Burning Tower by Larry Niven Page B

know.
    And that got their attention! The birds wheeled, abandoning the chase to turn after Tower. Not too bright, easily distracted, Sandry thought. Remember that—they run for the nearest victim. And they were running after Burning Tower!
    â€œWhoa! Turn! Gee! Gee!” Sandry shouted. He wheeled the horses to the right. “After ’em! Chalker!”
    â€œReady, My Lord!”
    He pushed thoughts of the girl from his mind. Steady, Sandry thought. Steady. He pulled up close to a bird. It started to turn, and Chalker thrust the spear directly into its chest just where the neck came out. The bird leaped and Chalker let go.
    â€œThat’s one,” Chalker said with satisfaction.
    The bird ran on, squawking horribly, blood gushing out around the spear. Chalker held on with one hand and worried a spear out of the spear pod with the other. “Ready, sir!” Chalker shouted.
    Sandry stole a glance. Chalker might be ready, but he was tired, gray, breathing hard, and no wonder. I should have got another spearman from Waterman. I should have.
    â€œPull up on him,” Chalker said. “Little closer, sir—”
    â€œHeay!” Sandry flicked the reins. “Go!”
    A spurt of speed, and Chalker thrust at the bird. The spear went home, and the bird dropped, pulling Chalker out of the chariot and onto the ground. He made a loud thud! as he fell heavily to the ground beside his victim. The bird flopped around, spurred feet kicking, toothed beak opening and closing, and Sandry had to look to his driving.
    The last bird was closing on Tower and her mount. She led it directly toward the wagons. At the last moment, she turned the pony and leaped from its back onto the wagons. The one-horn put on more speed…
    And the bird crashed against a wagon. As it did, a dozen stones flew. Some hit it. A wagoneer, big, big as a Lordkin, leaped off the wagon. Another, smaller, jumped down waving a blanket. They spread out, taunting the bird. It turned toward the smaller one with the blanket.
    Sandry urged the horses forward. They didn’t want to close with the bird. “Can’t blame you,” Sandry said through his teeth. “On! On, ladies!”
    The wagoneer threw his blanket. It settled over the bird’s head. The big one—Green Stone, that was his name, Tower’s brother, Sandry remembered. Big, big as a Lordkin. And nearly as strong. He had a big knife, like the Lordkin knives but better made, sharp, and he swung it at the bird just as Sandry’s chariot reached the scene. Sandry hurled a short spear into the bird, but it wasn’t needed. It was down.
    He looked back. Chalker was limping, but he was upright, and that bird wasn’t.
    Down. All down.
    And there was Burning Tower. Here. And she’d been riding a one-horn, and everyone knew what that meant. Sandry was ready to cheer.

Chapter Six
Twisted Cloud
    â€œW elcome,” Green Stone said. “We have not set up facilities for receiving guests, but we freely share what we do have.”
    It sounded like a formal speech. Was that because Green Stone was speaking in the Lordkin dialect of Tep’s Town? He’d have learned that from his father, but it could hardly be the language he used most. There’d be no need for that along the Hemp Road. But there was more to it than that. Someone had told Sandry that hospitality offered was a big deal to the wagon people.
    â€œCome in, come in!” Burning Tower was jumping excitedly, chattering. “It’s good to see you! I told you we’d be back. Did you come to meet us? Did they tell you I was here?”
    She was wearing a leather skirt over the leggings she’d worn when she rode. It was tattooed leather, painted over with suns and tents and wagons and exotic birds, all painted in colors, far too fine a garment to be worn fighting. Sandry was certain she couldn’t have been wearing that when he first saw her. Her long brown hair was