23
There was no time or space for planning. There was no assurance that death would be overcome. Csoda simply ran, and Biro joined him. They were two men running into the violent storm of an oncoming stampede, and as they ran forward they connected to their past. They had been born on the open fields, surrounded by the nomadic herds and, like the wind, they were at home within the storm of thundering hooves, the tornado of the stampede. Even in the confined towering walls of the stone arena where the herds movements were manipulated by the oncoming fury of war wagons and the snapping whips of masked drivers, both Biro and Csoda understood the movements of the charging bulls. When they finally met the first line of horned beasts, they instinctively leapt and dodged, barely missing the crus
