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their faces like streams of water.
Then the riders galloped off towards the starting line which was in a field six
miles away.
Meanwhile, the games began in the ring with wrestlers on foot and on horseback,
riders picking coins off the ground, and many others. All these were merely
preliminaries, the main event was to begin where the riders were.
Gyulsary chaffed at the bit. He could not understand why his master kept him in
check. Horses were prancing and bucking to all sides of him. The very fact that
there were so many of them and that all of them were straining at their reins
angered him, making him shiver impatiently.
Finally, they lined up in a row, nose to nose, at the starting line. The master
of the games rode down the line from one end to the other, stopped and raised a
white handkerchief. They all froze, excited, alert. The handkerchief fluttered.
The horses lunged forward and Gyulsary, caught up by the single thrust, surged
on ahead. The ground trembled beneath their thundering hooves, a cloud of dust
rose behind them. Urged on by the shouting of their riders, the horses spread
out in a mad gallop. Gyulsary alone, who did not know how to gallop, fell into
his pacing gait. Therein lay his weakness and his strength.
At first they all crowded together, but a few minutes later they began stringing
out. Gyulsary did not notice this. All he saw was the fast racers overtaking him
and reaching the road. Hot pebbles and lumps of dry clay flew up from under
their hooves, hitting his head, while horses galloped to the left and right of
him, their riders shouting, whips cracking in the air and dust rolling. The dust
cloud grew bigger and bigger, spreading over the ground. There was an acrid
smell of sweat, flint and trampled young wormwood.
This continued until they had covered half of the distance. Ten horses had
broken away and were out in front, galloping along at a speed the pacer could
never attain. The noise of the race began to die down, those in back dropped
behind, but the very fact that there were still others ahead of him and that the
reins were being held in check enraged him. His eyes grew dark from anger and
the wind, the road flashed by beneath his hooves, the sun, falling from the sky
in a fiery ball, seemed to be rolling towards him. He broke out in a hot sweat
and the more he sweated the lighter he felt.
Finally, there came a moment when the galloping horses began to tire and to
gradually slow down, while the pacer's reserves were still untapped. "Come on,
boy!" he heard his master shout, and the sun began rolling towards him ever
faster. Then the furious faces of the other riders flashed by one after another
as he overtook them and left them behind--the cracking whips, the bared teeth
and gaping mouths of the other horses. Suddenly the reins were no longer held in
check, suddenly Gyulsary no longer felt the weight of the saddle or the rider,
while the fiery spirit of the chase roared in his veins.
There were still two horses racing side by side ahead of him, an iron-grey and a
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FAREWELL, GYULSARY
chestnut. Neither would concede an inch to the other as they raced onward,
spurred on by the shouts and whips of their riders. They were excellent horses.
Gyulsary was a long time in overtaking them. but he finally left them behind on
a rise in the road. He flew up the hillock as if it were the crest of a giant
wave and for a split second he seemed to be suspended and weightless in the air.
It took his breath away. The sun pouring into his eyes was more dazzling than
ever as he raced down the road. However, he soon heard the thunder of hoofbeats
behind them. The grey and the chestnut were catching up. They approached him
from both sides and stayed with him.
Thus they continued onward three-abreast, moving as a single body. Gyulsary
imagined that they were no longer running, that they had all frozen in a strange
and silent torpor. He could even see the expression in the other two horses'
eyes, their straining heads, their teeth, clamped on the bits, the bridles. The
grey was stubborn and enraged, while the chestnut seemed nervous as he glanced
uncertainly about. Then the chestnut fell behind. First his guilty, wandering
eye disappeared from sight, then his flaring nostrils and he was no more. The
grey was a long time in falling behind. It was a painful process, quite as if he
were dying on his feet, his eyes becoming glassy from helpless rage. Thus he
disappeared, unwilling to accept defeat.
As soon as his rivals had fallen behind, Gyulsary breathed easier. He could see
the silvery bend of the river ahead, the green meadow, he could hear the distant
roar of many voices. The most avid fans had ridden out and were now racing along
to both sides, shouting and whooping. All of a sudden the pacer began to feel
weak. The distance had been too much for him. He did not know what was happening
behind him, whether the others were catching up or not. His strength was quickly
ebbing, he knew he could not go on.
But there, ahead of him, a great crowd stirred and roared, riders and people on
foot were moving towards him like two enticing arms, and the shouting was
becoming ever louder. He heard them clearly now: "Gyulsary! Gyulsary! Gyulsary!"
Drinking in the shouting and whoops, his lungs filling with them as with air, he
lunged forward with renewed strength. Oh, people! How great is your power!
Gyulsary raced along the human corridor to the sound of their exultant shouting.
Then, slowing his pace, he circled the meadow.
But this was not all. Neither he nor Tanabai were their own masters now. As soon
as Gyulsary caught his breath and calmed down, the people moved aside to form
the winner's ring. Once again a shout went up: "Gyulsary!
Gyulsary! Gyulsary!" They were also shouting the name of his master: "Tanabai!
Tanabai! Tanabai!"
And once again the effect they had on the pacer was miraculous. He entered the
arena as a proud victor, his head high, his eyes ablaze. Dizzy from the very air
of glory, Gyulsary began prancing and strutting as though ready to take off
again. He knew he was beautiful, powerful and famous.
Tanabai rode up and down along the rows, his hands spread wide as a signal of
victory. Once again the sigh of benediction, Oomin, swept over the crowd. Once
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