Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 45

“I’d rather join Artem if I could…”

“Artem… and Varkan? Oh, don’t take my remarks seriously,” Dmitro Borisovich said, laughing. “Good, everything is settled then. Now we part company. Ivan Semenovich and I will go back, and you’ll go with Varkan to the hunt. There’s one problem though: how will you communicate?”

“Oh, we’ll find the way. Besides there’ll be hardly any time for talking,” Artem replied in a light tone. “At a hunt one is supposed to act, not talk.”

“Are we going to have any weapons with us?” Lida asked, seeing that Varkan and his friends were armed with spears, bows and short swords, whereas neither Artem nor Lida had anything worthy of being called a weapon.

“The closest approximation to a weapon I have on me is this,” Artem said, pulling a small penknife out of his pocket. “But it’ll hardly be of any use in the boar hunt.” Seeing from their gestures what their problem was, Varkan made a sign to the two Scythians accompanying him. They rode closer, took off their swords and belts and handed them to Artem and Lida. Artem deftly girded himself with the belt from which a sword was dangling. Lida took a while, for the belt was too long and had to be wound twice around her slender waist. Meanwhile, Varkan was speaking to Dmitro Borisovich.

“Varkan says,” the archeologist translated, “that the swords have been given to you not because there will be.any real danger but just in case. He also wanted to provide you both with a bow and a quiverful of arrows, and spears too. But I told him you were not very proficient with bow and spear. Was I right? Incidentally, Lida, you look great with that sword at your side! A veritable Amazon on horseback, and of such a martial bearing that the boar will be mortally frightened from the very sight of you!”

“Oh, aren’t you the flatterer today!” the girl said, pretending annoyance. But truth to tell, she did enjoy the feeling of resting her hand on the hilt of the sword. What a pity Dmitro Borisovich had lost his camera!

, “Attention!” Artem cried out unexpectedly. “Mind my commands! Swords out!”

•. His sword flashed in the air.

“Swords into action!”

And Artem, in fulfilment of his own command, began brandishing his sword wildly. But Lida did not join him in this martial display.

“There’s no one here to be attacked with a sword, so sheath your weapon, commander,” Lida said, casting a sidelong glance at Varkan: was the Scythian laughing derisively at Artem’s prank? But the Scythian was only smiling con- descendedly.

“You should conserve your energy, Artem,” Ivan Semenovich said, chuckling. “Look, it’s time for you to start.”

Varkan raised his hand in an inviting gesture. Artem rather reluctantly sheathed his sword.

“All right, I’ll wait to use it against the big game.”

The explorers parted company: Ivan Semenovich, the archeologist, and one of the Scythians started for the camp. The rest, with Varkan at the head, galloped across the steppe toward the forest.

Artem rode beside Lida, enjoying the sight of her on horseback: she was in complete and graceful control of her mount. Her auburn hair streamed in the air; her grip on the reins was firm; she evidently enjoyed riding fast. The high, yellowish-pink grass lashed their knees as their steeds did their best to keep pace with the great stallion of Varkan. Varkan looked back to see where Lida and Artem were, and noting that they were so close, he nodded his head approvingly. Artem shouted to Lida above the noise of their swift movement:

“Where did you learn to ride so well? I didn’t know you’d ever been on a horse before!”

“Oh, I learnt to ride long before you did in any case,” the girl replied with a note of challenge in her voice. “I passed my exam at the riding academy two years ago!”

“Ah, you did, did you,” was all Artem could say.

They were now close to the forest, and at one point the high grass shortened to normal size so abruptly that it gave the impression of having been trimmed. There was a depression in the ground that extended along the forest’s edge and was covered with a thick carpet of fragrant, low yellowish-pink grasses. Varkan shouted something, raised his spear high into the air and made a 90° turn.

“What’s he up to?”

The horses of Lida and Artem, trained as they were to follow the leader, also turned after Varkan. Artem began looking around: had the hunt already started? But where was the boar in that case?

“There’s a hare over there! A hare!” Lida shouted.

Varkan, leaning low over his horse’s neck, was pursuing a hare; the small gray animal, long ears laid back, was trying to escape into the forest, running a frantic course, making long and unexpected leaps.

Varkan won’t be able to catch up with the hare, Artem thought. Besides, it’s just quite impossible to spear a running hare at full gallop with such a flimsy weapon as a spear!

But Varkan, apparently, was of a different opinion. Still holding the spear high, he was waiting only for the hare to align himself for an instant with his horse’s path. When that happened, the Scythian hurled his spear with great force. The thin shaft trembled as though wiggling through the air in search of the target as it plummeted down in a smooth curve. The hare continued running, his ears laid back. As he was about to leap, the spear struck him, piercing him through and pinning him into the ground. The shaft quivered, sticking up at a sharp angle above the low grass.

Lida turned to Artem:

“It’s just unbelievable! Have you ever seen anything like that?!”

“Never,” Artem said.

The precision of this spear throwing was quite bewildering, verging on magic. Artem remembered reading about Australian aborigines who could hit a moving target with a cleverly thrown boomerang at considerable distances; about lassoing horses — lasso uncoiling and getting its noose around the horse’s neck as though all by itself; about Spaniards — or were they Mexicans? — who could throw a knife and hit a man at a distance of several paces. But all of these stunts were nothing in comparison to the extraordinary precision in spear throwing he had just witnessed. To hit a wildly zigzagging hare from a galloping horse at a distance of twenty meters! If somebody had told Artem it was possible, he wouldn’t have believed it. But he had just witnessed the feat with his own eyes!

Varkan, meanwhile, had ridden up to the hare, pulled the spear from the ground, removed the hare and fixed it to his belt. Artem and Lida watched the Scythian’s every movement, entranced by his dexterity. Had Varkan hurled his spear into the clouds in the heavens above, and it had brought down a big bird, even then it wouldn’t have surprised them more. This exploit had showed them what a fine hunter Varkan was!

The Scythian could not help seeing the great impression he had made on his companions. He smiled and waved his arm in the direction of the forest as if to say: that’s where the real hunt will take place.

The forest welcomed the riders with pleasant, cool air.

Varkan was confidently leading the way deeper and deeper into the woods past trees and big bushes. At first, the trees around them were similar to pines, with straight trunks, emitting an agreeable smell, but with needles much too long and soft to be ordinary pines. After some time, they gradually gave way to some kind of deciduous trees with thick, tall trunks resembling oaks. The ground level began to fall perceptibly, and the air became more and more humid. Several spots were rather boggy. Observing the water squishing under the horses’ hooves, Lida said:

“A river or some kind of marsh must be nearby. That’s probably where the watering place is.”

At last Varkan stopped his horse and turned, making a universally understood gesture for silence and caution. From then on, the riders had to move in total silence, watching every step. Varkan was constantly on the alert; once in a while, he bent over, probably looking for tracks. Some more minutes of high tension — and Varkan leaped down from his horse with his usual ease, making very little noise. Then, with a gesture, he invited Lida and Artem to dismount. His face showed great concentration: he was listening to the Rarely audible sounds which only he knew how to interpret. The other Scythian, meanwhile, tethered the horses to the trees. Varkan told him something in a low voice and then past a glance at Artem. Artem guessed that from now on they should redouble their caution; he put his hand over the mouth as if sealing it. Varkan nodded his head approvingly, and started forward carefully picking his way among the bushes. His companions followed him, doing their best to move as noiselessly and carefully as he did.

An expanse of water sparkled some way ahead. It turned put to be a small pond, its banks overgrown with tall grass. Several oak-like trees extended their boughs and branches over the water pond’s dreamy, mirror-flat surface.

Varkan signalled them to stop. He himself walked down to the waterfront, and stooped over, looking for something on the ground. Even Artem could see that some heavy animal had left tracks and trampled down grass and bushes all around. Had all these traces been left by their boar?

Varkan turned and walked back from the waterfront, moving along the tracks, but never stepping on them. He took the dead hare from his belt and put it across the tracks.

Then he looked Lida and Artem squarely in the face as though assessing their ability to understand him without words. Deciding, evidently, that they were bright enough to get his message he began explaining with gestures what was to take place soon. The young Scythian would have made a good actor — his gestures, combined with the appropriate expressions on his face, gave a very graphic and vivid description of what would happen during the hunt: