The Golden Barbarian

  “Yes.” Tess frowned. “Are you?”

  “Probably, it usually proves amusing.”

  “Amusing? Just exactly what is this carobel race?”

  He raised his brows. “You don’t know?”

  “I’ve been more concerned with the festival itself. Galen said only it was a race of some sort.”

  “A very special race. The course is laid out over six miles of desert and rough hill country.”

  “Jumps?”

  He nodded. “Five. That’s where most of the carobels are shattered.”

  “What?”

  “A carobel is a two-foot pottery jar that’s filled with heavily perfumed water, corked, and strapped on each rider’s back. The pottery is paper thin, and only the best riders have a good enough seat to return to the encampment without breaking their jars and drenching themselves with the perfume.”

  “What a challenge.” Tess’s face was suddenly alight with eagerness. “It must be very interesting.”

  Sacha’s smile faded. “It’s not for you, Tess.”

  “I didn’t say I wished to race. I only said it was interesting.”

  Sacha gazed at her skeptically. “The other riders would be outraged if a woman rode in the race.”

  She lifted her chin. “But I wager I could best them. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad for them to know a woman could ride as well as they.”

  “You’re the majira of El Zalan. It would throw the shiekhs into a turmoil and possibly disrupt the council.”

  Her eagerness was submerged in disappointment. “True.” She shrugged. “I was only thinking anyway. I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

  Sacha breathed a sigh of relief as he turned to leave. “Second thoughts are always best.”

  Tess asked dryly, “How would you know?”

  His eyes twinkled as he glanced over his shoulder. “Not from experience. I stumbled across that truth in one of the boring tomes my tutor once made me read.”

  Sacha was gone when Tess returned to the tent late that night, but the lantern was still lit. Fully dressed, Galen sat on the divan.

  Tess braced herself when he glanced up from a stack of papers on the low table before him. His face was expressionless. “I was wondering if you intended to come back at all tonight.”

  “I would not cause you such embarrassment.” Tess moved across the tent toward him. “Sacha told you about my father?”

  Galen nodded. “It doesn’t matter. By the time he arrives, I’ll either have a united Sedikhan with which to intimidate him, or—”

  “Or?”

  “Or we’ll have disintegrated into a pack of ravening wolves.” He smiled grimly. “Either way, he’ll not find the prospect pleasant for him here in Sedikhan.”

  She glanced away from him. “You won’t give me up to him?”

  “I promised you that you’d not have to go back to him. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not like your father?”

  “I thought … if Sedikhan is united, isn’t my part over?”

  “It’s over when I say it’s over.”

  “You think you’ll still have need of me?”

  He looked down at the papers before him. “We have a bargain. You promised me a child, and I won’t be cheated.”

  She didn’t have to leave him yet. The relief she felt was frightening in its intensity. She turned hurriedly away and moved toward the curtained alcove. “You won’t need a child now.”

  “I’ll decide what I need.” A hint of ferocity tinged Galen’s voice. “And what I’ll take.”

  Raw anger and frustration vibrated in the tent, and for the first time Tess became conscious of the air of suppressed violence surrounding Galen. “You won’t take anything that—”

  A scream tore through the night!

  Tess went rigid.

  Another scream. A woman’s scream of agony.

  “Stay here.” Galen was on his feet, running toward the entrance of the tent.

  She was supposed to stay and listen to that poor woman screaming?

  Dear God, what if it was Viane?

  Galen was already several yards away when Tess reached the entrance of the tent.

  Another scream.

  Half-dressed men streamed out of the tents, lanterns were being lit.

  Tess darted across the clearing toward Viane’s tent.

  “Tess, what is it?” Viane, her maid at her elbow, held back the tent flap. “That scream …”

  “I don’t know.”

  However, Galen seemed to know. He was striding through the tents toward the north end of the encampment.

  Tess hurried after him. They were now passing through the area of the El Kabbar, but no one was coming out of these tents.

  Another scream … closer.

  She rounded the corner and almost ran into Galen, who had stopped and was standing watching something occurring before Hakim’s tent. “What’s happening?”

  Galen didn’t look at her. “I told you not to come.”

  A slight black-gowned figure was kneeling in the clearing. The woman was still fully veiled, but her back was bare, the flesh striped with livid weals and bleeding cuts. Hakim stood over her a bloodstained whip in his hand. As Tess watched. he lifted the whip to strike again.

  “No!” Tess started toward them.

  Galen grabbed Tess’s wrist and jerked her to a stop. “Don’t interfere.”

  “Don’t you see? She can’t—”

  “Galen.” Hakim looked up and scowled. “I suppose my wife’s screams woke you. I apologize for disturbing you, but the girl’s not only clumsy, she has no courage.” He shrugged. “She’s only thirteen. I suppose she has time to learn.”

  Galen didn’t look at the kneeling girl. “We all need our rest if we’re to perform well in the carobel. Perhaps her punishment could be postponed until after the race?”

  Hakim shook his shaggy white head. “She shattered my favorite carobel, and has three more lashes to bear. Women must be punished at the time of the offense if it is to be effective. They’re like hounds or horses, too stupid to remember for long.” His gaze moved to Tess. “Pay heed to my words and actions, and you may yet make a true woman of that one.”

  Fury soared through Tess, and she took a half-step forward. “If you didn’t beat them, perhaps fear wouldn’t make them so clumsy that—”

  “Silence.” Galen’s hand clamped over Tess’s mouth.

  She started to struggle, but he lifted her and slung her over his shoulder and started back through the encampment.

  “That’s right!” Hakim called after them. “Well done, Galen. Never let them speak without your permission.”

  Tess pounded on Galen’s back. “Let me down!”

  She heard Hakim’s voice fading away as they neared the El Zalan section of the encampment. “Don’t worry, there will be no more disturbance, Galen. I will gag her.”

  Galen didn’t let Tess down until he had entered their tent. He dumped her on the divan and then strode back across the tent and tied the flaps closed.

  Tess jumped to her feet and ran toward the entrance.

  “No!” Galen turned to face her. “Try to leave and I’ll tie you up until morning.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Listen to me, if you interfere, I’ll be forced to punish you as Hakim’s punishing that poor child. He would consider it an insult, and retribution would be the only action he’d understand.”

  “With a whip?”

  “Better at my hands than Hakim’s. I can’t afford a disruption now.”

  “He’s a beast, an animal.” Her voice was shaking with anger. “Dear Lord, over a pottery jar!”

  “Hakim’s very proud of his horsemanship and performance in the carobels.”

  “You defend him?”

  “No, I’m merely explaining that a carobel is more than a pottery jar.”

  “You could have stopped him.”

  “If I’d wanted to destroy my hopes for unity. I need Hakim to influence the desert tribes.”


  “You told me once your people didn’t beat their women.”

  “I was speaking of the El Zalan. Hakim’s tribe has other customs, other laws.”

  “And you can do nothing?”

  “Not without unity, not until we have common laws.”

  “So women will be beaten and stepped on like animals until then?”

  “Do you think I enjoyed seeing that girl hurt?” Galen asked fiercely. “Do you know how many times I’ve seen it and been able to do nothing?” He paused, struggling for control. “And I won’t lie to you. Even after union it may take years to change the laws regarding the treatment of women. I can’t change in a day what’s been going on for centuries.”

  “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 t
rail.

  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.