Silk and Secrets(66)

Then he realized that Rabat was gathering himself for a leap. In an instant of perfect communication between man and mount, Ross sensed that the stallion wanted to hurdle right on top of the brawling, seething mass of riders and horses.

It was madness, yet Ross didn't hesitate for an instant. In bozkashi, anything was allowed. Anything.

His mind at one with his horse, Ross felt Rabat's sweeping strides and bunching muscles, the fierce equine aggression, as if they were his own. Together they rose into the air and for a moment soared like Pegasus.

Then man and beast smashed down on top of the roiling, cursing throng. It was pure chaos. Kicks, fists, and whip lashes rained down on Ross and the stallion, but the sheer weight of their descent forced a space to open beneath them, right next to the bitterly contested goat.

Oblivious to the buffeting of other riders, Ross clamped the whip between his teeth, then dived through the choking dust toward the boz, stretching perilously over empty air with only a boot heel and his grip on the saddle horn to anchor him to his mount. At the farthest limit of his reach, he managed to seize a back leg of the mangled carcass.

The man who had possession fought viciously to retain it, but he lacked his assailant's fierce, fresh strength. After a sharp struggle, Ross wrenched the prize away.

When the full weight of the carcass lurched into his grasp, Ross almost crashed down to the stony soil. It took all his strength to regain his seat, but he managed to do it without losing the goat to the clawing hands of other players.

Ross draped the battered boz in front of his saddle, then began the slow, violent process of fighting his way out of the melee. In his state of exhilarated fury, he felt none of the blows that fell on him, and he had no compunction about striking back in kind.

Every hand and whip was raised against them, but he and Rabat were unstoppable as they barreled through the mob, knocking the other riders aside. They emerged in the clear only a couple of hundred yards from the circle of justice.

Dust stung Ross's eyes so that he could barely see the goal, but blindly he kicked Rabat into a gallop, relying on the stallion's training and instinct to take them to the circle at top speed. Needing to clear his vision, Ross lifted one hand from the goat and used the tail of his turban to wipe his eyes.

In the instant that his grasp on the carcass was less secure, another pair of hands seized it. Once more it was Dil Assa, his black eyes wild with jubilant fury as he dragged the boz onto his own horse.

He spurred the bay in an attempt to escape, but before he could succeed, Ross retaliated, stretching across the intervening space to grab one of the goat's hind legs. His muscles knotted with strain as he tried to wrench the carcass back, but Dil Assa held a front leg with equal stubbornness, refusing to let go.

The two horses thundered toward the goal side by side, for neither of the men would yield in their grisly tug-of-war. Other riders surrounded them, yelling and striking with their whips, but Ross was aware only of Dil Assa and the savage struggle for primacy between them.

To break the perilous stalemate, Ross locked one leg around the high cantle of the saddle, then slid down the far side of the horse, using his weight to get the extra force he needed. Something had to give, and with shocking suddenness, it did.

The goat surged over to Ross and he lost his precarious balance. He almost pitched off his mount under the hooves of the pursuing riders, but once again the saddle horn saved him.

As Ross heaved himself upright, he saw that the animal's front leg had torn away in Dil Assa's hands, leaving the main carcass in Ross's possession. Shrieking with rage, Dil Assa heaved the foreleg at his opponent and made another attempt to seize the boz, but it was too late. They had reached the goal.

Ross flung the ragged carcass into the quicklime circle, and shouts of "Hallal, hallal!" rose from the spectators. That quickly turned into a chant of, "Khilburn, Khilburn!"

When Ross raised one arm in acknowledgment, the crowd went wild. Fierce, primitive exultation surged through Ross's veins. Though he had played team sports in school with great success, no team victory had ever given him such pure, arrogant satisfaction in his own prowess.

Rabat was equally exhilarated, and pranced and curveted in a triumphant stallion strut.

Ross had noted earlier where Juliet watched with Saleh and Murad, and now he looked for her, instinctively wanting to share his elation. It was easy to pick her out, for she was a tall, slim raven among the colorful Turkomans.

For a moment their gazes met. He felt an odd jolt, but the distance was too great to read her expression. Then she turned her head sharply away. Perhaps she was upset that he had forgotten his intention to glide through the match without risk.

Whatever the motive, her gesture served to bring Ross back to earth. As his mania ebbed, he was grateful to find that his sanity seemed intact, though he also became aware of just how hot, tired, and bruised he was. His chest heaved with exertion, and his ribs ached with every breath he drew.