent onto the ground. Trumpets blared, drums rolled and big kites of every color were launched into the sky, carrying exploding fireworks in their tails.
Safar didn't see any of it. He was concentrating solely on the horse, who stood patiently in solitary splendor at the far side of the field.
'Now we'll see if there's going to be a challenge,' Pudge Face said.
Safar, half in a daze, turned to him. 'What do you mean?'
'Anyone can challenge the champion,' he said. 'At least that's the fiction. In a minute the king's gonna ask the crowd in if there is anyone among us who can best Ulan.' Pudge Face took a drink, laughing at the same time and making a bigger mess of his robe. 'As if any of us could outwrestle a Brave Titan!'
'What happens if someone does?'
Pudge Face laughed again. 'Don't be ridiculous,' he said. 'These men are not only giants, but they train all their lives. They know all the tricks.'
'Still,' Safar said, 'what if such a thing occurred?'
'Then they'd win the title, plus the riches, plus the horse. But if you're considering some sort of wager, keep your money in your purse, my friend. No challenger has ever defeated a champion in the history of the games.'
Pudge Face looked over at the horse. 'More's the pity,' he said. 'A stranger could keep the horse for his own.'
'What do you mean?' Safar asked.
'Well, this particular horse is meant for sacrifice. That's Ulan's gift to the gods.'
Safar jumped at this, as if stung. But the little man didn't notice. He'd just tried to take a drink but found his wine sack was empty. He sighed, regretting his generosity. But that couldn't be taken back, so he looked across the field at the horse and gave still another sigh, but deeper. Sometimes life seemed so terribly unfair.
'Ah, look at that!' he said. 'I'm as religious as the next person. Praise the gods once a week and try to do right in between. But the sight of that beautiful creature prancing about so proud … and knowing the poor thing's fate … is enough to make you wonder if the gods are right in their heads.
'Does our heavenly family really want to see this handsome creature handed over to thin-lipped priests with sharp little knives?' He shuddered. 'Holy purpose or not, what a horrid fate for something so magnificent.'
He turned to Safar. 'With a little drink in you it makes you wonder if the gods even-'
Pudge Face stopped in mid-flow. The seat beside him was empty!
As Safar raced down the stairs he didn't notice the old crone reach through the crowd to snatch at his tunic with her long nails. He only felt resistance and he tugged hard. The fabric ripped and the witch snatched back a claw full of shredded cloth. He ran on, while behind him the witch chortled in glee.
'It's him!' she cackled. 'I jus' know it is!'
Out on the field, Safar trotted toward Ulan. The officials stood back, incredulous. Who was this lowly creature who dared challenge a Brave Titan? Safar stripped off his shirt and as he ran the amulet bounced on his chest. Each time it struck he felt a warm glow. It was such a strong feeling that any misgivings dissolved before they were fully formed.
As he approached Ulan he heard the stallion whinny and he saw the two minders grappling with the animal, who was struggling mightily against the ropes.
Then he was standing before Ulan, who grinned at him through bloody gums and shattered teeth. Ulan stared down from a great height. Safar was tall for a Kyranian, but Ulan took him by at least a foot. Safar was slender, but broad of chest and shoulder. Against Ulan he seemed puny, a weakling with wrists that could be snapped easily and a slim bow of a backbone that could be crushed under Ulan's mighty feet.
The wrestler's bloody grin grew wider. He rose up, blowing his body out to intimidate his opponent. His brow beetled, making his eyes as small as spear points. He clapped his horny hands together, making a sound like thunder.
'Who are you, little man,' he intoned, 'to challenge the great Ulan?'
'All I want is the horse,' Safar said, trying to throw his enemy off the mark. 'You can keep everything else after I defeat you.'
Ulan's big head split in two and he guffawed a great guffaw. 'You can wish in one hand and defecate in the other and you'll soon see what comes out in the balance,' Ulan said.
An official locked a wide belt around Safar's waist. 'You know the rules,' he said.
Safar shook head. 'Actually,' he said, 'I've never done this before.'
Both the official and Ulan were incredulous. 'What a fool you are, little man,' the wrestler said.
The official shrugged. 'It's your life,' he said to Safar. 'You can do what you want with it.' Then: 'The rules are simple. Kicking, punching, gouging, neck breaking, whatever, are permitted. The fight ends when one man lifts another off his feet by the belt, then throws him to the ground. Getting knocked to the ground or slipping and falling doesn't count for anything. Got it?'
Safar gulped. 'I think so,' he said.
The trumpet blared and Ulan advanced on Safar, enormous arms outstretched to catch him whichever way he dodged.
Safar cast a spell of confusion and leaped to the left. Ulan lofted a clumsy swing, missing with a blow so strong that Safar heard the punch explode the air as it sailed past his head.
Ulan made a lumbering recovery and Safar grabbed him by the big leather belt and heaved.
Ulan looked down on him, amused. He spread his feet and became a weight that could not be moved.
'Heave away, little man,' he mocked.
Safar gasped, but it was like trying to pick up a mountain.
Then a blow like an unleashed siege machine sent him flying. As he sailed through the air he heard the stallion nicker in alarm. It gave him strength and as Safar hit the ground he tuck-rolled to his feet.
The Brave Titan of Naadan bellowed and swept down on him like an avalanche.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Uh, oh!' Palimak said. 'Looks like my father's in trouble.'
'Let me see! Let me see!' Gundara demanded, pushing forward.
