k
to the end of the line.

Nicetas patted his arm reassuringly. Two more boys missed after Daoud,
and that also made him feel a bit better. It occurred to Daoud that
Nicetas was one of the few who had not once missed the ring that
morning. He was a good horseman and seemed to have a remarkably keen eye
with the rumh.

The only other boy in the troop who was that good, Daoud thought, was
Kassar, the Kipchaq Tartar. Daoud looked around for Kassar and saw him
sitting on his pony partway out of line, eyeing Nicetas sourly. Kassar's
head was round, his face flat, and he was already old enough to have
grown a small black mustache.

"From now on," the naqeeb bellowed from his hilltop, "anyone who misses
once will not eat today. Anyone who misses twice will sleep in the
desert tonight without tent or blankets."

Nicetas, who was wearing a long, sleeveless robe, grinned and shook
himself. "It will be cold out there tonight."

"What if someone misses a third time, naqeeb?" someone called out.

"He is no longer Mameluke," said Mahmoud in a soft voice that carried.
"He goes back to El Kahira. To be a ghulman for the rest of his life."

He would kill himself first, Daoud thought. He would plunge his dagger
into his own heart before he would let that happen to him.

A frozen silence fell over the troop. The only sound Daoud could hear
was the desert wind hissing past his ears. But he felt the fear all
around him just as he felt the wind.

Mahmoud's threat seemed to help the troop's marksmanship. Only one boy
missed in the next round. In that round and the one that followed,
Daoud's rumh flew true both times. The second time, he felt dizzy with
relief, and he leaned forward and hugged his horse's neck as he rode
back to his place.

One more round and they could rest. Daoud's body ached, especially his
back and his arms. He felt a clenching in his stomach, knowing that he
had to get his lance through the ring this time. His khushdashiya would
hate him, and he would hate himself, if he missed. And the more he
feared missing, the more he would be likely to miss.

"Never mind hitting a slave," said Nicetas just before his turn. "Do us
all a favor, hit the naqeeb."

Daoud laughed. Nicetas rode out and hit the target as usual. Feeling
less tense, Daoud rode out to make his third cast. He held his breath
until he saw his long lance sail smoothly through the dark-rimmed
circle.

He shouted with joy and turned his mount back t