It didn’t take long for a fight to break out among the horses. Once each year, the fillies were driven out of the herds in anticipation of a mating war, and this time it occurred right below where the three men were standing.
They sat on the ground by the wolf pen to watch the battle unfold, joined by the cub, crouched at the end of his chain to watch the action, shuddering like a starving wolf in a snowbank but not otherwise moving. He instinctively feared the powerful stallions yet watched them in utter fascination.
The herd, which numbered in excess of five hundred horses, was made up of more than a dozen families, each led by a stallion. The largest families had seventy or eighty members, the smallest as few as ten. The families comprised the sons and daughters of the stallions and their wives and concubines. Mating conditions among the ancient horse herds had evolved to a level of civilization greater even than that for humans. The horse herds were able to survive in the cruel grassland environment, surrounded by wolves that could attack at any time, by ruthlessly eradicating the possibility of inbreeding, which prevented a deterioration of the breed and a lessening of fighting ability.
At the onset of summer, three-year-old females approach sexual maturity, and the stallions abandon their fatherly airs by ruthlessly driving their daughters out of the family, refusing to allow them to remain by their mothers’ sides. Angry, nearly maniacal long-maned fathers drive their complaining daughters away, biting at their flanks as if they were chasing wolves, creating chaos in the herd. For those that find their way back to their mothers’ side, their fathers run up to them, fuming with anger, before the young females can catch their breath. They kick them, nip at them, do whatever it takes to ward off any resistance, until the young horses have no choice but to leave the family herd. They whinny pitifully, begging their fathers for leniency. But the stallions glare, snort, and paw the ground threateningly, refusing to allow them to remain with their mothers, who also suffer the rage of their mates when they try to protect their daughters. In the end, the mothers take a neutral stance, having come to understand what lies behind their mates’ actions.
Once the daughter banishment wars have run their course, the real battles, the cruel combat over mate selection is launched; it is a true volcanic eruption of male unruliness. The young females who have just been driven away from their families and have nowhere to turn quickly become the objects of contention among stallions of other families; as the males rear up on their hind legs and engage in mortal combat, they tower above the rest of the herd. Their powerful hooves are their weapons, which they wield like hammers, like fists, like axes. Amid the thudding of hooves and clashing of teeth, weaker horses flee in defeat, but well-matched combatants fight on and on. If hooves don’t win the day, they use their teeth, and if that doesn’t do it, they turn and kick with their hind legs, weapons that can crush the skull of a careless wolf. Some of the horses fight on even with their heads split open, or their chests bruised and swollen, or their legs badly injured.
If the young females take advantage of the chaos to return to their mothers, they now face the wrath of their fathers as well as stallions who would have them as mates, now comrades-in-arms, who chase them back to where they belong.
One beautiful, robust young female attracted the attention of two of the most ferocious stallions. The filly’s snow white coat shimmered; she had big, beautiful, deerlike eyes. She was tall and slender, and had the light gait of a deer when she ran. Yang Ke was completely taken by her. “What a beauty,” he said. “If I were one of those stallions I’d fight for her.”
The stallions fought like lions in the Colosseum, caught up in mortal combat. Zhang Jiyuan unconsciously stamped his foot and wrung his hands. “Those two have been fighting over her for days. She’s such a beauty I call her Princess Snow White. But she’s a little princess you have to feel sorry for. One day she’s forced to stay with the family of one stallion, the next day she’s taken away by another. Then those two males fight over her, and who knows where she’ll wind up the next day. When the first two have worn themselves out, a third comes up to take them on. And our princess goes to another home. Now she’s nothing but chattel to be taken at will, first by one stallion, then by another, not even given time to graze on the fresh grass. Look at her-she’s skin and bones. It’s like this every spring. When some of the fillies learn they can’t stay with their own family, they go straight to the family with the most powerful stallion for protection, which keeps them above the fray and provides less wear and tear on their bodies. They’ve seen what wolves can do to a horse, and are smart enough to realize that without a family, without the protection of a powerful father or mate, they’re in danger of becoming the next meal for a pack of wolves. In the end, it’s no exaggeration to say that wolves are behind the wild, ferocious nature of Mongol stallions.
“Stallions are grassland despots,” Zhang continued. “They worry that a wolf pack might attack their mates and offspring, but other than that, they fear nothing, not wolves, and certainly not humans. We used to talk about working like an ox or a horse, but that has nothing to do with these stallions. There isn’t much difference between a Mongol herd of horses and a wild herd, except, of course, for the geldings. I’ve spent a lot of time with horses, but I still can’t imagine how primitive people went about domesticating them. How did they figure out that they could ride a horse by gelding it?”
Chen and Yang exchanged looks and merely shook their heads. Pleased by the silent response, Zhang continued, “I’ve thought about that for a long time, and here’s what I think. The early inhabitants of the grassland found ways to catch wild stallions that had been wounded by wolves. After nursing them back to health, they couldn’t ride them, even if they had some modest success with horses that were still small. So they kept trying, one wounded horse after another, generation after generation, until one day the horse they caught had had its testicles bitten off, a new two-year-old. This one they were able to ride after it grew to maturity… That led them to the obvious conclusion. However it happened, it was complex and it must have taken a very long time. And a lot of early grasslanders must have died trying. That’s one of the great advances in the history of man, much more significant than China’s four great inventions of paper, printing, the compass, and gunpowder. Without horses, life in ancient times would have been unimaginable, far worse than getting by without automobiles, trains, and tanks in modern society. And that’s why the contributions to mankind by ancient nomads are incalculable.”
Chen Zhen broke in excitedly: “I agree a hundred percent. It was a lot harder for the grasslanders to first break wild horses than for ancient farmers to domesticate wild rice. Rice, at least, can’t run away, it can’t buck and rear up, and it can’t kill or injure you with its hooves or drag you to your death. Domesticating crops is peaceful labor, but domesticating wild horses and oxen is a battle bathed in blood and sweat. Farming people are still enjoying the fruits of the nomad people’s magnificent battles.”
Chen sighed. “The way I see it, the most advanced people today are descendants of nomadic races. They drink milk, eat cheese and steak, weave clothing from wool, lay sod, raise dogs, fight bulls, race horses, and compete in athletics. They cherish freedom and popular elections, and they have respect for their women, all traditions and habits passed down by their nomadic ancestors. Not only did they inherit their courage, their militancy, their tenacity, and their need to forge ahead from their nomadic forebears, but they continue to improve on those characteristics. People say you can tell what a person will grow up to be at the age of three and what he’ll look like in old age at seven. The same holds true for a race of people. In the West, primitive nomadic life was their childhood, and if we look at primitive nomads now, we are given access to Westerners at three and at seven, their childhood, and if we take this further, we get a clear understanding of why they occupy a high position. Learning their progressive skills isn’t hard. China launched its own satellite, didn’t it? What’s hard to learn are the militancy and aggressiveness, the courage and willingness to take risks that flow in nomadic veins.”