The Golden Steed

One of his missions as an agent had taken Blade to Iran, so he recognized the type of terrain. He was well up in the foothills of a mountain range, and except for flash floods from melting snow in the spring, rugged, hot by day and cold by night. An ugly, lonely place for a naked man to survive by himself. And a place where a broken leg would have been a death sentence.

Blade put the gloomy might-have-beens behind him and stood up. Down in the valley, the trees would at least provide some shelter from the winds that could easily scour these high, exposed slopes. His eyes roamed over the slope, picking out the easiest route. Then he bent down and snapped a branch from one of the bushes behind him. It would be useless as a weapon. But it might serve to probe the slope ahead of him for loose rocks. The pain in his head had subsided to a dull ache. He picked the first few yards of his path, and started down.

Thousands of centuries of dry baking heat and freezing cold had done their work on the rock, splitting and cracking it insanely and making it treacherous footing. More than once Blade's probing staff sent apparently secure rocks the size of his head leaping out of place and down the slope. And once an entire slab of rock, ten feet on a side, moved under his foot as his weight came down on it. He had just time to jerk himself backward and cling to the firmer rock above. The slab went grinding and crashing down in a cloud of dust, dislodging more and more rocks as it went, until a small avalanche finally crashed down onto the valley floor.

Being even more careful now, Blade continued downward. He guessed it took him another half hour to reach the valley floor. But after that it was only a few minutes' brisk jogging to reach the first clump of trees. He pulled a branch loose and used some of the leaves to wipe the caked dust and grit from his body, while he chewed on other leaves to get some moisture from them. That might help keep him alive for an extra day or two, but he knew he had to find water soon. He decided to wait until evening, and then move down the valley by night in search of water. In the meantime, there was nothing to do but sleep.

Blade had a mental alarm clock that he could set more or less at will. When it woke him, the blazing sun was well down in the sky. The few wisps of cloud in the west were turning into long streamers of red and gold flame as the sun sank through them. Under the trees the shadows were deeper and longer, and there was a chill creeping into the air. It was time to move on. Blade reached up and broke off a heavier branch to give himself a better staff. With this swinging in his right hand, he headed for the riverbed. It offered the easiest walking, and there might be water lurking in the soil below it.

Blade was halfway to the river when screams sounded through the twilight. First a snarling yowl, with something feline in it. Then an unmistakably human scream of surprise, terror, and agony. And finally the shrill, panic-stricken neighing of a horse, followed by a flurry of hooves. The hoofbeats were approaching rapidly. Blade flattened himself behind a tree and stared off in the direction of the noises. He thought he heard a low rumbling snarl off somewhere in the trees.

Then the hoofbeats rose to a climax, bushes smashed, and a horse burst out of the trees into the open. Blade stared at it. There was nothing unusual about its size and shape. It looked more like an Arabian than anything else. But the color made Blade stare and keep staring. The horse was a pale golden color, not the gold of a palomino but a lighter shade, with a mane and tail that shone like burnished silver. It was breathtakingly beautiful as it burst out into the sunset glow. It wore a bridle and saddle with saddlebags slung on either side. The dangling stirrups and the metal fittings of the bridle were silver, and the saddle was rich maroon leather. Blood smeared across the saddle suggested the fate of the rider.

This was all Blade could see of the horse as it raced past him. It was moving so fast that its momentum carried it over the edge of the riverbed before it could get set to jump. Blade heard it neigh again in panic as it lost its balance and tumbled down the side in a scrabbling of hooves. As he heard it hit the bottom, he also heard something else-the soft padding of approaching feet. Then two eyes glowed in the shadows under the trees. Slowly, slowly, like a cat stalking a bird, a huge leopard slipped out into the open.

Blade knew that he had no weapon to give him any chance against the big cat. It was a monster that must have weighed nearly as much as Blade did, and it had speed and agility and tearing claws and teeth. But he was damned if he was going to let it stalk and kill the golden horse. With the horse under him, Blade's chances of survival would increase ten times.

The leopard was moving away from Blade now, slipping along the edge of the riverbed, growling as it went. Blade wet his finger and held it up to test the wind. He was downwind of the leopard. If he moved fast and quietly…

Crouching low, he slipped out from behind the trees, heading toward the edge of the riverbed and the spot where he had last seen the horse. Once he flattened himself on the ground and froze as the leopard stopped to look about. But it was too intent on stalking the horse to spare much attention for anything else. Crawling inch by inch on his belly, Blade reached the edge and looked over.

Fifty feet farther along, the horse was backed against the far side of the riverbed. It was trembling and there was foam dripping from its mouth, but it no longer seemed panic-stricken. It looked as though it were waiting, alert and ready to fight the leopard. This was a horse with the kind of spirit Blade liked. But more interesting than the horse were the weapons he saw slung from the saddle-a yard-long recurve bow and a six-foot lance. But he could see no quiver of arrows. Blade shook his head. He would much rather take the bow if he could and put an arrow into the leopard. But it looked as if he was going to have to try snatching the lance, then wait for the leopard to close in.

As cautiously as the leopard itself, Blade began stalking the horse, crawling along the slope of the riverbed just below the edge. It took him five minutes to cover half the distance. He was begi

He kept moving, even more cautiously than before. If the horse fled now, he would be left alone with the leopard, with no weapon and no prospect of getting any. He kept on, until the horse seemed almost close enough to touch. But he could see the leopard crouching on the bank above, just as close. This was going to be delicate. Now he could not afford to startle either of the animals.

Suddenly the leopard gave a louder growl than before. The horse reared, lashing out with its front hooves as if it saw the leopard there in front of it. As it came down on all fours, Blade saw its hind legs dig in. It was getting set to bolt. He had to make his move now.

He sprang to his feet and hurled himself down the bank, nearly losing his footing and sprawling on the hard-packed gravel at the bottom. He kept his legs under him with tremendous effort, reached the horse as it reared up again, and snatched the lance from its leather case.

As the lance came free, a growl came from behind him, turning into a scream. The horse bolted with a neigh and a spray of gravel. The leopard soared into the air as steel-spring muscles hurled it out from the bank, arching high as though it were trying to fly. In midair it seemed to catch sight of Blade, took its attention off the horse for a split-second, and landed on the gravel instead of on the horse's back. For a few seconds it seemed confused and crouched motionless instead of lunging in pursuit of the horse. In those seconds Blade lunged forward himself, the lance stabbing downward. The needle-pointed steel head drove into the leopard's back, just behind the shoulder blades.