Empire's End Read Online Free PDF

steering my charger to this prodigious feat, but no doubt he barely felt my death grip on his mane or my bony, bowed knees in his sides.
    I was hardly steering. I was hanging on for my life.
    And he wasn’t mine anyway, was he? I had indeed stolen a horse that belonged to the Sanhedrin. I would have to make that right. But how? I didn’t even know where I would find my next meal. Strangely, in the excitement, my hunger had subsided. And unless I was mistaken, the horse felt full size and full strength beneath me. Had someone been exercising him? I would have guessed he’d lost up to two dozen pounds when first I’d seen him. What had put him back on his feed?
    Theo had reached a speed as fast as I had ever ridden him in a saddle, and without one I would not have expected even to stay astride. But he had also settled into such a strong rhythm that I felt one with him, rocking with his pace and feeling none of the discomfort I expected from his bristly coat.
    Clear of pursuers and encountering no one else coming toward Damascus, I eased my grip on Theo’s mane and expected his gait to slow. But no. He rushed on. We had been at full gallop for little more than twenty minutes when we neared Kaukab, about twelve miles south. This was the stretch where my Lord Christ had confronted me and my horse had thrown me and landed on his side.
    Surely this memory would slow him. But either Theo didn’t recognize the spot or didn’t care, for he surged on. It was as if he had a mind of his own, a destination only he knew, and I would find out when we got there. We flew past Kaukab and soon left the road and angled southeast, hurtling over rougher, rockier terrain without slowing.
    This could not be good. Was Theo spooked? Would he sprint until he collapsed? Then where would I be—in the middle of nowhere with no resources and a spent horse? I gently tugged him to the right, trying to urge him back toward the road of the trade route, where I knew we would eventually come to a place I could rest and water him.
    But he ignored my prods and stayed his own course. What was I to do when I needed to eat or relieve myself? He could hold out much longer than I, so it made no sense to wait until he flagged. Without money I would have to find berries or a way to trap small game or locate a body of water where I could devise a way to catch fish.
    Half an hour later, as Theo dashed on through the night, I wondered if I would have to leap off. He showed no signs of slowing, and when I reached to feel for foamy sweat on his flanks, I detected none. How was this possible? I soon realized that I felt none of the effects of the exertion either. I should have been pouring sweat as well. My muscles should have ached, my heart should have been pounding, my breath short, my fingers cramped, my knees and elbows worn raw.
    Yet I felt fresh, strong, rested, as if I had enjoyed a long night’s sleep. My only ordeal had been vexation, worry over what to do next. I had agonized over how I would stop, where I would stop, where I would eat, what I would eat, where I would rest, how I would water and feed the horse, how I would keep him on course, but on what course? I had no idea where I was going.
    And yet Theo seemed to know. He didn’t slow, showed no hesitation.
    Suddenly I felt as if God Himself were telling me I should relax and trust my horse. Tearing over rough terrain at top speed bareback, I had not come close to being thrown. I had been vigilant, eyes alert, squinting into the night. Now I leaned forward and rested my cheek on the back of my hand in his mane and let his fast, steady rhythm soothe me.
    An hour later I realized I had been actually dozing as we flew past a way station on the trade route and men called out.
    â€œSlow down!”
    â€œYou’ll kill that horse!”
    â€œYou all right, man?”
    I waved and settled back in. Theo sprinted on without effort, so seemingly unaware I was even astride him