Silk and Secrets(63)

Dil Assa led Ross to where a dozen saddled horses were tethered along a picket line. "Here," the Turkoman said, indicating an elderly bay mare. "A fine, steady beast, perfect for a ferengi who has never played bozkashi."

Ross circled the horse with elaborate care, shaking his head all the while. "Have you no respect for the poor mare's years, Dil Assa? She would expire of exertion before the afternoon is over." He patted the angular rump. "I should profoundly regret being the cause of this venerable lady's demise."

Dil Assa scowled. "I chose the mare because I thought that even a ferengi who sits in the saddle like a sack of grain should be able to manage her. But if you think you can handle a real bozkashi steed, choose from among any of my other horses."

Thoughtfully Ross walked along the picket line, examining all of the beasts with an expert eye. They were similar to the legendary breed that the Chinese called the Heavenly Horses of Ferghana. Bred more for stamina than speed, they lacked the elegant conformation of Arabians, but the best of them could travel six hundred miles in under a week.

Other Turkomans crowded around, none of them showing Dil Assa's hostility, and all of them eager to offer comments on the horses. Ross didn't know the language well enough to understand all the rapid talk, but he caught phrases such as, "A bozkashi horse must have the speed of a hawk, the agility of a goat, the heart of a lion... from full gallop to dead stop in an instant... needs patience, spirit, wit..."

Most of the horses looked capable of fulfilling the demanding requirements of the game, but Ross's choice settled on a tall white stallion, the most spirited of the lot. The horse's eyes glittered with fierce intelligence and its slight, impatient movements made the silver plates on his bridle flash in the sunlight. A challenging mount, Ross guessed, but one that would reward the effort of mastering him. "This one."

Behind him, Dil Assa gave a gasp of outrage. "Rabat is my finest horse. I am riding him today!"

"Ah, my apologies," Ross said, not entirely surprised, for the stallion's quality was obvious. "I would not dream of depriving you of the horse you need for victory."

The Turkoman gave Ross a smoldering glance, but pride compelled him to say, "I do not need Rabat to win, ferengi. You are welcome to ride him—if he will allow you to."

"You are most gracious," Ross said, suppressing a grin. "I imagine that Rabat has been trained to perform special bozkashi maneuvers. What need I know to ride him properly?"

Fortunately half a dozen men chimed in with answers, for Dil Assa seemed disinclined to reply. After listening for a few minutes, Ross thought he understood what he might expect of a Turkoman-trained horse.

To accustom Rabat to his voice, Ross spent a few moments stroking the wary animal's neck and talking softly in English. Then, after checking the tightness of the girth and lengthening the stirrups, he swung lightly into the saddle.

Outraged by the stranger's impertinence, Rabat immediately exploded into action, bunching his muscles and rearing up in a furious attempt to dislodge his unwelcome rider. The stallion had a really impressive repertoire of bucks, twists, and sideways hops, but Ross had noted the warning in Dil Assa's words and he was prepared for such behavior. As the audience prudently withdrew to a safe distance, there followed a brief, intense bout in which man and horse tested each other's mettle.

It required all of Ross's strength and concentration to stay on the animal's back and establish which of them was in charge, but as Rabat whipped sideways like a mongoose, Ross did catch one glimpse of Juliet. Even though she was veiled, he sensed her satisfaction with his performance. Score one for the British.

There was no real vice in the white horse, just high spirits and a mischievous refusal to tamely accept an unproved rider. After Rabat had burned off some of his excess energy, he settled down and began to respond to reins and knees.

Wanting to know just what his mount could do, Ross rode away from the tents into the open plain. Then he put the stallion through its paces, systematically learning how to make the beast stop, wheel, and jump.

Rabat was amazingly quick, instantly sensing what his rider wanted. He could also turn on a farthing, and was one of the most powerful jumpers Ross had ever ridden. Testing the horse's capabilities was similar to testing a new rifle, only more challenging, because Rabat had a mind of his own.

The unfamiliar harness also required getting used to. There was only a single pair of reins, and the saddle was very high in front and back. In addition, a tall horn rose from the pommel. The configuration was unusual, but it would offer valuable support for a rider engaging in wild bozkashi maneuvers.