ooth and his skin pale, his hair and
eyes very black.

He turned to Daoud and said, "What if we hit one of those slaves by
mistake?"

Daoud had once seen a slave transfixed by a wild cast of the rumh. It
hurt to remember his screams and thrashings.

"Wound a slave and you will be beaten," he said. "Kill a slave, and you
go without water for three days. In this desert that is a death
sentence."

The boy whistled and shrugged. "Hard punishments for us, but not much
comfort to the slaves, I'd say."

"It comforts them to know we have reason to be careful," Daoud answered.

After a moment, the boy smiled hesitantly and said, "I am Nicetas. From
Trebizond. Where are you from?"

Daoud rubbed his pony's neck to settle it down. "Ascalon, not far from
here. I am called Daoud." He saw the puzzlement in Nicetas's face and
added, "My parents were Franks."

"Oh," said Nicetas, and looked sympathetic, as if he had instantly
grasped what had happened to Daoud's mother and father and how he came
to be a Mameluke.

"My mother was a whore," Nicetas said without any sign of embarrassment.
"She sold me to the Turks when I was eight, and I was glad to go. She
had sold me for other things before that. This is a good life. You learn
to ride and shoot. Mamelukes wear gold, and they lord it over everybody
else."

Daoud felt a slight easing of the tension of waiting to cast the rumh.
He enjoyed talking to this new boy. There was a warmth and liveliness in
him that Daoud liked. And even though their lives had been different,
Daoud felt more of a kinship with this boy than he ever had with any of
the others in his training group.

"Mamelukes have a good life if they live," said Daoud. "Where is
Trebizond?"

Nicetas waved his left hand. "North of here. It is a Greek city on the
Black Sea. But I suppose you have never heard of the Black Sea."

"I know where the Black Sea is," said Daoud, somewhat annoyed that
Nicetas should think him totally ignorant. "How did you come to join our
orta?"

"I was enrolled in the Fakri, the Mamelukes of Emir Fakr ad-Din. The
emir was killed by the Frankish invaders last year. The older Fakri are
staying together, but the young ones have been transferred out to the
other ortas."

Daoud found himself feeling somewhat sorry for Nicetas. He knew how
lonely the Greek boy must be. His khushdashiya, his barracks comrades,
were the nearest he had to a family. And even at that he was not really
close to th