Gods and Warriors Read Online Free PDF Page A

Keftian must have slipped it from its sheath and let it fall just before he’d climbed into the coffin. He must have done that. Because there it lay.
    Take it… Keep it hidden…
    It was made of bronze, very plain and unadorned. It had broad square shoulders and three smooth rivets on the hilt; a tapered blade twice the length of Hylas’ hand, with a strong straight spine sweeping down to a lethal point. The edges gleamed faintly red in the morning light. Hylas had never seen anything so beautiful.
    He picked it up. It was heavy, and though its hilt felt cool to the touch, in a heartbeat it acquired the heat of his hand.
    The song of the flutes was coming closer.
    Clutching the dagger, Hylas fled.

4

    H ylas had scarcely taken cover on the hillside before the villagers reached the tomb.
    To his relief, they hadn’t noticed anything wrong: Already they were piling rocks in front of the entrance. In the throng he spotted the dog from the night before, standing close to one of the village boys. Hylas was glad it was all right, but it hurt to see it snuffling the boy’s palm. Scram used to do that.
    He started over the hill at a run, picking buckthorn leaves to keep the Keftian’s ghost away, and stuffing the lock of hair in his food sack, along with the dagger. He would make a sheath for it later; for now it had to stay hidden. Bronze wasn’t for Outsiders. If he was seen with it, it’d be like shouting “thief.”
    Trying to remember everything Telamon had ever said about Lapithos, he headed east into the foothills. Straggling pines gave no cover, and man-high thistles scratched him with spikes as long as boars’ tusks; but he saw no sign of the black warriors, or anyone else. He was thinking about this when he rounded a spur and nearly fell over a chariot.
    In one horrified instant he took in two horses and a warrior in a rawhide helmet. The warrior had his back to him, but when the horses whinnied, he turned. Hylas didn’t wait to see any more, he was off like a hare, racing up a ridge where the chariot couldn’t follow.
    Scrambling over the top, he skittered down the other side and made for the stream at the bottom. The chariot came thundering around the base of the hill in clouds of dust, the warrior yelling above the din. Hylas splashed into the stream, the waterskin and food sack bumping at his back.
    Behind him a crash and the squeals of horses, then the warrior was coming after him on foot. Hylas zigzagged. The warrior zigzagged. A hand grabbed Hylas’ shoulder, yanked him back, and they both went down with a splash. The warrior got him in an armlock, but Hylas flipped him over and held his head underwater. Wildly, the warrior lashed out with his fist, catching Hylas on his wounded arm. Hylas snarled and jerked aside. The warrior twisted out of his grip and came up spluttering. Hylas kneed him in the groin. The warrior fell back with a howl—but was up before Hylas and kicked him on the jaw. Hylas swayed. The warrior knocked him over and knelt on his chest, grabbed his hair with both hands, and shook him till his teeth rattled.
    “Hylas it’s
me
! Telamon! Your
friend
!”

    “I can’t believe you didn’t recognize me,” gasped Telamon.
    “I told you,” panted Hylas, “I couldn’t
see
you with that thing on your head.”
    They sat by the stream, splashing cold water on their bruises. The horses were tethered nearby, quietly drinking.
    “Sorry I kicked you,” mumbled Telamon.
    “Sorry I nearly drowned you,” Hylas replied.
    Telamon snorted a laugh. “What happened to your arm?”
    “I got shot,” said Hylas. His makeshift bandage had come off, and the wound was throbbing viciously.
    “Does it hurt?” said Telamon.
    Hylas splashed him in the face. “What do you think?”
    Telamon grinned and splashed him back. Then he jumped to his feet. “Come on. We have to get out of here.” He seemed to take it for granted that they were in this together. Hylas wanted to thank him, but couldn’t