The Paga Diaries (54) by Arizona Wanderer

54 Ubars's Race 

The crowd roared as the tarns burst into the air from their starting perches, eager riders on their backs all jockeying for a favorable starting position to begin the first lap of the race.  The crowd of spectators was thrilled and excited that the Ubar’s race had finally started after weeks of anticipation.  I sensed a nervous energy coming from the people around me, a joyful celebration that the race was actually underway, negating the doubts of those who thought it would never occur.  In the days leading up to today, I had heard tavern whispers that the race was going to be cancelled, that war efforts and security concerns would take precedence over recreational events.

Ubar Claudius was in regal attendance, his initial appearance was a fanfare for all to see.  The weather for the race was nice, a sunny windless day without a cloud in the sky.  From a specially reserved boxed suite he addressed the crowd and ordered the race to commence.  His confident posture and words eliminated all concerns regarding the state of the war.  Today was a break from the war, a pleasant distraction providing time to let go and enjoy the exhilarating sport of tarn racing.

It was also a time for gambling, and I watched the growing lines of anxious betters at the Track Merchant’s wagering tents; they were bigger for this first race than during the last racing day.  Trem had given me betting advice for today’s race.  He said if I were to bet, that I should only bet on the second and third race, and choose either the orange and black Talons team or Club Akras, a new team dressed in burgundy.  I normally enjoy gambling but I was nervous about today and risking what little coin I now had did not seem wise.  I placed no wager on this first race, satisfied with just watching it.

I admired the skill of the tarnsmen as they maneuvered their mounts through the twelve large suspended iron rings that created the perimeter of the oval course.  This first race consisted of five laps around the stadium that went through each of the large, leather padded rings that were suspended by chains from the tall columns above.

The racing teams flew close together with no gaps forming between tarns as they began the second lap.  In the middle of this pack of giant flying raptors, I saw sparks flash out from tarn goads as a rider wearing red contacted the rider wearing green.  The two tarns separated, avoiding further goad strikes and another rider, wearing blue, took advantage of the exchange and pressed his tarn through the small brief opening between, passing them both and gaining what appeared to be second place.

The rider in front of the pack was wearing the gold of the Sunstrike team but did not have much of a lead as the third lap began.  Large feathers sprung into the air as a tarn passed through a ring, one of its wingtips hitting against the leather padding.  The contact skewed the tarn and its rider, who hastened to recover, getting back into the pack to avoid remaining in the last place position.

The last two laps did not see much change in position and the tarns remained close to each other as they finished the race.  Red Spike won with Sunstrike close behind and Green Streak taking third place.  The stadium cheered loudly for Red Spike, the team that seemed to have a majority of fans.

I was seated in the eighth row up from the ground, four rows below the reserved area that started on row twelve, which was cordoned off with purple rope.  This area had cushioned seats and was occupied by the wealthier citizens of the city.  I saw Free Women in this area wearing robes of concealment made from fine delicate materials, with eye catching patterns and bright colors.  I splurged and paid a whole copper tarsk to sit in this area, very close to where I sat during my first time at the races.  This section has great open views, being in the middle of one of the two straight areas between the curving portions in the corners of the oval stadium.  Many in the crowd around me left their seats to place bets on the next race.

Near one of the curved areas of the stadium, at ground level, there were massive arches of dark openings in the wall under the stands.  From these openings emerged large carts that entered onto the sandy field, each being pulled by a tharlarion.  The wagons had a wide wooden bed with no sides and a stout wooden pole mounted horizontally near the front of the bed.  In the bed of each wagon stood a racing tarn and the rider.  The riders wore silk uniforms fashioned in the flashy colors of their teams.

Ten carts lined up, side by side next to the middle column with the pole of wooden tarn heads.  A rope was strung up in front of the line of carts.  Once lined up, the tarn riders removed the hood that covered the tarn’s head during its ride to the starting point.  Several tarns gave a shrill cry after their hood came off.  The tarn riders then mounted their saddles on top of the tarns back and secured themselves with both safety straps.

A bar rang out loudly three times, the judge’s bar that signaled the beginning of the race.  All ten of the tarns did a small jump or hop, landing on the horizontal pole, or perch in the bed of the wagon.  All ten tarn heads on the beam were rotated by an attendant so that they faced down, signaling that this race would be ten laps.  The rope in front of the racers fell and the tarns jumped into flight all at once, their mighty wings beating the air with explosive force as they streaked towards the closest ring to begin the second race.

For the first three laps the teams flew together in a tight group of tarns, but by lap four, some separation amongst the ten racers began to appear.  Aggressive riders attempted to pass one another while turning in the distance between the rings of the curved sections of the racing perimeter.  Watching these passing attempts was the most exciting part of the race; wondering if a tarns extended talon would grasp another tarn, or even a rival rider.

On lap seven, the Storm tarn’s talon grasped the tail feathers of the bird in front and slightly below it.  The grasp was strong, embedded into to base of the tail of the Green Streak tarn, which let out a fierce angry cry and turned its head to see what had latched onto it.  The Storm tarn’s talon came loose from its grasp as dozens of large tail feathers were pulled away with it.  The Green Streak tarn was pulled off balance and veered wildly, falling into the crowd of spectators below.  Everyone around me stood up, attempting to see better, and I stood up too in awe of the crash.  A hush fell over the stadium as everyone watched to see what would happen next.

Loud screams could be heard across the stadium as men and women near the fallen tarn called out in hysteria.  The tarn had landed on several rows of people, some undoubtedly crushed by the massive bird.  Rows of spectators around the tarn began to flee from the area.  The tarn was stunned and lay on its side; it’s rider motionless and hunched over in the saddle.  I wondered if the green clad man was Sabit, and hoped he was alive.  The tarn stood up and shrieked fiercely, causing people to scream again.  It then jumped into flight, but it appeared the rider was still lifeless, the safety straps keeping him attached to the saddle as the tarn ascended above the stadium.  I watched with fascination as the tarn flew towards the city tarncot at the top of the tower and appeared to land on one of its ramps.

The race continued with the teams completing the final laps but I don’t think many spectators were following it any more, their attention now focused on the people laying in the stands where the tarn had landed on them.  Men and women began to go to these people, to offer aid.  There were cries for physicians.  Eventually, four people were carried away in stretchers.  I could not tell from my position what kind of condition they were in.  Two of them remained motionless as they were ambulated away.

After quite some time, the crowd began to wonder if the races would continue after the tragedy.  There were no lines of bettors at the Track Merchant tables.  I was curious about Trem’s prediction being wrong about teams Talon and Club Akras finishing in winning positions for this race.  Neither team had finished in any of the first four positions.  I wondered if he had made any of his own bets, and if he had suffered big losses.  He had not asked me to place any wagers for him today.  There was an uneasy feeling in the crowd and then we heard the judges bar ring twice, signaling the next race would begin in ten ehn.  People seemed to be relieved; the races would continue.

A faint shadow covered a part of the stadium I was in right after the bar rang out three times to signal the imminent start of the third race.  I wondered and looked up to see if a cloud was passing over, recalling that I had not seen any clouds all day.  What I saw in the sky was peculiar, something I had never seen before.  At first I thought it was a dense haze of smoke or a dark dust cloud, but I could see what looked like particles moving around within the haze.  It was similar to seeing a swarm of bees on the move.  Then as the haze grew, coming closer, I noticed that the particles had wings!  It was a swarm; a swarm of hundreds of tarns diving on the stadium and I froze, not believing what I was seeing.

Large capture nets began to rain down all around me, most of them landing in the reserved rows of seats cordoned within the purple rope.  I drew my sword, and thought to run, my military training instinctually driving me to escape the kill zone of an ambush area.  I hesitated for a brief second, trying to determine which direction to run.  The most important thing to do was to get away and the direction did not matter.  I was wasting precious seconds and began to run.  After a few steps I decided the center of the sandy ground in the middle of the stadium was not likely to be part of the target area.

When I got to the center of level ground I turned around to see the nature of this airborne attack.  Some of the diving tarns had already leveled out of their dive and were pulling up nets behind them.  Many of the nets contained four or five people, and were being hauled away from the rows they had been in.  Some of the tarnsmen were using single capture loops instead of nets.  Free Women were being targeted for capture and I noticed colorful garments contained inside the nets and loops as they were lifted up.

The boxed suites that ringed the top of the lower section of seating seemed to be a priority and a heavy concentration of nets had been landed inside and around these suites.  Numerous individual tarnsmen without nets had landed inside the suites, forcing their tarns through the wide openings.  Two of these tarnsmen had landed in the Ubar’s suite and were dismounting.  Other tarns were landing in the rows of seats just below the suite and began firing crossbows.  I heard the clash of steel coming from the Ubar’s suite but could not tell who was fighting.  It was hard to see into the suite with the tarns and nets blocking my view.

I was terrified, and did not know what to do.  The stadium was filled with a loud roar of screams, yelling and shouting as people began to run, stampeding towards the exits.  The tarns kept coming from the sky, more and more landing near the Ubar and the cordoned area.  I spun around and noticed that nets were also dropping in many other parts of the stadium and captured people were being lifted away.  The racing tarns had flown away from their wagon perches, leaving the stadium and escaping the assault.

The tarncot on top of the tall cylindrical tower was also being attacked and fires had been set.  An alarm bar was being rung loudly from the tower.  I thought of Trem and Jesop and feared for their safety.  I also thought of Risto and the tarns stuck in cages as the tarncot began to burn.  Even the rooftop of the Feasting Tarn was getting hit with capture nets.

I expected some sort of counterattack by the city, and wondered if it would be the City Guard, army tarnsmen or both.  No counterattack arrived and the marauders began to depart unhindered.  Their attack had been short, quick and precise and was over in less than fifteen ehn.  I wondered if there would be a second wave as there were still thousands of spectators still attempting to flee through the crowded exits.

I decided that I should go up the tower to the tarncot to assist inside, however possible.  Maybe there was fighting as if the tarncot was intended to be seized by the enemy and destroyed.  I found my way to the door and knocked loudly, but there was no response.  I used the hilt of my sword to bang on the door as hard as I could, trying to draw attention and gain entrance.  No one came to the peep hole or opened the small challenge portal.

I waited, angry and frustrated, not knowing what I should to.  I banged on the door every few ehn, hoping someone would come.  After twenty ehn, I noticed someone behind the peep hole and the portal was opened.  I sheathed my sword.

“We are under attack, this door is to remain secured. Clear the area!” a man said from behind the door.  I held up my bronze disc with the tarn image on it.  It was the pass Trem had given me for access.

“I am here to help! Tarncot is burning, let me in!” I yelled, and the heavy door was opened.  I began to run up the wide circular stairs that led to the top of the tower.  I slowed my run and set a steady deliberate ascending pace so that I would not be exhausted when I arrived at the top.  I banged on the second entry door and when the portal opened quickly, I showed my pass.

“Who else is with you?” the man behind the door asked.

“No one,” I answered.

“Where is the City Guard? We are under attack!” the man replied in disbelief.

“Only me.  I am here to help. Open door!”  I said.  The door opened and along with the smell of tarns, I could also smell smoke.  “Where is Trem?”

“I don’t know. There is fighting near the ramps!” the man said.  I drew my sword and headed to the ramps.  In the large corridor leading to the ramps, a hasty barricade had been made with an upturned tarn basket, saddles and piles of rigging.  There was a narrow opening near the top of the rigging where men were fighting with swords.  Two bodies lay in the opening which was almost wide enough for two men to pass through abreast.  Smoke was creeping through the top of opening and lingering at the ceiling of the corridor.

The men I could see, on my side of the opening, wore Argentum army tarnsmen uniforms.  There were perhaps a dozen of them in a line in the corridor, some had small tarn shields and two had small crossbows.  There were two men at the top of the barricade pile fighting in the opening, trying to prevent the enemy from passing through.

“Rykart, Rykart!” I heard called and looked to the side of the corridor, near the dozen men, to see Jesop.  His eyes were wide and frightened, and he was holding a tarn goad.  A large man in uniform came to me and said, “I am Sergeant Timoleon, what is your name and where did you come from?”

“Sergeant, I am Rykart. I report to Captain Atticus of the City Guard.  I came from the stadium after the attack was over to help here in the tarncot.”

“Over, the attack is over? And why are you alone, where is Captain Atticus and the City Guard?” he asked.

“I attended race alone, not as Guardsman. The attacking tarnsmen have withdrawn from stadium. I have tarncot pass and came up to help.”

“You report to me now. We are holding this corridor to prevent the tarncot from capture. Two warriors at a time fight at the opening and are rotated with fresh warriors upon command. Do you understand Guardsman?”

“Yes Sergeant,” I said apprehensively.

“Good, you are next to fight since you are fresh. Grab a shield and go to the front of the line. The rotation is done singly, one man replacing another. Then the man fighting next to you is replaced. Our two crossbows will fire through the opening when the relieved man steps away. After our fire, use the shield to block enemy crossfire when you step into the fight. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sergeant.”