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know,” his owner went on, “but I’m told he’s bred for this.” Ti’s ears remained pricked toward the crate and Soulai saw one shiver after another ripple his body. Anticipation or fear? Ti’s jaws ground his bit so furiously that foam speckled his gold-and-white chest. Habasle laid a hand on the stallion’s withers. “If he tries to bolt when we close in, you’re to grab onto the reins and hold him steady while I aim. If the lion gets him, you’re to jump down and I’ll take your horse. Understand?”
    Somehow Soulai forced another nod. A shiver not unlike Ti’s shook his own body.
    â€œLet’s begin then,” Habasle said as he urged Ti down the slope toward the dogs and archers. Soulai tightened his reins and followed. The sweat beneath his thighs was making his seat frighteningly slippery. He shifted position, tried to dig his knees into the hollow behind the bay’s elbows, and hoped he’d be able to hang on.
    Beyond the crate, distant trees seemed to beckon. Come and hide, they seemed to motion, and for a fleeting moment Soulai thought about clapping his heels to his mount’s sides and galloping far away from the lion, maybe even away from Nineveh! But overwhelming fear froze him from action and he proceeded stiffly behind his owner.
    Both slaves had now climbed atop the crate and they crouched, clutching the front panel, their faces turned obediently toward Habasle, waiting. The lion roared again, but this time no one, not even those who could feel the heat of his breath, moved. Slowly Habasle lifted his arm and held it there—halting long enough for Soulai to hear the clear cry of a coot upon the river. Then he dropped it.
    Groaning in unison, the slaves raised the heavy panel and cowered behind it. The magnificent, black-maned lion spun within the crate—but could not find its captors. Ears flattened, the big cat crept tentatively into the open. The door thudded back into place just as the mastiffs were unleashed, and in an instant the three tangled in a barking, snarling knot that shattered the morning calm.
    â€œNow!” Habasle shouted. He loosed Ti’s reins, leveled his spear, and charged. Soulai reluctantly urged his own mount forward. I’m going to die, he thought as they neared the vicious animals. Habasle began circling the fray, tightening the diameter with each lap.
    With a loud yelp, one of the mastiffs scooted free, dragging his leg. Habasle leaned in and jabbed at the lion’s face. But the agile feline lithely evaded the spear. Screaming with fury, it coiled and sprang at its attacker. Habasle barely managed to pull his leg out from under the deadly claws, which sank instead into Ti’s shoulder, ripping loose a sheet of hide. The stallion screamed and leaped backward, only to stumble over the remaining mastiff.
    Frantically, Soulai rushed the bay close to the falling pair, aware that the archers were also running forward. But when the injured mastiff returned to the fight, distracting the lion, Ti managed to get his feet beneath him. Habasle recovered his seat and, ignoring the bloody skin flapping from the stallion’s shoulder, began circling the animals once more. The archers halted and knelt.
    Ti’s eyes rolled white with fear. He hopped sideways and strained against the bit to escape. But Habasle gouged him with his spurs, forcing him back to the battle. A wave of cold nausea swept over Soulai: He was going to watch Ti be killed! The lion and the mastiffs bled so much now from gushing wounds that the fight’s tempo slowed. The dogs circled, the cat snarled and swatted. Habasle saw another opening and spurred Ti in close. When he pricked the lion’s back, it spun, roaring, and Habasle thrust the weapon straight at its mouth. But the spearhead became tangled in the thick mane, and, with one agile tug, the lion pulled the shaft from Habasle’s hand.
    Soulai couldn’t tear his