When it came to the turn of the Sacian nation to enter the course, a private man, of no apparent importance in respect to his rank or standing, came forward as the champion; though the man appeared insignificant, his horse was as fleet as the wind. He flew around the arena with astonishing speed, and came in at the goal while his competitor was still midway of the course. Every body was astonished at this performance. Cyrus asked the Sacian whether he would be willing to sell that horse, if he could receive a kingdom in exchange for it--kingdoms being the coin with which such sovereigns as Cyrus made their purchases. The Sacian replied that he would not sell his horse for any kingdom, but that he would readily give him away to oblige a worthy man. "Come with me," said Cyrus, "and I will show you where you may throw blindfold, and not miss a worthy man." So saying, Cyrus conducted the Sacian to a part of the field where a number of his officers and attendants were moving to and fro, mounted upon their horses, or seated in their chariots of war. The Sacian took up a hard clod of earth from a bank as he walked along. At length they were in the midst of the group. "Throw!" said Cyrus. The Sacian shut his eyes and threw. It happened that, just at that instant, an officer named Pheraulas was riding by. He was conveying some orders which Cyrus had given him to another part of the field. Pheraulas had been originally a man of humble life, but he had been advanced by Cyrus to a high position on account of the great fidelity and zeal which he had evinced in the performance of his duty. The clod which the Sacian threw struck Pheraulas in the mouth, and wounded him severely. Now it is the part of a good soldier to stand at his post or to press on, in obedience to his orders, as long as any physical capacity remains; and Pheraulas, true to his military obligation, rode on without even turning to see whence and from what cause so unexpected and violent an assault had proceeded. The Sacian opened his eyes, looked around, and coolly asked who it was that he had hit. Cyrus pointed to the horseman who was riding rapidly away, saying, "That is the man, who is riding so fast past those chariots yonder. You hit _him_." "Why did he not turn back, then?" asked the Sacian. "It is strange that he did not," said Cyrus; "he must be some madman." The Sacian went in pursuit of him. He found Pheraulas with his face covered with blood and dirt, and asked him if he had received a blow. "I have," said Pheraulas, "as you see." "Then," said the Sacian, "I make you a present of my horse." Pheraulas asked an explanation. The Sacian accordingly gave him an account of what had taken place between himself and Cyrus, and said, in the end, that he gladly gave him his horse, as he, Pheraulas, had so decisively proved himself to be a most worthy man. Pheraulas accepted the present, with many thanks, and he and the Sacian became thereafter very strong friends.