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.As we left I could hear one of the girls weeping.I did not, of course, turn back to see which one it might be.Chapter 12The PeasantThe shrill pain scream of the racing tarn pierced the roar of the frenzied crowd.“Blue! Blue!” screamed the man next to me, a blue patch sewn on his left shoulder, a pair of glazed blue clay plates clutched in his right hand.The tarn, creaming, its wing useless, tumbled uncontrollably from the edge of the large, open, padded ring suspended over the net on the track, plunging into the net, its rider cutting the safety straps and leaping from its back in order that he not be slain beneath the bird struggling in the net.The other bird, which had buffeted it against the edge of the ring, spun awkwardly through, turned in the air, and under the savage command of its control straps, and responding to a yellow flash of the tarn goad, regained its control and sped toward the next ring.“Red! Red! Red!” I heard from nearby.The next seven tarns, strung out, sped through the ring, and wheeled in flight to take the next ring.Their leader was a brown racing tarn, whose rider wore red silk, and whose small saddle and tight control straps were of red leather.This was only the third lap in a ten-lap race, and yet already two tarns were down in the net.I could see the netmen expertly moving across the broad stands approaching them, loops in their hands to tie together the bird’s beak, to bind its curved, wicked talons.The wing of one bird was apparently broken, for the netmen, after binding it, quickly cut its throat, the blood falling through the net, staining it, soaking into the sand below in a brownish red patch.Its rider took the saddle and control straps from the still-quivering bird and dropped with them through the broad strands of the net, to the sand some six feet below.The other bird was apparently only stunned, and it was being rolled to the edge of the net where it would be dropped into a large wheeled frame, drawn by two horned tharlarion, onto a suspended canvas, where it was immediately secured by broad canvas straps.“Gold! Gold!” cried a man two tiers away from me.Already the birds had turned the twelve-ring track and were again approaching.A bird of the Yellow faction was in the lead, followed by Red, then Blue, Gold, Orange, Green and Silver.In the crowd I heard the shrill screams of slave girls and free women alike, the differences between them lost in the moment of their excitement.During the time of the race the hawkers of candies, sweetmeats, Kal-da, pastries and paga were quiet, standing with their goods in the aisles watching.Many of them, too, were much involved in the race, for concealed in their trays or about their persons were doubtless the glazed clay tablets, purchased from the track merchants, redeemable at odds should their favorites finish in one of the four privileged positions.The birds swept past us again.“Oh Priest-Kings,” cried a man nearby, a leather worker, “speed the wings of red!” Everyone in the crowd seemed to be on their feet, even those who sat in the marbled tiers beneath the awnings of purple silk.I rose also that I might see.Near the finishing perches, nine of which were standing for this race, were the areas reserved for the Administrator, the High Initiate, and members of the High Council.These areas were almost porches, extending beyond the regular stands, covered with awnings, on which were mounted sets of curule chairs, at different levels.Flanked by two guards, in the red of Warriors, I could see the throne of the Administrator, on which, intent, leaning forward, sat the member of the Hinrabian family who now stood highest in Ar.Nearby, but lofty, as though disinterested, on a throne of white marble, but between two Warriors as well, sat the High Initiate.Before him sat two rows of Initiates, who were intoning prayers to the Priest-Kings, not watching the race.I noted that a green banner hung over the wall before both the thrones of the Administrator and the High Initiate, indicating they favored the greens.The Warriors who flanked the Administrator and High Initiate, incidentally, were Taurentians, members of the palace guard, an elite corps of swordsmen and bowmen, carefully selected, specially trained, independent of the general military organizations of the city.Their leader, or Captain, was Saphronicus, a mercenary from Tyros.I could see him a few feet behind the throne, wrapped in a scarlet cloak, a tall, spare man, long-armed and narrow-faced, whose head moved restlessly, surveying the crowd.There were other favored areas, too, about the stands, in the front, each covered by awnings, in which there sat members of the numerous high families of the city; I noted that some of these areas were now occupied by Merchants; I had no objection to this for I have always thought higher of the Merchants than many of my caste, but I was surprised; in the time of Marlenus, when he was Ubar of Ar, I think even his friend, Mintar, that great brilliant toad of a man, of the Caste of Merchants, would not have had so choice a vantage point from which to observe the races.Across the track, on the far side, I heard a judge’s bar clang indicating that one of the birds had missed a ring, and a colored disk, silver, was hauled to the top of a pole.There was a groan from many in the crowd and others cried out with delight.The rider was wheeling the bird, trying to bring it under control, and returning to the ring.By this time the other birds had flashed through it.Below me I saw a hawker of sweetmeats angrily discarding four silver-glazed, numbered clay tiles.The birds were now flashing through the great rings before me.Yellow held the lead, followed by Red.Green had now moved up to third.“Green! Green!” a woman was crying out, not far from me, her veil awry, her fists clenched.The Administrator leaned forward even more on his throne.He was said to wager heavily on the races.On the low wall, some seven or eight feet in height, some forty feet in width, which divided the track, I could see that only three of the great wooden tarn heads remained on their poles, indicating that only three laps remained in the race.In a few moments, with a cry of victory, the rider of the Yellow brought his tarn to the first perch, followed closely by the Red and the Green.Then, one after another, Gold, Blue, Orange and Silver took their perches.The last two perches remained empty.I looked to the area of the Administrator and saw the Hinrabian disgustedly turning away, dectating something to a scribe, who sat cross-legged near the throne, a sheaf of record papers in his hand.The High Initiate had risen to his feet and accepted a goblet from another Initiate, probably containing minced, flavored ices, for the afternoon was warm.The crowd was now engaged in various pursuits, no fixed center now holding their attention.Several were going about seeking the odds Merchants, several of whom wandered in the stands, but others of whom kept their tables at the foot of the stands, on the sand itself, almost under the nets beneath the rings.The hawkers of candies and such were now crying their wares.I heard a slave girl wheedling her master for a pastry.Free women, here and there, were delicately putting tidbits beneath their veils.Some even lifted their veils somewhat to drink of the flavored ices.Some low-caste free women drank through their veils, and there were yellow and purple stains on the rep-cloth.I heard a judge’s bar sound twice, indicating that the next race would begin in ten Ehn.There was some scurrying about to find the odds Merchants.Almost everyone in the crowd wore some indication of the faction he favored
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