In ancient times, during the reign of tsar Slavolub, there lived a man named Trophim. He owned little, and his most precious possession was his scythe, with which he could work faster than any farmhand or peasant. He had no other wealth, but made some money by traveling from village to village offering his services to reap the fields or do any other work, depending on the season.
Once after the harvest, when he was walking west after being paid for reaping the harvest of a nobleman, he came upon some people cursing around a horse. The horse was old, and was loaded too heavy, and had now fallen and would not get up.
Some of the people said they should kill the horse to at least save the meat, while others said that it would still walk, if the owner just hit it harder. Trophim felt sorry for the horse, and offered to buy it. The owner first laughed at him, for he was so poorly dressed that he could in no way have the money to pay for a horse. But Trophim insisted, saying that with the horse being old, thin and week, the owner could not charge that much for it. The owner, out of spite, demanded 3 times the price it was worth. Trophim paid without trying to haggle, paying all but 3 coins of what the nobleman paid him.
Trophim then continued west with the old horse and reached a village in the same evening. There was no inn in this village, and had it been, Trophim would hardly afford one. He had anyway planned to sleep outside, but he went first to the village well to water the horse and wash it, as it was so dirty it was impossible to even see what colour it was. There he met an old villager that looked at Trophim, then at the horse, and asked Trophim what he was feeding the horse. Trophim told that he had just bought the horse, but would be happy for any good advice.
The old man then told Trophim that there was a clearing just north of the village, where magical Trim grass grew. He could reach there before nightfall, but he should then hurry away, as Frakians had crossed the border and would certainly attack the village the next day.
Trophim asked about the defences of the village, and were told that there were few chances to defend the village, and that they would all have to put their fate into the hands of Svarog.
Trophim thanked the man and went to find the Trim grass. The horse looked at once much happier when it had eaten, however Trophim was worried.
Speaking more to himself, he asked the horse: “What shall I do? On one side, the villagers need to be defended. On the other side, while I probably could swing a sword or stab with a spear, the village will fall none the less.”
The horse then replied: “You are a good man, Trophim. Do what is right, and do not worry about anything. In the morning you will know what you should do”.
Trophim was surprised, but thought to himself that he was tired and imagined things. Still, the horse was right. He would not be able to leave the villagers to their fate.
So he returned back to the village and slept near the well almost until sunrise, when he was woken by the signal horn of the village alarming all of the arrival of the Frakian force.
The villagers had fortified the village, and was prepared for battle. The Frakians saw this, and
since they were here for plunder rather than honourable warfare, they challenged the villagers to send forth a champion. The Frakian champion, a huge armourclad knight on a heavy warhorse rode forth and announced the terms: if the champion of the Frakians won, the village would surrender and pay a tax of half of their goods each year to the Frakian Graf. If the champion of the Frakians lost, they would leave the village alone. If the villagers had no champion to send, the Frakians would plunder the village and enslave the villagers.
The villagers all talked amongst themselves. While many could stand their own in a formation, no one dared to fight the Frakian knight. Trophim then approached the villagers and offered to help. He said that he could face the knight to help the village avoid enslavement. The other villagers thanked him and found him armour, shield and axe. They had no warhorse for him, as all horses were taken by those that could not fight to flee from the village and ask for aid from the tsar.
Trophim said to this that he would ride the horse he had brought to the village.
He mounted up, took his scythe instead of a lance, and rode out of the village to face the Frakian champion. As he rode across the field, he prayed to Svarog for aid to the village, and to take care of his horse when he had fallen in battle.
Then the horse spoke again: “Do not worry, Trophim, for I will help you. You took me in when I was old and broken, but long ago, I was a bogatyrs warhorse. Just drop the reins and let me take the lead and be ready to strike”
And so Trophim did. The sun was now well above the horizon, and as the horse charged towards the Frakian champion the sun was right behind it, blinding the Frakian knight. Trophim looked in wonder at the horse, that now seemed to shine like gold, the sun reflecting in its mane and pelt.
The two champions clashed, however the horse jumped to the side, anticipating the Frakians attack, so he missed both rider and steed. Trophim tried his best, and swiftly, as he had done so many times on the field, swung his scythe and struck the knight, but failed to bring him down from his warhorse. Thundering past, it was now Trophim that had the disadvantage of light, and it was clear the Frakian champion would try to use it. Trophim tried to see where the knight was, but was blinded by the sun. Then the horse said to him:
“Don’t look for the knight. He will come at you. Use your shield now, and trust in me. He is heavy, and I hear him well enough to not need to see him.”
And so Trophim did. He focused on protecting himself and his horse, and the horse moved away from the knight so he couldn’t land a blow again.
Then it was time for the third charge. This time the horse told Trophim: “He now thinks he knows what you will do. So you have to do it different than the first charge”. Trophim pondered a bit what he could do different, and then said to the horse “Bring me closer this time, so I can strike him with the axe”.
As said so done. As the horse closed in on the charge, Trophim dropped the scythe and pulled out the axe, striking with it through the shield of the Frakian knight and throwing him on the ground. Before the knight could stagger up, Trophims horse kicked him down. Trophim then bound the knight and took him back to the village.
A herald came then from the Frakians, demanding the villagers to release the Frakian champion.
The Frakians talked long about what to do. In the meantime, the tsar had come with his bogatyrs to the village. He declared that they should all march out to face the Frakians and drive them out of the land.
Again Trophim saddled his horse. He noticed that while the sun now was high upon the sky, his horse was still shining like it had golden fur and mane. He asked what the horses name was, but the horse said: "I have had many owners and many different names. I want you to choose me a new name"
Trophim named the horse Jarkon, which means Sunhorse.
Trophim rode out with the tsar and his bogatyrs, while the villagers militia marched behind them. As they attacked, the Frakians fled before Trophim, for they feared this unknown warrior that had brought down their champion.
After the battle, the tsar offered to make Trophim a bogatyr, but he refused, saying that he would rather work the fields with his horse and stand guard in the village militia than devote his life to killing. The tsar offered him to be a bogatyr then only until the war ended, and promised to release him from his service after the war. To this Trophim agreed, and the villagers promised him a plot of land in the village when he returned.
Trophim lived a long life in the village, and the horse always followed him. When he was on his deathbed, he gathered all of his family and made them promise to set his horse free when he died, to roam as it wanted. From time to time, someone will tell that they have seen a golden horse far away on the plains, and a few believe it is the very same horse, Sunhorse, that roams the plains to this very day.