The Golden Barbarian (26 page)

“We aren’t animals.” Tess’s hands clenched into fists. “Someone should punish him. Someone should make him see.”

“Yes.” He turned wearily away. “For God’s sake, cease. I told you I can do nothing about it. Not yet. Perhaps not for a long time.” He began to gather up his papers that had fallen on the floor when he had run out of the tent. “Go to bed.”

“Oh yes, I should be able to go right to sleep. After all, he’s gagged her, and we can’t hear her screams.”

He muttered a curse and wheeled to face her. “Why does it so disturb you? Your own father beat you until you bled, and you’ve told me you accepted the beatings without protest.”

“Because I was a child, afraid and believing I had no choice but to accept. I’ve changed.”

“But you cannot change the world.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what you’re trying to do?”

“That’s different. I’m—”

“A man? And I’m only a woman, to be beaten and caged like an animal.” She threw up her hands. “Sweet Mary, you’re as much a barbarian as Hakim.” Suddenly, her anger lessened, faded as she saw the expression that flitted across his face. She had hurt him. She had used the one word that could wound him.

The vulnerability vanished, and his expression hardened. “If I were a barbarian, you wouldn’t have heard that woman scream.” He smiled recklessly as he moved forward to stand before her. “You would have been screaming yourself as I drove in and out of you.” His fingers tangled in her hair. “I should have thrown you down when you walked into the tent tonight and kept you too busy to think of anything but pleasure.”

“I would have fought you.”

“But would a barbarian care?” He jerked her head back and smiled down into her eyes. “Wouldn’t a barbarian merely enjoy the battle?” He reached out and began stroking her arched throat. “There were moments when I would have enjoyed having you on your knees. Perhaps Hakim’s right, and I should—” He drew a deep, shaky breath. He slowly released her and stepped back. “No.” He turned and moved across the tent. He undid the flap closure with shaking hands and threw it open.

“Where are you going?” she whispered.

“Why should you care?” He smiled bitterly as he glanced back at her. “Perhaps to the
kadine
tent. Would you like to come along? Do you wish to observe the barbarian at his pleasure?”

“My words were hasty,” she said haltingly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I think you did. It explains much. I’m letting you go tonight because I’m sickened of violence.” He paused. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll feel the same tomorrow.”

Before she could answer, he strode out of the tent.

Tess gazed after him. Was he going to the
kadine
tent, or had he said that to hurt her?

What did she care if he did go?

She did care.

She was filled with a wild mixture of anger, rebellion, pain … and regret.

She had hurt him. She had flung the one charge his mother had hurled at him. All his life he had fought to overcome the savagery within—and she had told him he had failed.

It had been the fault of that old demon Hakim. If she had not been so upset, she would never have thrown that word at Galen. Now, she had a double score to settle with Hakim.

She moved to the entrance of the tent and gazed out into the darkness. Hakim should be punished, not only for beating that poor half-grown girl but for Galen’s hurt as well. Yet Galen had said that he could do nothing.

Which didn’t necessarily mean Tess was equally bound. Punishing Hakim might be a trifle difficult considering the delicacy of the situation, but she
wasn’t stupid. If she thought carefully and weighed all aspects of the problem, there should be a way …

Galen tightened the leather straps of the burgundy-colored
carobel
about his waist before swinging carefully into the saddle. Twenty-six riders were already at the rope barricade at the other end of the encampment. The men had stripped down to only trousers and flowing shirts, the
carobel
jars bright, multihued patches of color on their backs. An elder of the El Zalan who had won many races in his youth had been given the honor of dropping the yellow silk
camosa
to start the race and was pacing solemnly back and forth before the rope barricade.

Hakim nodded unsmilingly to Galen as he rode past him to the barricade. Evidently, the bastard had found another
carobel
adequate to his needs, Galen thought bitterly as he noticed the sky-blue jar fastened on the old man’s back.

“Good fortune, Galen.”

Galen looked away from Hakim to see Sacha strolling toward him. “You’re not riding? I thought you told me last night you were going to participate.”

Sacha didn’t meet his gaze as he reached out and patted Selik’s neck. “I feel too lazy this morning. I’m travel-weary.” He made a face. “Besides, I never make it past the fourth jump before my
carobel
breaks and I’m drenched with perfume. I have no desire to spend the rest of the day in the
bath trying to get rid of the odor.” He stepped back and gestured to the crowd gathered behind ropes where the riders had assembled. “I’ll stay here and wait and watch with the rest.”

But Tess was neither watching nor waiting. Galen’s gaze went to their tent, and his hand tightened on the reins. After their argument last night, he had not expected her to bid him good fortune, but still a frisson of anger went through him.

“Are the jumps bad?” asked Sacha, still looking at the crowd.

“No worse than at any other
carobel.”

“Which is bad enough,” Sacha muttered.

Galen raised his brows quizzically. “I’m touched by your concern.”

Sacha smiled with an effort. “He’s ready to drop the
camosa
. You’d better join the others.”

Galen nodded jerkily as he nudged Selik forward. He must rid himself of emotion and concentrate only on the race. It was not necessary that he win, but it was important he present a powerful and dignified figure to the other sheikhs, and that meant keeping his
carobel
intact for the entire race. He kept his face turned away from his tent as he joined the other riders at the rope barricade.

A hush fell over the crowd behind the confining ropes.

The yellow
camosa
fell to the ground.

The second jump was a fallen tree with great gnarled branches that had been dragged across the trail.

Selik jumped, faltered as he landed, and then was up and running again. Kalim followed, but Galen could hear him cursing as his
carobel
shifted on his back. He carefully adjusted the leather straps and rode on. Not so with many of the riders behind him. One horse was already down, flailing desperately to gain his feet. The horse of Ladar, the young sheikh of the El Zabor, shied, sending him crashing into a tree on the side of the trail, shattering his
carobel
. The sickening sweet stench rose to mingle with the dust-clogged air.

“You smell like a strumpet I wouldn’t bother to bed, Ladar,” Hakim called jubilantly as his horse made it across the fallen tree with
carobel
intact. “See how a real warrior does it.”

Galen bent down in the saddle, murmuring to Selik.

“What is this?” Hakim’s roar was so outraged that Galen glanced again over his shoulder.

He was just in time to see another rider lift effortlessly over the barricade and race past Hakim down the trail.

Tess, a bright red
carobel
fastened on her back, was leaning forward, urging Pavda on. She passed Hakim, then Kalim, gaining on Selik.

“What in hades do you think you’re doing?” Galen shouted as she came within hearing distance.

Her laugh answered him as she bent low, her red hair gleaming in the sunlight.

He heard Hakim’s muttered curses as Pavda sprayed dust in his face.

Tess took the next jump across the stream only
yards behind him. Two riders fell, their
carobels
shattering and spilling the heavy, perfumed liquid into the waters of the brook. Kalim had lost speed and was falling behind. Hakim made the jump and pounded after them.

A four-foot brush barricade barred the path a mile farther along. Selik was still in the lead, but Pavda was on his heels as they drew close to the barrier. “It’s too high for Pavda. Go around it, dammit,” Galen called over his shoulder.

She shook her head, the color in her cheeks as brilliant as her glittering eyes.

Galen muttered a curse and then turned back as the jump was upon him. Selik made the jump, not without difficulty, and Galen wheeled to watch Pavda sail over the brush pile with only inches to spare.

He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a flicker of possessive pride mix with his anger as he watched Tess straighten, her carriage and balance perfect, her
carobel
intact.

Dear God, if he didn’t pay more attention to the race, the little minx would be making
him
eat her dust as she had Hakim!

He turned Selik and touched his whip to the stallion’s withers. The horse responded instantly with more power, more strength. Selik and Pavda made the last jump across a nettle-strewn barricade almost together, but Selik drew ahead again on the straightaway leading back to the encampment.

Galen glanced over his shoulder. Hakim, Kalim, and several others were still in the field. He
crossed the finish line ahead of Tess with ten yards to spare. He heard the shouting of the watchers behind the barricade, but ignored them as he turned to watch Pavda cross the finish line.

But there was no rider on Pavda’s back.

Tess lay crumpled in the sand three yards from the finish line, her red
carobel
shattered and lying in splinters, her body still.

Panic raced through Tess as she gasped helplessly for air. She hadn’t expected to hit the ground so hard, and the impact had knocked the breath from her body.

She could hear Galen saying something, his voice oddly husky above her, but she was too dazed to make out the words. She dimly felt him loosen the straps of the broken
carobel
and jerk it off her. Then his hands were running down her limbs.

“Is she hurt?” Sacha’s voice, Sacha’s concerned face, hovered behind Galen.

“I don’t know,” Galen said hoarsely. “She hasn’t moved.”

“Not—hurt,” she gasped. “Can’t—breathe.”

“Thank God,” Sacha breathed. “I told you it was dangerous, imp.”

Galen shot him a fierce glance. “But you still helped her in this madness, didn’t you? She couldn’t have done it alone.”

“You underestimate her,” Sacha said. “I think she could have managed without me.” He nodded. “But yes, I gave her my
carobel
and showed
her where to hide in the brush to wait for the riders to pass.”

“And damn near got her killed,” Galen said harshly. “Why?”

“She was persuasive.” Sacha shrugged. “And you always knew I detested Hakim.”

“Not—Sacha’s fault.” Tess struggled to a sitting position in the sand. “I had to—”

“Kill yourself?” Galen demanded. “Two men died racing in the last
carobel.”

“Had to show … Hakim.” Tess was at last able to draw a deep breath. She was immediately sorry as the stench of perfume nearly overpowered her. Dear heaven, she stank. “Not … an animal.” She stiffened as she saw Hakim riding toward her.

The old man halted before her and smiled down at her with malicious satisfaction. “You see what happens when women forget their place and try to mimic men? They end up kneeling humbly in the dust.” He turned to Galen and demanded, “You will punish her?”

“Be assured, you will hear her scream,” Galen said grimly. “There should be time before we meet for the final vote this afternoon.”

“Good.” The old man turned his horse and rode away toward the tents of El Kabbar.

Sacha stepped forward. “Galen, I know you’re angry, but you have to admit she had justification, and she wasn’t as self-indulgent as you might bel—”

“Go find Viane and tell her to heat water for
a bath.” Galen wrinkled his nose. “Dear Lord, she stinks.” He turned to Tess and asked coldly, “Can you walk?”

“Of course.” She struggled to her knees and then to her feet. “I told you I wasn’t hurt.”

“Then go to the tent and wait for me there.” He turned and took Pavda’s and Selik’s reins and started for the enclosure. “Pavda deserves more care than you do. You could have killed her on that fourth jump.”

“I knew she could make it. I would never do anything to endanger Pavda.”

He neither answered nor glanced at her as he stalked toward the enclosure.

Sacha gave a low whistle. “Be careful, imp. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Tess was out of the bath, and Viane was wrapping her in a long length of toweling when Galen came into the tent. He carried a short riding whip.

“Leave us, Viane.”

Viane gazed in horror at the whip. “Would not a small stick do as well?”

Galen smiled grimly. “The whip was sent by Hakim as a gesture of goodwill and a reminder of how a woman should be disciplined. Wasn’t it kind of him?”

Viane hesitated. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to cause trouble, Galen. Couldn’t you—”

“She meant to cause the furor she did,” Galen said curtly. “Leave us, and tell your servant to start packing. I’ve told Kalim he’s to form an
escort and take you back to Zalandan this afternoon.”

“But truly, Galen, she meant no harm. Could you not forgive her?”

“No, it’s gone too far. If I don’t punish her, I lose Hakim’s vote for unity.”

“That vile old man What do you care—?”

“He’s right, Viane,” Tess said quietly. “I must be punished. It’s the only way. Leave us.”

Viane gave her a worried glance and reluctantly left the tent.

“I didn’t expect you to be so understanding,” Galen said without expression. “Was humiliating Hakim in the race worth it?”

She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

“I disagree.” He started toward her. “Nothing would be worth what I felt when I saw you—” He broke off as he stopped before her. “I thought you were dead when you fell off Pavda.”

“I didn’t fall off Pavda,” she said indignantly. “I don’t fall off horses.”

He went still. “What?”