On the other side of the river, a long meadow sloped down to a sparse wood of alder and cedar. The Torguud had set up a series of targets—small shields lashed to spears that were rammed into the ground—ranging across the field to the edge of the wood, and as Gansukh peered at the tree line, he noted more targets within with shelter of the trees. Each of the targets had a slash of red paint across it, signifying the heart of the imaginary enemy.
A handful of Torguud were already practicing, and Gansukh and Tarbagatai milled about somewhat aimlessly while they waited. Gansukh kept scanning the forest below them as well as the line of scattered ger on the other side of the river, keeping an eye out for Munokhoi.
“That is a very nice bow,” Tarbagatai said, breaking their silence.
Gansukh unslung the weapon in question and offered it to Tarbagatai, who ran his hands along the smooth shape of the bow. “Is this goat horn?” the younger man asked after his examination.
Gansukh nodded. “My grandfather killed it so that my father could have its horns. This is the first bow he ever made, and when I...” he paused, recalling the story he had told Lian about his first kill. “When I came of age, it became mine.”
“I made this one,” Tarbagatai said, offering Gansukh his bow. “It took much longer than it should have.”
Gansukh admired the shape of Tarbagatai’s bow. It was darker than his, made from some wood other than birch, though the siyah were light, like the tips of antelope ears. The string was looser than he preferred, and he wondered if Tarbagatai had switched his string yet. The air, while warm in the sun, was generally colder than it had been in Karakorum. He would need to use a tighter string. Or maybe he just likes a little more play. Gansukh toyed with the tension in the bowstring a little longer, and then handed the weapon back to its owner. “The product of your own hard work. It is an excellent bow. I hope that it serves you well.”
“Is there going to be shooting or talking here today?” The new speaker was a stocky man, wide in the neck and gregarious in his expressions. He and a half dozen other Torguud had wandered up while Gansukh and Tarbagatai had been admiring each other’s bow. The newcomer planted his feet wide and put his hands on his hips as he voiced his jovial query. He looked like nothing more than a smaller version of Namkhai, and Gansukh realized the similarity was not accidental. Namkhai had a cousin in the Torguud. What is his name?
Tarbagatai came to his rescue. “There will be more talking than shooting now that you are here, Sübegei.”
“Is that so?” Sübegei laughed. “Someone has to bore your enemies so they will stand still long enough for you to hit them.” He gestured toward the archery targets. “Come on, you two. We heard there was going to be a contest.”
“Still have some money from last night, eh?” Gansukh asked.
“I understand you have forty-nine more cows than you know what to do with,” Sübegei said. “Maybe we can help you part with some of them.”
“What makes you think I know what to do with the first one?” Gansukh said, and the group laughed uproariously. He grinned at Tarbagatai and motioned the younger man toward the crooked line of dark rocks that marked the edge of archery field. “How shall we do this?” he asked.
Sübegei overheard him and offered his own interpretation of the rules. “Seven arrows,” he said. “Tarbagatai gets dark fletching; Gansukh will have the light-colored fletching.” He gestured at the archers who had just finished shooting, and they started to dig through their quivers to assemble the requisite arrows. There were some friendly disagreements about what constituted light and dark among the arrows.
Sübegei rolled his eyes and shrugged at Gansukh’s inquiring glance. “You’ll be judged for speed and accuracy,” he continued, ignoring the altogether too-complicated process of arrow selection. “The archer who finishes first will be awarded one additional point, and then we’ll examine the targets. Does that sound fair?”
Gansukh gave Tarbagatai back his bow and received his own in turn. “That sounds fair,” he said as he slipped the string loose and bent his bow to restring it properly. Tarbagatai agreed too, and both men stepped up to the edge of the range and collected their arrows. Gansukh took the other arrows out of his quiver, placing them on the ground, and arranged his seven carefully so they were ready to be pulled. He noticed Tarbagatai lagging behind him, the younger man carefully copying every motion—the mountain archer wasn’t going to make the same mistake he had last time when he had failed to set up his arrows for rapid shooting.