Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн регистрации .TXT) 📗
The last chukka opened with a confused scrappy m86e, with hacked shots missing and the ball trampled and rolling under the ponies hooves. Then it popped clear and Bunty leaned out of the saddle and hit his first good shot of the match, a high forehand drive that lofted well up-field and his pony went after it instinctively, bearing Bunty along on the line whether he liked it or not.
It was Bunty's shot, so he had the right of way and his pony came in perfectly to set him up, but Max Theunissen wheeled Nemesis and the black stallion was at full gallop within two strides. Max's father had not paid 11,000 for nothing, and the big powerful horse came down on Bunty like an avalanche.
Bunty looked over his shoulder and Shasa saw him blanch.
Your line, Bunty, Shasa screamed to encourage him. Stay on it! But at the same time he saw Max deliberately press his toe into the back of the stallion's gleaming shoulder, and Nemesis altered his angle. It was a dangerous and menacing attack, and if Bunty had stood up to it, it would have been a blatant foul. But these tactics of terror worked yet again and Bunty sawed his pony's head frantically and broke away, giving up the line. Max swept onto it triumphantly, gathering himself and leaning out of the saddle, lifting his stick high in the foreswing and concentrating all his attention on the white ball that jumped and kicked over the turf directly ahead of him, setting up to take it on the backhand.
He had overlooked Shasa on his nearside, and was unprepared for the blazing burst of speed with which Tiger Shark responded to the drive of Shasa's heels as he came in at a legitimate angle for the ride off.
Neither of them had struck the ball last; it was therefore fair ball, each of them with equal right of way. But as they came together, both horses at full gallop, Tiger Shark just a head behind the big black stallion, Shasa gave him the toe signal behind the shoulder and Tiger Shark responded joyously. He changed angle sharply and barged with all the power of his great misshapen shoulders. The collision was so unexpectedly violent that Shasa was almost unseated himself and was thrown up onto Tiger Shark's neck.
However, Blaine had been right, it was Max Theunissen's weak side, the one he had so assiduously protected all along, and Tiger Shark had timed the exploitation of his weakness perfectly. Nemesis reeled away and stumbled, his head going down between his front knees, and Max Theunissen was airborne, thrown high over his pony's head, somersaulting in mid-air but with the reins still in his hands, and for a terrible panicky moment Shasa knew he had killed him.
Then with an agility born of fear and natural athletic ability, Max switched around like a cat in the air and landed awkwardly, heavily but on his feet on the turf. For a few moments he was still too terrified and shocked to speak, and Shasa hauled himself back into the saddle and got Tiger Shark in hand as the whistles of the two umpires shrilled from both sides of the field. Max Theunissen started to scream hysterically.
He fouled me, a deliberate foul. He crossed my line. I could have been killed. Max was white and shaking, droplets of spittle flying from his quivering lips, and he was jumping up and down on the same spot like a petulant child, wild with frustration and fright.
The umpires were conferring in the middle of the field, and Shasa had an impulse to try and influence them with his own protestations of innocence, but good sense prevailed and he turned Tiger Shark back with all the dignity he could assemble, looking straight ahead, ignoring the roar of the crowd, but sensing that the roar was more an appreciation of justice, a bully caught in his own snare, than the expression of outraged sense of sportsmanship.
The umpires could not agree. They turned and trotted across the field to speak to the referee who came down from the grandstand to meet them.
Good shot, Shas! Bunty rode up to him. That will give the beggar something to write home about. They might send me off, Bunty, Shasa replied.
You never crossed his line, Bunty defended him hotly. I saw it all., But the fire in Shasa's blood was cooling and suddenly he thought what his grandfather would say, and even more unpleasant how his mother would react if he were sent off in front of her guests, bringing disgrace to their house. He looked nervously across at the stands, but it was too far to make out the expression on Blaine Malcomess face. High in the stand he saw the yellow fleck of his mother's hat, and to his fevered eye it seemed to be set at a disapproving angle, but now the umpires were cantering back, one of them coming directly towards Shasa and reining in before him, his expression severe.
Mr Courtney! Sir! Shasa straightened in the saddle, ready for the worst.
This is a formal warning, sir. You are officially warned for dangerous play. I acknowledge your warning, sir. Shasa tried to match his expression to the forbidding countenance of the umpire, but his heart was singing. He had got away with it.
Play on, Mr Courtney, said the umpire, and just before he turned away, Shasa saw the twinkle in his eye.
There were three minutes left in the final chukka as Max rode down to drive the ball deeply into their territory with his penalty shot; but there to pick it up was Shasa's number three and he hit a wobbling, bouncing ball out to the left field.
Good oh, Stuffs! Shasa was delighted. Thus far Stuffs Goodman had done nothing to distinguish himself. The relentless Natal attack had dispirited him, and more than once he had been the victim of Max Theunissen's robust play. This was the first time Stuffs had completed a pass and Shasa moved in to receive, then took the ball up field.
But Bunty was hanging back again, and without support Shasa's attack was ridden down by a phalanx of Natal riders and the game reverted to an untidy m06e while the seconds ticked away. The umpire blew up the m86e and gave the shot to Natal.
Dashed if we aren't going to hold them to a draw. Bunty looked at his wristwatch and called across to Shasa as they fell back to receive the next Natal shot.
Draw isn't ruddy good enough, Shasa retorted furiously.
We've got to win. it was bravado, of course. They hadn't seriously attacked the Natal goal in five chukkas. But Bunty's limited ambitions angered Shasa, and Max Theunissen had definitely faded since his spill, no sign of his old dash and fire, and twice he had fallen back avoiding contact when Shasa brought the ball up field, leaving it to his backs to challenge.
Only half a minute left. Despite Shasals boast, Bunty looked delighted at the term upon their sufferings, but at that moment the ball came to him hard and straight. He missed it and before he could turn the Natal attack swept past him and there was only Stuffs Goodman between them and the goal. As Shasa raced back to try and support him, his heart sank. it was all over. it was too much to hope that Stuffs could hit two clean shots in succession, but despite Shasa's misgivings, Stuffs came in, right into the heart of rified but game, and the Natal attack, white-faced and ter made a wild swing at the ball which never came within two feet of it. But his pony was a crafty old stager, clearly exasperated at the standard of his rider's play, and he trampled down the ball, and kicked it clear, right into Bunty's line. Bunty hit another corker, and chased it up field; but the Natal right back was there, driving in furiously, and the two of them ended up in another untidy waltz, swinging around each other, leaning out and hacking wildly, typical with sufjunior league play, neither man strong enough, or with sufficient experience to get another attack under way. The muddle gave both teams time to reorganize themselves andthe the opposing captains were howling at their men for the ball. Let me have it, Bunty! on the left side of the field Shasa was standing in the stirrups, and Tiger Shark was prancing sideways with nervous anticipation, watching the ball with eyes rolling until the whites showed.
