Giants Read Free Page B

with twenty-foot long capture nets. The charioteers drove the wild ponies toward those hidden nets.
    “Keep sprinting,” a chariot-runner yelled at Joash. Behind the runner, toiled others like him, lean young men with javelins, knives, and hounds. Most, like Joash, ran barefoot and had hardened calluses like leather boots.
    “Wait!” Joash shouted. “The herd—”
    In the distance, blaring chariot-horns cut him off. A steppe stallion, a black, shaggy beast with rolling eyes, reared on his hind legs. His front legs pawed the air, and his sharp hooves were like weapons. A charioteer’s lasso snaked at him. The black stallion nimbly dodged and bolted for freedom. Like the canny beast that he appeared to be, he then veered from the dangerous grass, galloped between the rattling chariots and back toward the following runners.
    Joash brushed sweaty hair out of his eyes. The black stallion was fast. He marveled how it dodged other lassos, how smoothly it galloped, and how divots of grass and dirt-clods flew from wherever the hooves touched ground.
    Another horn blew. It was a sharp, militant sound, higher-pitched than horse whinnies or shouting men. The clear noise cut the air like a razor and redirected the highly trained warriors.
    Chariots wheeled after the black stallion. More lassoes snaked at him. The stallion dodged them all, stopped for a moment, and pawed the air again. Now, other steppe ponies responded to his call. The drum of hooves told of their dash for freedom. A signal pennon dipped from the lead chariot. Other vehicles turned and followed the fleeing stallion, the prize of the chase.
    Unfortunately, the stallion ran back at the runners. The stallion might lead the entire herd, trampling onto Joash and his companions.
    Feeling the thunderous herd through his bare feet from the tremors in the ground, Joash glanced at the nearby marsh. The wild horses hated swamps, the soft mucky ground, the tall bulrushes that hid predators, and the swarms of biting mosquitoes. Behind Joash, there stood a steep, cedar-topped hill with its jagged boulders. The stallion surged for the gap between the marsh and hill.
    “Here they come!” a runner yelled.
    “We’ve got to run back and block the gap!” Joash shouted. That would make the stallion and herd head for the hill, and likely mill there, making them perfect targets for the lassos. The other dust-stained runners knew he was right.
    “Hurry,” Joash yelled.
    They whirled and ran where he pointed. So did their dogs. Burs stuck to their leathers, and chariot-churned, dusty air burned down their lungs. To run faster, Joash shed water-skin, his leather kit of supplies, and javelin. Other runners did likewise, leaving a trail like the aftermath of a lost battle.
    A stitch of pain shot up Joash’s ribs. His thighs burned. He pushed himself nonetheless, smoothly moving his arms. He passed slower runners. Beside him ran several huge hounds, those of Lord Herrek, which Joash had helped train. From the nearby marsh came croaks, trills, and insect hums. To his left, the edge of the hill grew closer. Then he entered the gap. Behind him galloped the wild horses, their hooves drumming the ground. Joash swore he could smell their sweat.
    “Stop!” Joash shouted. He picked up a dirt clod and heaved it at the approaching horses. His dogs stopped with him and barked savagely.
     “Spread out,” the oldest runner shouted.
    As panic threatened, Joash shifted toward the marsh. He kept throwing dirt clods at the approaching horses. If they didn’t turn soon—
    “Yell!” yelled a runner.
    The runners shouted and waved their arms, threw dirt clods, and urged the dogs to bark.
    The black stallion’s eyes rolled wildly, and he slowed. Because he led the small herd, the other wild horses slowed, too.
    “Charge them,” shouted the oldest runner.
    The well-trained runners charged, and the wild horses glanced about nervously. Then the charioteers arrived, their vehicles clattering and the