‘I’ll be right back,’ Garion told his friend. ‘I want to talk with Grandfather for a moment.’ He dismounted and crossed the bright green turf to the end of the stand where Belgarath sat. The old man was wearing a snowy white robe and a disgruntled expression.
‘Elegant,’ Garion said.
‘It’s somebody’s idea of a joke,’ Belgarath said.
‘Your obvious antiquity shines in your face, old friend,’ Silk said impudently from just behind him. ‘People instinctively want to make you as dignified-looking as possible.’
‘Do you mind? What is it, Garion?’
‘Zakath and I are going to cheat a little. If we win, the king will grant us a boon – like letting you look at that chart.’
‘That might actually work, you know.’
‘How do you cheat in a tournament?’ Silk asked.
‘There are ways.’
‘Are you sure you’ll win?’
‘I can almost guarantee it.’
Silk jumped to his feet.
‘Where are you going?’ Belgarath demanded.
‘I want to lay a few wagers.’ And the little man scurried off.
‘He never changes,’ Belgarath observed.
‘One thing, though. Naradas is here. He’s a Grolim, so he’ll know what we’re doing. Please, Grandfather, keep him off my neck. I don’t want him tampering with what I’m doing at some crucial moment.’
‘I’ll handle him,’ Belgarath said bleakly. ‘Go out there and do your best, but be careful.’
‘Yes, Grandfather.’ Garion turned and went back to where Zakath waited with their horses.
‘We’ll stand in the second or third rank,’ Garion said. ‘It’s customary to let the winners of previous tournaments joust first. It makes us look properly modest, and it’ll give you a chance to see how to approach the lists.’ He looked around. ‘We’ll have to surrender our lances before we joust; and they’ll give us each one of those blunted ones from that rack over there. I’ll take care of them as soon as we get our hands on them.’
‘You’re a devious young man, Garion. What’s Kheldar doing? He’s running through those stands like a pickpocket hard at work.’
‘As soon as he heard what we’re planning, he went out to place a few wagers.’
Zakath suddenly burst out laughing. ‘I wish I’d known. I’d have given him some money to wager for me as well.’
‘Getting it back from him might have been a little difficult, though.’
Their friend, Baron Astellig, was unhorsed on the second pass. ‘Is he all right?’ Zakath asked with concern.
‘He’s still moving,’ Garion said. ‘He probably just broke one of his legs.’
‘At least we won’t have to fight him. I hate hurting friends. Of course, I don’t have all that many friends.’
‘You probably have more than you realize.’
After the third pass of the front rank, Zakath said, ‘Garion, have you ever studied fencing?’
‘Alorns don’t use light swords, Zakath. Except for the Algars.’
‘I know, but the theory is similar. If you twist your wrist or elbow at the last instant, you could knock your opponent’s lance aside. Then you could correct your aim and smash into the center of his shield when his lance is completely out of position. He wouldn’t have a chance at that point, would he?’
Garion considered it. ‘It’s highly unorthodox,’ he said dubiously.
‘So’s using sorcery, isn’t it? Would it work?’
‘Zakath, you’re using a fifteen-foot lance, and it weighs about two pounds a foot. You’d need arms like a gorilla to move it around that fast.’
‘Not really. You don’t really have to move it that far back and forth. Just a tap would do. Can I try it?’
‘It’s your idea. I’ll be here to pick you up if it doesn’t work.’
‘I knew I could count on you.’ Zakath’s voice sounded excited – even boyish.
‘Oh, Gods,’ Garion murmured almost in despair.
‘Anything wrong?’ Zakath asked.
‘No, I guess not. Go ahead and try it, if you feel that you have to.’
‘What difference does it make? I can’t get hurt, can I?’
‘I wouldn’t go entirely that far. Do you see that?’ Garion pointed at a knight who had just been unhorsed and had come down on his back across the center pole of the lists, scattering bits and pieces of his armor in all directions.
‘He’s not really hurt, is he?’
‘He’s still moving – a little bit – but they’ll need a blacksmith to get him out of his armor before the physicians can go to work on him.’
‘I still think it might work,’ Zakath said stubbornly.
‘We’ll give you a splendid funeral if it doesn’t. All right. It’s our turn. Let’s go get our lances.’
The blunted lances were padded at the tip with layer upon layer of woolly sheepskin tightly wrapped in canvas. The result was a round padded ball that looked totally humane, but which Garion knew would hurl a man from his saddle with terrific force, and it was not the impact of the lance that broke bones, but rather it was the violent contact with the ground. He was a bit distracted at the point when he began to focus his will, and so the best word he could come up with as a release for that will was ‘Make it that way.’ He was not entirely positive that it worked exactly as he had planned. His first opponent was hurled from his saddle at a point some five feet before Garion’s lance touched his shield. Garion adjusted the aura of force around their lances. Zakath’s technique, Garion saw with some surprise, worked flawlessly. A single, almost unnoticeable, twist of his forearm deflected his opponent’s lance, and then his own blunted lance smashed directly into the center of the knight’s shield. A man hurled forcefully from the back of a charging horse flies through the air for quite some distance, Garion noticed, and the crash when he hits the ground sounds much like that which might come from a collapsing smithy. Both their opponents were carried senseless from the field.
It was a bad day for the pride of Perivor. As their experience with their enhanced weapons increased, the Rivan King and the Emperor of Mallorea quite literally romped through the ranks of the steel-clad knights of Perivor, filling the dispensaries with row upon row of groaning injured. It was more than a rout. It soon reached disastrous proportions. At last, with even their unthinking Mimbrate heritage sobered by the realization that they were facing an invincible pair, the knights of Perivor gathered and took counsel with each other. And then, en masse, they yielded.