Read Sword Sworn-Sword Dancer 6 for Free Online Page A

precision, I began yet again to
    dance, to hone the flesh that sheathed the bones. And the mind that controlled them.
    So that I could control it.
    I was, as expected, still stiff in the morning, though the midnight dance had helped. Del and I dressed
    respectively in tunic and dhoti, donned sandals, gauze burnouses, and buckled on harnesses over the
    clothing. Once we'd merely split the left shoulder seams to allow sword hilts freedom, but that was when
    challenges were to dance, not to die. Now we didn't have that luxury. We packed up the balance of our
    belongings and headed out to the livery to collect and tack out our mounts, grabbing something to eat
    from a vendor along the way.
    The stud, when led out into the stableyard square in the kindling sun of early morning, gifted me with
    a sublimely serene expression suggesting he was nothing but a big, sleepy pussycat. Though one of the
    horse-boys offered, I saddled him myself to give my body the chance to get used to movement. I took
    my time examining the fit of new tack, including bridle, bit, long cotton reins knotted at each end, and of
    course the saddle. Satisfied, I loaded my share of the supplies, checked the weight distribution, tossed a
    colorful woven blanket over the new saddle, and turned to see what progress Del was making.
    "What is that?" I blurted.
    She glanced up from assessing stirrup length. "I think he's reminiscent of you after a particularly
    drunken cantina fight." She paused. "A little pale, with two black eyes."
    A little pale? He was white. And she didn't mean his actual eyes were black, because they weren't,
    but the two circles painted around them. The actual eyes were blue, and looked even lighter peering out
    from black patches.
    "Why in hoolies did you pick him? "
    "Beggars," she declared succinctly, "cannot be choosers."
    Well, no. But ... "A white, blue-eyed horse in the desert?" Actually, he was a pink-and-white,
    blue-eyed horse, because he lacked pigmentation. His nostrils and lips were a fine, pale pink.
    'That is why I've put grease around his eyes," she explained. It will cut down on the sun's glare
    reflecting off his face. And I slathered alia paste on his nose and lips."
    Del, this is a horse, not a woman painting her face."
    Yes," she agreed equably, continuing to tack out the gelding.
    Do you know what you're doing?"
    "Yes."
    Are you sure? We've got the Punja to get through."
    'I had a white dog when I was a child," Del remarked casually after a moment. "He had blue eyes
    and no pigmentation. My father wanted to put him down, but I insisted he be mine. I was told that with
    the sun reflecting off the snow, he might in time go blind. So I mixed up grease with charcoal, and painted
    around his eyes. He lived to be an old, old dog. And he never went blind."
    "Is that why you bought this horse? Because he reminds you of your dog?"
    "I bought him because he was the only gelding." She glanced up. "Would you want to risk another
    stallion anywhere near yours?"
    "There are mares."
    "I tried that before. Your horse, as I recall, spent most of his time trying to breed her. Sometimes
    when I was on her."
    I recalled that, too. "There are other liveries in town, I suspect. With other geldings."
    "But not with one we can afford. I did look." Del reached up and tied something onto the left side of
    the gelding's headstall, then ran it beneath his forelock to the other side.
    My mouth dropped open. " Tassels? "
    "Fringe," she corrected.
    "You're putting fringe on a horse?"
    "It will help shade his eyes."
    First she painted black patches around his eyes, now she hung fringe across his brow. Gold fringe,
    no less.
    I shook my head in disbelief. "Where in hoolies did you find that?"
    "I bought it from a wine-girl in one of the cantinas. I don't know what it once was. I was afraid to
    ask."
    "You went into a cantina by yourself?"
    "Yes."
    "Kind of risky, bascha. Dangerous, even."
    "Tiger, I was in a cantina by myself when I met you."
    "Well, I