A Cat Of Silvery Hue by Robert Adams Read Free Book Online Page A

gasped prayers, at the same moment that an unbearable weight seemed determined to either wrench the spear from his grasp or his shoulder from its socket!
    Releasing the shaft, he galloped on, still wincing and cringing from the swordcut that was certainly coming…but unaccountably failed to arrive. Feeling terribly defenseless without something in his hand, he fumbled for, found and finally drew the saber they had hung on him—no mean feat, at a full, jarring gallop. And it was as well that he did, for as the hunter rounded a turn and effortlessly cleared the dead bodies of two men and a horse, Geros was horrified to see two more riders only bare yards ahead.
    Because the valet had but marginal mindspeak—telepathic ability which those better endowed used to communicate with their horses—his mount had been equipped with a bitted bridle. But that bit was now firmly between the hunter’s teeth and no amount of tugging on the rider’s part could diminish the speed which was relentlessly narrowing the gap betwixt the terror-stricken valet and two men he knew to be armed and highly dangerous.
    At the last moment, the trailing rider half-turned in his saddle and commenced to fumble for the hilt of his broadsword. They had come into an open area, and in the bright moonlight Geros could see the fully armored man’s white teeth bared in a snarl of rage, could even see the droplets of sweat glistening at the tips of his double-pointed chinbeard, could see the feral fire of hate glinting in the black eyes which blinked constantly against the trickles of blood from some wound hidden under the helm. And he knew as certainly as ever he had known anything that if that gauntleted hand found and closed on that hilt, Geros the coward would right speedily become Geros the corpse!
    Screaming wordlessly, mindlessly, Geros dropped the useless reins, gripped his saber in both hands and, as he came athwart the rebel, rained a swift succession of unaimed blows upon the armored head and shoulders. Then the racing hunter was past and overhauling the leading horseman, who made no attempt to stand and fight, bending all his efforts to coax more speed from his laboring mount.
    Not really knowing what else to do, Geros swung his saber in passing at this man too—still gripping it two-handed, and with the strength of all his quaking apprehensions behind the keen edge. The fleeing rebel wore only a helm and a pikeman’s breastplate, neither of which afforded the least protection against the heavy blade, which severed his spine. The man did not so much as moan, he simply fell forward across his horse’s withers, then slipped from his saddle, dead before his hacked body hit the dust.
    At that point, the headstrong hunter elected to leave the roadway, breasting a high, grassy slope, still at the gallop. As the fleet beast cleared the mossy trunk of a long-fallen tree, Geros and his saddle parted company, the soft-looking moon-frosted grass came rushing up at him, and consciousness departed to the clashing of armor upon the hard ground and stones beneath that grass.
    He awoke to the splashing of water on his face and sat up to see
Komees
Djeen and most of the Freefighters sitting their horses around him, one of them holding the reins of his run-out hunter.
    The
komees
abruptly dismounted and strode over to him, extending his hand to help him arise. Gravely, he said, “I can see that I trained young Ahndee well, for he obviously knows how to choose good men for his service. But Sun and Wind, man, what did you mean to do? Take them all yourself, eh?” Suddenly he showed his yellowed teeth in a grin. “You’re a brave man, Comrade Geros, none here will gainsay me on that score. But you’re hardly fair to the rest of us, taking all the glory for yourself that way!”

CHAPTER THREE
    “But, my lord,” Bili had vainly expostulated, “it is no longer a matter of the High Lord observing me command my own retainers. These are
his
lancers;
he
should