Free Andre Norton - Shadow Hawk by Shadow Hawk

from the border, it was as unknown as the courts of the Minoans in the salt sea.
    Soft fur brushed the underside of Rahotep's chin as the cub he held made a jealous bid for his attention. The captain was struggling not to reveal his wonder at the sight before him as a crewman tossed a mooring rope to the quayside and the Shining in Thebes was brought into her berth.
    The larger troop vessels, which had joined them at Elephantine, were maneuvering to land, the men crowding their dccks, when there was a stir ashore. Merchants gathered up their wares and hastily pulled back from the road, hearing a shouting from the town, the scurrying of burdened work slaves.
    Two spearmen, their heavy pikes at carry, their shields between their shoulders, came as outrunners, and behind them was a light chariot, the stallion that drew it snorting impatiently as the driver kept him to a trot. It was clearly a war chariot. Strapped to the sides of the light equipage were cases of arrows, and a standard pole was mounted beside the young man who stood on a swaying platform, his body weaving expertly to balance against the movement of his unsteady flooring.
    A company of spearmen, which Rahotep was forced to approve, followed at a steady lope. They had neither the height nor the heavier build of his archers, but any officer could appreciate that these were seasoned fighting men. Did they represent a picked corps, the well-trained personal guard of a liigh ranking commander, or were they representative of Sekenenre's whole force? If the latter were true—the captain's excitement grew— Out of Thebes hundreds of years earlier had poured such a force under Sesostris, the conqueror of Nubia, the subduer of Kush. If another Sesostris had arisen here—!
    The chariot came to a stop at the end of the dock, and one of the spearmen darted forward to grasp the reins the officer tossed him. Nereb had leaped ashore and gone to meet the newcomer, but the impatience of the latter was such that that meeting occurred halfway down the quay.
    As the young charioteer's head moved, Rahotep saw a wide strip of patterned linen drooping from the side of his headband. And he did not need to witness Nereb's low obeisance, the prostrations of the commoners along the dock, to know that this was one of the royal princes.
    But it was a prince impatient of ceremony, for his staff of rank touched Nereb's shoulder, excusing the ceremonial greeting, and it was apparent he was asking a flood of questions. Then he looked to the Shining in Thebes. Rahotep was ready. His archers were drawn up in a line behind him, Kheti a little to the left. And at the rattle of his sistrum they gave their native salute, the deep-throated roar of their war cry carrying across the river, into the town, until the buzz of life there stilled for an instant in wonder.
    Then Rahotep made his own salute, echoed by Kheti and Methen. And he waited with bent head for acknowledgment. It came quicldy, called across the short space between deck and shore.
    "You are seen, Captain!"
    He straightened to face the prince. Seen so closely the Royal Son was younger, younger and somehow frailer than he had seemed when in command of his chariot. He might be Rahotep's age, or perhaps a year or two older. His thin young body moved tautly, almost awkwardly, as if he had to force it to his will. The flesh on his face was close to the delicate bone structure, but his eyes were intent, old, measuring, as he surveyed the men from Nubia.
    Those eyes examined the line of archers, weighing, speculating—as if each man was checked, assayed, and fitted into some pattern known to their new commander alone. Rahotep was certain that not a single foreign detail had been missed— that the size of those bows and the lean fitness of the men who bore them had been noted. And when that stare reached him, he braced himself to meet it unmoved.
    "These are Border Scouts, Captain?" The clipped northern speech was spare and to the point.
    "They