The Undesired Princess by L. Sprague deCamp Read Free Book Online Page B

the palace. Hobart was just as glad to see that the sinister chancellor was not among the gaudy crowd of Logaians, though the burly black-bearded General Valangas was. The king slapped Hobart’s back, gripped his arm, and hauled him about introducing him to Counts and Sirs and Esquires whose names Hobart promptly forgot. A man on a horse trotted around from one side—Psambides, the Master of the Horse, the king explained—and after him came a swarm of grooms afoot towing horses. The king grinned fondly at his prospective son-in-law, and said: “I ordered Xenthops specially for you, son.”
    “Who, your Altitude?”
    “Call me Dad. Xenthops is my fierce barbarian stallion. It takes a real hero to ride him at all. Heh, heh.”
    Hobart opened his mouth to protest that he was at best a mediocre rider, but as he did so he noted that all the Logaian gentlemen had swung into their saddles. There was one horse left, a large black creature with staring eyes. It would cause a lot of fuss to make a change now. Anyway, he’d be damned if he’d let a mere horse . . .
    As he walked up to Xenthops, the horse bared a set of large white incisors and extended them tentatively toward him. Hobart reached out and cuffed the stallion’s muzzle, saying: “Behave yourself!” Xenthop’s eyes opened still wider as he jerked his head back and shifted his feet angrily. Hobart mounted without delay and took as firm a knee-grip as his unhardened thigh-muscles would allow. Xenthops fidgeted but did nothing otherwise untoward. Hobart reasoned that he could get away with it as long as he kept an attitude of confident superiority; but if he once showed hesitation or timidity, Xenthops would feel the difference, buck him off, and probably step on him.
    The king’s mount now appeared: a spotted camel-like beast similar to the one Hobart had seen the day before in the streets of Oroloia. To Hobart’s question, Sir Somebody explained: “The king’s cameleopard.” Hobart had always thought a cameleopard was a giraffe; everything was so remorselessly literal in this world . . .
    And more servants appeared carrying lances and muskets, which they handed out to the huntsmen. Hobart, given his choice, took a gun and the power horn and bullet bag that went with it.
    They were all clattering out of the palace lot when a groaning made Hobart turn in his saddle to look back. Bringing up the tail of the procession was a wheeled, horse-drawn cannon manned by a squad of kilted soldiers commanded by General Valangas. Evidently the behemoth was no chipmunk.
    Hobart would have liked to ask questions, but talking while trotting is not the easiest combination. Besides, he had to keep his eye peeled for chances to escape, and keep this fiery nag under both physical and psychological control.
    After an hour’s riding, the agricultural checkerboard gave way with the usual abruptness to a rolling, roadless savannah. After another hour Psambides halted the crowd with upraised arm and began assigning them missions, as if this were a full-fledged military operation. Hobart found himself assigned to a squad of four who were to reconnoiter. The horses had to be kicked along a bit, as they wanted to crop the long swishing grass. Presently the troop halved. Hobart’s companion, a lean young Logaian named Sphindex, informed him: “We’re to scout along the bed of the Keio, and come back here to rendezvous in an hour.”
    “Is that a river?” asked Hobart innocently.
    “Of course.”
    “What’s a behemoth like?”
    Sphindex stared. “Mean to say you’ve never hunted one?”
    “Right.”
    “What have you hunted then?”
    “Nothing, except a few targets.”
    “But—but my dear Prince, how do you exist?”
    “I manage.” The subject of hunting did not seem promising. “Do you know an ascetic named Hoimon?”
    Up went Sphindex’s brows. “Me know an ascetic? Great Nois no! They don’t hunt.”
    Hobart persisted: “Know anything about the