Sword Sworn-Sword Dancer 6 Read Online Free PDF Page A

shut the door behind him, then turned to look at Del. She had sheathed the sword and buckled on
    the harness, testing the fit. It would require adjustment, but wasn't bad. "Happy now?"
    She smiled languorously. "With a sword in my hand again, I can indulge even pigs like him."
    "Then indulge me, won't you? Let's visit the stud together." I grabbed up my own new harness, slid
    the sword home. "I may need you to pick up the pieces."
    The stud was, predictably, full of piss and vinegar. I sighed as the horse-boy led him out of the livery,
    recognizing the look in the one rolling eye I could see. The pinning of ears, the hard swish of tail, a
    peculiar stiff readiness in body indicated the stud had an opinion and was prepared to express it.
    I didn't really blame him. He'd been cooped up on a ship, nearly drowned in a shipwreck, deserted
    on an island, refound, then stuck aboard a ship again. Someone had to pay.
    I sighed. "Not here in the street," I told the boy. "Someplace where no innocent bystanders might be
    injured."
    He bobbed his black-haired head and led the way through a narrow alley between the livery and
    another building to a modest stableyard. The earth had been beaten into a fine dust, and the muckers had
    already shoveled and swept the yard. At least when I came off, I wouldn't land in manure.
    Del, following, raised her voice over the thunking of the stud's hooves. "Shall I send boys out to
    invite wagering?"
    The tone was innocent. The intent was not. Del and I had indeed managed to make some money
    here and there with wagers on who would win the battle—but that was when the stud was well ridden,
    and I was more likely to stick. Del knew as well as I that this battle would be worse than usual.
    "The only wager here is how soon I come off," I said glumly as the boy slipped the reins over the
    stud's dark-brown neck. Ordinarily his mane was clipped close to his neck, but time on the island had
    allowed it to grow out. Now it stood straight up in a black hedge the length of my palm. I ran a hand
    through my own hedge. "I have a sneaking suspicion this is going to be painful."
    In deference to the Southron sun if not Southron proprieties, Del had donned a striped gauze
    burnous before exiting the inn. Now she arranged herself against a whitewashed adobe wall, arms
    crossed, one leg crooked up so the toe of the sandal was hooked into a rough spot. The thin,
    hand-smeared slick coating was crumbling away to display the rough, hand-formed block of
    grass-and-mud brick beneath.
    She smiled sunnily. "It won't be painful if you stay on."
    Despite my desire to discuss things with the stud in private, an audience was already beginning to
    straggle in. Horse-boys, muckers, even a couple of bowlegged, whip-thin men I suspected were
    horse-breakers. All watched with rapt attention, murmuring to one another in anticipation. It felt rather
    like a sword-dance, except no circle was in sight. Merely an open-air square, surrounded on three sides
    by stable blocks and on the fourth by the solid wall of an adjoining building. With a horse as my
    opponent.
    "Don't embarrass me," Del said. "I still need to buy myself a mount, remember?"
    "I'll sell you this one cheap."
    Her smile was mild. "You're burning daylight, Tiger."
    Muttering curses, I stripped out of harness and sword, left them sitting on a bench near Del, and
    strode across to the stud.
    Groundwork was called for, a chance to settle him to some degree before I even mounted by circling
    him around me at the end of a long rein, by handling head and mouth, by singing his praises in a soothing
    tone of voice. Actually, it's the tone of voice that counts; I often called him every vulgar name I could
    think of, but he was never offended because I did it sweetly.
    However, I'd had the stud long enough to know groundwork was ineffective. It never seemed to
    change his mind when he was in the mood for dramatics. Certainly not on the island, when I'd mounted
    him after months away.