Dwellers in the Mirage by Abraham Merritt — Read

I rode through the forest with the Witch-woman. The white falcon perched on her gauntleted wrist and cursed me with unwinking golden eyes. It did not like me--Lur's falcon. A score of her women rode behind us. A picked dozen of my own were shield for my back. They rode close.

So it was of old. I liked my back covered. It was my sensitive part, whether with friends or foes.