THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) by Graham Diamond

than Ramagar bounded from the wall with all the haste he could muster.
    “Why in the name of heaven did you do that?” he bullied, so livid that tiny veins were bulging from his throat.
    “Would you rather have fought all three all by yourself?”
    “Of course not!” he ranted. “But don’t you think your own measures were a little extreme?”
    Mariana felt her face flush, and she stood on her toes and kissed her lover fleetingly. “Why, Ramagar,” she chided, “I didn’t know you were so jealous.”
    The thief grunted and wisely let the matter drop.
    Holding hands, the two continued their journey toward the tall spires of the palace, unaware that the little incident, from inception to conclusion, had been carefully observed. From behind the massive trunks of the willows the blond-haired stranger in rags stood and bemusedly shook his head. Clearly this rogue and his beautiful girl were not going to be as easy to fool as he had thought.
    It was easy for the thief to pick the lock of the black iron gate, far easier than he ever imagined it would be. What a shame, he mused, that he would not have the opportunity to tell his peers back at the Demon’s Horn of this daring exploit. Here he was, in the small hours before dawn with little but the most rudimentary of tools, casually picking the locks of the regent’s finest stables. True, and most unfortunate, that these were not their liege’s private stables; still they were royal property—and it amused Ramagar no end that he and Mariana would make their escape upon steeds whose backs had previously known only royal behinds.
    The lock snapped with a quick click. Mariana swung the gate open carefully, her eyes darting in every direction, while Ramagar bolted through the opening and raced for the stable. The lone senty posted at the gate rolled over and moaned, a hand resting on the swelling bruise the thief had expertly deliverd to his jaw only minutes before.
    Ramagar dashed across the bridle path, avoiding the shadows cast by the barrack-like servants’ quarters, and panting, slipped like a lizard inside the slightly ajar stable door. He stifled a sneeze as his nostrils were greeted by the musty sawdust air. Then he gazed around in wonder. There were easily two dozen horses in the stable, each with its own stall, and piles of hay in the back were stacked right to the ceiling.
    He walked slowly to the first stall and peered over the gate. A fine black stallion shook its mane and whinnied. “Hush, hush,” Ramagar whispered, and he reached over and stroked the nervous animal’s nose. The horse calmed and Ramagar opened the gate and led him out gently, so as not to frighten the other watching horses. He looked the stallion over and admired the regent’s taste. He was a beautiful specimen. Tall, sturdy, defiant. The sort of horse every man in Kalimar must dream of one day owning.
    He kept the stallion occupied with a clump of hay and went on to inspect the next stall. A short, stocky mare stared back at him with dumb, pensive eyes. Ramagar nodded to himself, turned, and cast his gaze along the wall. Bridles and harnesses were all firmly in place. The first bridle he slipped over the gray mare, the second onto the waiting black stallion. Then he darted to the door and called softly to the girl. Mariana came running as fast as she could.
    “We’d better hurry,” she said anxiously, looking first to her lover and then to the horses. “That guard you hit is going to wake up any minute.”
    The thief smiled grimly. “Everything’s all set. The mare is yours.” And he handed her the reins.
    Mariana took one look and gulped. “But what about a saddle?” she moaned.
    Ramagar frowned. “There aren’t any. Maybe we can buy one somewhere tomorrow. For now it will have to be bareback.”
    The dancing girl closed her eyes and sighed. Already she could feel the stinging bruises on her behind. She said nothing as he helped her mount and watched him while he took the