Sharma reined in his horse and patted its neck, saying to it, 'Stand still while I get off. All right?' He dismounted cautiously, groaned, and said, ‘Damn it, shepherds weren’t made to ride horses.’ He rubbed his backside, flexed his shoulders, and grimaced. I dismounted as well, slung the reins over a shoulder, and walked next to Sharma. I couldn’t help grinning at his stiff-legged gait while I said, ‘Shepherds weren’t made to ride, eh? That’s also what the Dornites think.’ Sharma grinned ruefully. ‘All part of the plan to catch them by surprise, not so?’ He groaned and leaned forward, flexing his back. ‘You said it, my friend.’ I wanted to rub my backside as well but I didn’t, because even more than soothing my aches, I wanted to go one up on Sharma. But, by Zabrazal, I had to admit that it was difficult to keep a straight face and a straight back. The ache in my muscles was so deep-seated – no pun intended – that it felt as if it had established itself as a permanent fixture.
