“Well done, lads,” he said to the Americans. “It shows commendable respect for your man.”
Captain Madura stroked his thin mustache with a smile. “We had to give odds to get you boys to even bet. Has General Anhalt ever been on a horse?”
Naroyan thrust the money into Anhalt's helmet. “A bit, yes. He was captain of the All-Imperial Polo squad for six years.”
The Americans exchanged glances of concern, but Madura laughed. “Polo? How grand.”
Naroyan said deadpan, “They invented the game in India, where the general is from. Those fellows take it quite seriously. Two hundred people are killed there every year playing polo.”
“You're pulling our legs.”
The major raised an eyebrow. “The sirdar went into the army because they outlawed him in South India league play. For maiming too many other chaps.”
They all turned to see General Anhalt at one endline swiping his sword through the air. He sat straight like a centaur. His mount pranced eagerly. Three hundred yards away from him, Senator Clark wiped his forearm sleeve across his brow.
Anhalt could see that Clark was slightly stooped with fatigue and his mount was glistening. The senator rode well, but he was no horseman or he would've called for a new mount. However, maybe that would've seemed like weakness to him. While the general knew he had speed and maneuverability, Clark was all about strength. A big man on a big horse. A solid shot from the American's saber, blunt or no, could unhorse or even kill. This entire exercise was complete nonsense, boyish idiocy. It was something Adele would do.
Anhalt smiled and kicked his horse into a gallop.
Senator Clark whooped and surged forward, sword held aloft in classic position. The riders charged over the green field. Anhalt leaned in, saber poised. The thudding of the hooves vibrated his body. His focus narrowed. He felt the flanks of his mount with his knees. He felt the worn sword pommel in his hand. He saw the charging shape and glinting sword above it. The two horses drew closer, throwing a barrage of divots behind. Clark was ramrod straight in the saddle. Anhalt subtly slowed his horse, knowing that the senator's arm was a spring ready to fire. When the mounts were nose by nose, the American let fly. Anhalt fell back against Jambiya's rump and the saber flashed over him. He sprang up and swung back toward his opponent who, amazingly, had already turned at the waist to parry the blow.
Jambiya responded to pressure and began to wheel while Clark's stallion still thundered on. Anhalt made a tight half-circle, trying to come over onto the enemy's left, but Clark was already drifting to cut him off and pulling up hard on his reins, driving his horse into a skidding stop. The American yanked left, nearly pulling his horse over, and brought his sword to bear on a surprised Anhalt. He swung once, barely parried by the Equatorian, and then actually slammed the powerful hindquarters of his stallion into Jambiya's shoulder. The smaller horse stumbled, but the Gurkha rode it out, coaxing him up.
Clark laughed and barked, “Finesse is no good here!”
Anhalt blocked a wild blow toward his neck, alarmed that the senator was more skilled than he expected. They fenced with the two horses slamming side by side, spinning in a circle. Clark reared back to avoid a swipe, but delivered a glancing blow to Anhalt's right arm. The general felt pins and needles down to his fingertips, and the American capitalized with another blade smash, sending Anhalt's saber from his numb grasp.
Clark howled with laughter. “Too easy, Sirdar!”
“I'm still mounted. I do not yield.” Anhalt kicked the gelding into a run for the far goal.
He heard Clark's monstrous mount take up the chase. A risked glance over his hunched shoulder showed the senator grinning, hat trailing in the wind, his saber eager for another blow on the disarmed enemy. He almost felt Clark's breath. He could sense the sword about to fall.
Anhalt locked his knees against Jambiya's shoulders, and the little mount stiffened his forelegs into a skid. The Gurkha ducked as a giant mass roared past, sword whistling through the air. Jambiya spun and took up the gallop again without argument.
The gelding roared along the torn-up grass. Anhalt slipped his left foot from the stirrup and took a handful of Jambiya's mane. He dropped his other foot free and slid down the right side of the horse's chest with one leg curled under the belly and the left calf on the saddle. Jambiya's churning legs pounded so close. The ground roared past, only inches away. A stumble by the gelding would send Anhalt crashing headfirst to the hard field with little chance he wouldn't break a shoulder at least, or neck at most. Without fear, he reached forward with his right hand, feeling the tips of the grass skimming along.
Something hard hit his fingers. He clasped. And he rose up, fighting to regain the saddle with only one arm for leverage. Jambiya leaned from the pressure and missed a step. Anhalt tightened his left boot against some flange on the saddle, and a hard thump nearly threw him.