The Seeress of Kell

ride toward each other on opposite sides of the pole. I think the idea is to keep the horses from running into each other. Good horses are expensive. Oh, that reminds me of something else. We're going to have a certain advantage in this anyway. Our horses are quite a bit bigger and stronger than the local ones.”
    "That's true, isn't it? I'll still feel more comfortable if you cheat, though."
    "I probably will, too. If we were to do it legitimately, we'd still pick up so many bruises that neither one of us would be able to get out of bed for a week, and we’ve got an appointment if we can ever find out where it's supposed to take place.”
    The tournament field was gaily decorated with bright-colored buntings and flapping pennons. A stand had been erected for the king, the ladies of the court, and members of the gentry too old to participate on the field. The commoners stood on the far side of the lists, watching avidly. A pair of gaily dressed jugglers was entertaining the crowd while the knights made their preparations. Brightly striped pavilions stood at either end of the lists-places for knights to have their armor repaired and places where the injured could suffer out of sight, since watching people groaning and writhing tends to dampen an otherwise enjoyable afternoon.
    "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?" Bdgarath 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 is using sorcery, isn't it? Would it work?"
    "Zakath, you're using a fifteen-foot lance, and