Galen tightened the leather straps of the burgundy-colored carobel about his waist before swinging carefully into the saddle. Twenty-six riders were already at the rope barricade at the other end of the encampment. The men had stripped down to only trousers and flowing shirts, the carobel jars bright, multihued patches of color on their backs. An elder of the El Zalan who had won many races in his youth had been given the honor of dropping the yellow silk camosa to start the race and was pacing solemnly back and forth before the rope barricade.

Hakim nodded unsmilingly to Galen as he rode past him to the barricade. Evidently, the bastard had found another carobel adequate to his needs, Galen thought bitterly as he noticed the sky-blue jar fastened on the old man's back.

"Good fortune, Galen."

Galen looked away from Hakim to see Sacha strolling toward him. "You're not riding? I thought you told me last night you were going to participate. "

Sacha didn't meet his gaze as he reached out and patted Selik's neck. "I feel too lazy this morning. I'm travel-weary." He made a face. "Besides, I never make it past the fourth jump before my carobel breaks and I'm drenched with perfume. I have no desire to spend the rest of the day in the bath trying to get rid of the odor." He stepped back and gestured to the crowd gathered behind ropes where the riders had assembled. "I'll stay here and wait and watch with the rest."

But Tess was neither watching nor waiting. Galen's gaze went to their tent, and his hand tightened on the reins. After their argument last night, he had not expected her to bid him good fortune, but still a frisson of anger went through him.

"Are the jumps bad?" asked Sacha, still looking at the crowd.

"No worse than at any other carobel."

"Which is bad enough," Sacha muttered.

Galen raised his brows quizzically. "I'm touched by your concern."

Sacha smiled with an effort. "He's ready to drop the camosa. You'd better join the others."

Galen nodded jerkily as he nudged Selik forward. He must rid himself of emotion and concentrate only on the race. It was not necessary that he win, but it was important he present a powerful and dignified figure to the other sheikhs, and that meant keeping his carobel intact for the entire race. He kept his face turned away from his tent as he joined the other riders at the rope barricade.

A hush fell over the crowd behind the confining ropes.

The yellow camosa fell to the ground.

The second jump was a fallen tree with great gnarled branches that had been dragged across the trail.

Selik jumped, faltered as he landed, and then was up and running again. Kalim followed, but Galen could hear him cursing as his carobel shifted on his back. He carefully adjusted the leather straps and rode on. Not so with many of the riders behind him. One horse was already down, flailing desperately to gain his feet. The horse of Ladar, the young sheikh of the El Zabor, shied, sending him crashing into a tree on the side of the trail, shattering his carobel. The sickening sweet stench rose to mingle with the dust-clogged air.

"You smell like a strumpet I wouldn't bother to bed, Ladar," Hakim called jubilantly as his horse made it across the fallen tree with carobel intact. "See how a real warrior does it."

Galen bent down in the saddle, murmuring to Selik.

"What is this?" Hakim's roar was so outraged that Galen glanced again over his shoulder.

He was just in time to see another rider lift effortlessly over the barricade and race past Hakim down the trail.

Tess, a bright red carobel fastened on her back, was leaning forward, urging Pavda on. She passed Hakim, then Kalim, gaining on Selik.

"What in Hades do you think you're doing?" Galen shouted as she came within hearing distance.

Her laugh answered him as she bent low, her red hair gleaming in the sunlight.

He heard Hakim's muttered curses as Pavda sprayed dust in his face.

Tess took the next jump across the stream only yards behind him. Two riders fell, their carobels shattering and spilling the heavy, perfumed liquid into the waters of the brook. Kalim had lost speed and was falling behind. Hakim made the jump and pounded after them.

A four-foot brush barricade barred the path a mile farther along. Selik was still in the lead, but Pavda was on his heels as they drew close to the barrier. "It's too high for Pavda. Go around it, dammit," Galen called over his shoulder.

She shook her head, the color in her cheeks as brilliant as her glittering eyes.

Galen muttered a curse and then turned back as the jump was upon him. Selik made the jump, not without difficulty, and Galen wheeled to watch Pavda sail over the brush pile with only inches to spare.

He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a flicker of possessive pride mix with his anger as he watched Tess straighten, her carriage and balance perfect, her carobel intact.

Dear God, if he didn't pay more attention to the race, the little minx would be making him eat her dust as she had Hakim!

He turned Selik and touched his whip to the stallion's withers. The horse responded instantly with more power, more strength. Selik and Pavda made the last jump across a nettle-strewn barricade almost together, but Selik drew ahead again on the straightaway leading back to the encampment.

Galen glanced over his shoulder. Hakim, Kalim, and several others were still in the field. He crossed the finish line ahead of Tess with ten yards to spare. He heard the shouting of the watchers behind the barricade, but ignored them as he turned to watch Pavda cross the finish line.

But there was no rider on Pavda's back.

Tess lay crumpled in the sand three yards from the finish line, her red carobel shattered and lying in splinters, her body still.

Panic raced through Tess as she gasped helplessly for air. She hadn't expected to hit the ground so hard, and the impact had knocked the breath from her body.

She could hear Galen saying something, his voice oddly husky above her, but she was too dazed to make out the words. She dimly felt him loosen the straps of the broken carobel and jerk it off her. Then his hands were running down her limbs.

"Is she hurt?" Sacha's voice, Sacha's concerned face, hovered behind Galen.

"I don't know,” Galen said hoarsely. "She hasn't moved."

"Not—hurt," she gasped. "Can't—breathe."

"Thank God,” Sacha breathed. "I told you it was dangerous, imp."

Galen shot him a fierce glance. "But you still helped her in this madness, didn't you? She couldn't have done it alone."

"You underestimate her," Sacha said. "I think she could have managed without me." He nodded. "But yes, I gave her my carobel and showed her where to hide in the brush to wait for the riders to pass."

"And damn near got her killed," Galen said harshly. "Why?"

"She was persuasive." Sacha shrugged. "And you always knew I detested Hakim."

"Not—Sacha's fault." Tess struggled to a sitting position in the sand. "I had to—"

"Kill yourself?" Galen demanded. "Two men died racing in the last carobel."

"Had to show… Hakim." Tess was at last able to draw a deep breath. She was immediately sorry as the stench of perfume nearly overpowered her. Dear heaven, she stank. "Not… an animal." She stiffened as she saw Hakim riding toward her.

The old man halted before her and smiled down at her with malicious satisfaction. "You see what happens when women forget their place and try to mimic men? They end up kneeling humbly in the dust." He turned to Galen and demanded, "You will punish her?"