Limits by Larry Niven (books to read for 13 year olds txt) 📕

ride to her father’s farm. Her mother was out in the barnyard, feeding the chickens, when she rode in. The elder woman looked at her with what might have been resignation.

“Run out of money and come home again, have you?”

“Not this time,” Sparthera said, dismounting and placing a dutiful kiss on her mother’s cheek. “I need a horse or an ass. I thought maybe father had one I could borrow.”

Her mother looked at her distastefully. “Always you dress like a man. No wonder no decent man ever looks at you. Why don’t you give up all those drunkards you hang around with? Why don’t you…”

“Mother, I need a horse.”

“You’ve got one horse. You don’t need another horse.”

“Mother, I’m going on a trip and I need a pack horse.” Sparthera’s eyes lit with suppressed excitement. “When I come back, I’ll be rich!”

“Humph. That’s what you said when you ran off with that no-good pot mender. If your father were here, he’d give you rich all right! You’re lucky he’s in the mountains for a week. I don’t know about horses. Ask Bruk. He’s in the barn.”

Her mother tossed another handful of grain to the chickens, and Sparthera started across the dusty barnyard.

“And get yourself some decent clothes!”

Sparthera sighed and kept moving. Her next-older brother was in the loft restacking sheaves of last season’s wheat.

“Bruk? Have you got an extra horse?”

He looked down at her, squinting into the light from the open barn door. “Sparthera? You haven’t been here for two months. Did you run out of pockets to pick, or just out of men?”

She grinned. “No more than you ever run out of women. Are you still rolling Mikka in her father’s hay ricks?”

He climbed down from the loft, looking a little glum. “Her father caught us at it twelve days ago and now I’ve got to trade the rick for a marriage bed and everything that goes with it.” He was a big man, well muscled, with a shock of corn-colored hair, dark eyes, and full sensuous lips. “Lost your hair, I see. Well, they say that comes of not enough candle-wick. Find yourself a man and we’ll make it a double celebration.”

Sparthera leaned against a stall and laughed heartily. “Caught at last! Well, it won’t do you any harm, and beds aren’t as itchy as piles of hay. You ought to be glad. Once you’ve married you’ll be safe from all the other outraged fathers.”

“Will I though? They may just come after me with barrel staves. And I hate to cut short a promising career. Oh, the youngest daughter of the family in the hollow has grown up to be…”

“Enough, Bruk. I need a horse. Have you got an extra one?”

He shook his head. “Twilight pulled up lame, did he?”

“No. I’m planning a trip and I need a pack animal.”

Bruk scratched his head. “Can’t you buy one in town? There are always horse dealers in the market square.”

“I know too many people in Tarseny’s Rest. I don’t want them to know I’m taking this trip. Besides,” she added candidly, “I don’t have enough money.”

“What are you up to, little sister? Murder, pillage, or simple theft?”

“Oh, Bruk, it’s the chance to make a fortune! A chance to be rich!”

He shook his head disgustedly. “Not again. Remember that crockery merchant? And the rug dealer? And that tink—”

“This time it’s different!”

“Oh, sure. Anyway, we haven’t got a horse. Why don’t you steal one?”

This time it was Sparthera’s turn to look disgusted. “You can’t just steal a horse on the spur of the moment. It’s not like a pair of shoes, you know. You have to do a little planning and I don’t have the time. You’d never make a decent thief! You’d just walk in, grab it by the tail and try to walk out.” She pulled at her lower lip. “Now what am I going to do?”

They both stood there, thinking. Bruk finally broke the silence. “Well, if you only want it to carry a pack, you might make do with a wild ass. They break to a pack saddle pretty easy. There are some up in the foothills. I’ll even help you catch one.”

“I guess it’s worth a try.”

Bruk found a halter and a long rope, and led the way across the cultivated fields and up into the hills. The landscape was scrubby underbrush dotted with small stands of trees. There were knolls of rock, and one small stream that ran cackling down the slope.

Bruk stopped to study a pattern of tracks. “That’ll be one…spends a lot of time here, too…yup, I’ll bet it hides over in that copse. You go left and I’ll go right. We’ll get it when it comes out of the trees.”

They circled cautiously toward a promising stand of small trees. Sure enough, Sparthera could hear something moving within the grove, and even caught a glimpse of brownish hide. A branch cracked under Bruk’s boot, something brown exploded from the cover of the brush, and Bruk yelled, swinging the loop of his rope.

“Get the halter! Watch out for its hooves. Yeow, oooof!”

The animal whirled, bounced like a goat on its small sturdy legs, and managed to butt Bruk in the middle. Bruk sat down heavily while Sparthera made a frantic grab for the trailing end of the rope.

The little animal, frantically trying to dodge her groping hands, was braying, whinnying, and making occasional high-pitched whistling noises. It was the size of a small pony and had a long silky mane that almost dragged the ground. Its tail was thick, muscular, and held up at an angle. It had two ridiculous little feathery wings, about as long as Sparthera’s forearm, growing out of the tops of its shoulders.

Bruk staggered to his feet as Sparthera managed to catch and cling to the rope. He launched himself bodily at the beast, grabbed it around the neck, and threw it off balance. It fell heavily to one side, where it kicked its small feet and fluttered its tiny wings to