The pitmen released the bull from across the ring. The animal stalked casually toward them, Bellowed once, and made its charge. The crowd gasped. Did the dancers even see it? If they did, they appeared to take no notice. Kalili spun in circles behind Peronn, who still held Junoi poised above him.

The bull rushed toward them. At the last possible second Peronn gently released Junoi, who righted herself and lightly touched down on the bull’s back, skipped along the animal’s spine, and jumped to the ground as Peronn dodged to the left. Kalili had moved to the side and now sprang up on the beast’s back. She rode the bull, standing straight, legs together, arms wide, while the creature Bellowed and spun, trying to dislodge her.

The rest of their dance was flawless, and when they finished they rejoined the others and received their hugs, saying, “Do you feel it? It is a firepit out there!”

“What about the bulls?” asked Charis. She had seen the way the first two animals lunged, their movements desperate and slow.

“Sluggish,” answered Peronn.

Joet agreed. “They feel the heat and it makes them surly.”

Belissa and Marophon found their places in the ring. Charis allowed them the first few figures and jumps before joining them. The crowd shouted when they saw her, but she danced only in support of the other two and did not take prominence.

The routine contained many spectacular leaps and dives, one after another in rapid succession, disaster averted only by the narrowest margin. The bull charged again and again, throwing his horns from side to side in the futile effort to catch one of the lively phantoms leaping and spinning all around him. The creature did indeed seem lethargic, its movements turgid and slow. And yet the beast charged and lunged with a furious desperation-as if trying by might of brute flesh to shake off the thing binding it and preventing it from pinning the dancers with its homs. Charis had rarely seen a veteran of the ring so distracted.

The three moved through their routine easily, drawing squeals of delight from the crowd as they tumbled effortlessly through the shimmering air.

The bull was tiring. It backed away from the three and lowered its head for a final encounter. The dancers set themselves for the last jump, an intricate figure in which Charis and Marophon performed doubles one over the top of the other, while Belissa took the horns in a handstand.

As the animal began its charge, Charis glanced over at Belissa and Maro to see if they were in position. Belissa stood poised, watching the bull which was now pounding toward them, but Maro was smirking at her-as if to say, See? Breaking my vow has not affected my performance.

“Maro!” Charis screamed. There was time for nothing else. The bull was upon them.

Maro’s head swiveled and he gathered himself for the jump. Charis knew even then that he would jump late. She tried to adjust her own timing to keep from colliding with him. Belissa back-stepped behind them. Marophon sailed up, tucked into a tight ball. Charis sprang. She felt the air beneath her shudder as the bull streaked by.

She held her arc flat to give Maro room above her. Tumbling, Charis heard Belissa’s shouted signal as she took the horns.

Maro’s foot struck Charis square between the shoulder blades as she completed the second somersault and looked for the ground Below her. The blow knocked the air from her lungs and she fought to regain her balance, pulling her jump short to keep from going over onto her back. The ground came up beneath her feet and she landed heavily. Maro fell and pitched forward onto his hands and knees. Charis spun to see him cover his mistake with an additional roll. He scrambled to his feet, shaken. The color had drained from his face. Belissa kicked out of her handstand and leaped from the bull’s back.

The three dancers scurried back to the others then as the pitmen drove the bull away.

“Maro, you idiot! What were you doing?” The accusing voice was Joet’s. “You could have killed someone!”

“Are you all right, Charis?” Belissa peered intently at her with eyes full of concern. The others looked on in horrified silence.

“I am sorry-I…” Mario’s voice faltered; his eyes were wide with terror at what he had done.

“I am not hurt,” Charis managed between clenched teeth. “Take your hands away.” Seething, she wanted to lash out at Maro, but there was no time. Her dance was next and she could not waste precious concentration. The performance is almost over, she told herself; chastise him later. With that she dismissed the incident from her mind.

A clamor had begun in the stands. Char~ris! Char-ris! Chaar-ris!

“There is no harm,” she told her dancers. She tightened the criss-crossed bands of her handstraps and strode into the center of the ring.

The crowd screamed with pleasure, and Charis raised her arms to their noisy adulation.

Across the arena the pitmen tugged open the doors. Charis turned to meet the bull, but the animal was slow appearing. She waited.

And then it was there, materializing suddenly as an apparition, its glossy hide shimmering in the harsh light: a huge beast, sleek and magnificent, its thick muscles knotting and bunching as it trotted onto the sand, a great white mountain of brute flesh.

The wrong bull! The shock struck her like a blow. “This is not the bull I chose!”

The beast took a few steps and stopped to gaze at her calmly, raking the sand with a gleaming golden hoof. Its horns were gilt with gold as well, sweeping in lethal curves from either side of the huge head. Its hump was a snow hill rising from the broad expanse of its back; its legs were massive birch stumps, its tail a white whip, lashing back and forth. Foam streamed from the broad pink muzzle. The beast’s wide-set eyes were red.

The crowd went momentarily quiet. Never had anyone seen such an enormous, powerful creature.

With an almost physical effort, Charis pushed all emotion from her. She had faced strange bulls before, and every one had succumbed to her mastery. She advanced slowly and the crowd oegan cnanung ner name once again, sne aio not near it. She heard nothing but the blood rushing in her ears.

The white bull gave a toss of its head and trotted toward her, lowering its horns as it came. Charis stood directly in its path, making no move to leap or dodge away.

The wicked horns ripped the air. Flecks of foam sparkled in the sun. The bull thundered nearer, closing the distance between them with terrible swiftness. Charis collapsed before the hurtling beast.

The effect brought a gasp of horror from the crowd as Charis disappeared beneath the churning hooves.

But Charis was there, unharmed, arms raised in salute. A great sigh of relief escaped from the crowd. The bull spun, swinging its head from side to side. Charis leaped lightly onto its back, pressing her knees to either side of its hump. The animal Bellowed with rage, and Charis sensed something of the animal’s mindless hate. It would kill her or kill itself in trying.

She leaned down and seized the gilt horns, gave a slight kick and arched her back, toes pointing skyward. The bull whirled in a tight circle, trying to dislodge her, but she held her pose until the creature relented and streaked across the arena, whereupon she swung down, bringing her feet between her hands. Then, hooking an arm around either horn, she let herself fall down the beast’s great forehead, her bare legs dangling in the sand.

The bull stopped and began tossing its head. Once, twice, again. Charis released her hold as the great white head lifted her once more; she soared, tucking herself into a ball and tumbling to the sand.

Whirling, the beast was on her. But Charis was ready. She sprang-vaulting up, up, and over the hind quarters to roll quickly out of range of the slashing horns.