Swords From the Desert (29 page)

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Authors: Harold Lamb

Tags: #Crusades, #Historical, #Action & Adventure, #General, #Fantasy, #Suspense, #Adventure Fiction, #Historical Fiction, #Fiction, #Short Stories

BOOK: Swords From the Desert
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And for awhile he harangued the Pathans, promising to lead them to victory, rousing them again to eagerness and anger, though they needed little rousing. Thus he made them cease to think of Kandahar, and to long for the spoils of the camp below. Never before had the wealthy lords of Persia ventured so near the frontier.

He painted with words the attack upon the lashgar of the hunters by night, the overthrow of the guards, the swift charge among the tents, the slaughter and the pursuit of the fleeing, and the capture of young and fair women-until the mass of hillmen rose to their feet and shouted to be led down into the valleys.

"Not yet," said al-Khimar, when the roaring had died away between the cliffs, "not yet is the time. In two days-the night following the next." Then he lifted his slender arms. "Upon ye be the blessing of Allah!"

This done, he turned and stepped down from his rock, vanishing from the circle of firelight as swiftly as a shadow. He must have entered his cavern, because I could not see him anywhere behind the rock. A moment later, the red-bearded opium eater Shamil-whom I had defied in the Valley of Thieves-came and stood upon the rock, leering down at the fires as if all these men were no more than sheep to be led under the knife. As usual, his eyes were nearly closed, yet I thought from a sudden movement and a turn of the head that he had noticed me.

Mahabat Khan sat in talk with the Yuzufi, who was called Artaban and who wore about his neck a charm. It was a camel's tooth upon which a prayer had been carved by some holy man. Artaban carried it in a silver locket, hanging upon a plaited cord. He said to us, for he loved the sound of his own voice, that this charm made him safe from bullets or steel.

"Allah is my witness," he swore, "that bullets have gone through my sleeves and girdle and head cloth without harming my skin. I had it of a man I slew with my hands."

Truly this Artaban had a bear's strength in his arms. Grinning with yellow teeth, he showed me how he had slain the owner of the charm, seizing his beard in one hand and pulling to one side while with his other hand he thrust the man's shoulder in the opposite direction.

"Allah is merciful," he grinned again. "The night after the next I will flay one of the dog-born dogs of Persians alive. They had my brother for a slave and ripped him up with a knife."

Eh, the Persians love the Pathans as wolves love panthers; because the ones reverence Ali as the successor to Muhammad, and the others disown Ali. It is said that no feuds are as fiercely hot as the feuds of cousins, and no quarrels are as deadly as the strife of Alyites and Sunnites.

"And will al-Khimar lead ye to attack?" asked Mahabat Khan, looking about him idly, as if no more than courtesy had prompted the words.

"Nay," declared Artaban. "He gives us warning of what must be done; he chooses the fortunate hour of sallying forth; but I and the red Shamil and the Hazara chieftain lead."

"Truly, ye have many men."

Artaban grunted.

"Six hundred and more. There are guards upon the roads, and other men in Kandahar."

"It is a great miracle," said Mahabat Khan, sinking his voice, "that the Veiled One eats not and never ventures from his place."

"Allah is great!"

"What man could go without food for many days?"

Artaban pulled at his beard and blinked, flattered by the reputation of his prophet.

"Perhaps," went on Mahabat Khan gravely, "there be fools who believe such matters, but thou and I are men of intelligence, and we understand that even saints must have food-even though it pleases them to pretend otherwise."

"True, by Allah!" The one-eyed Yuzufi chieftain frowned and tried to look wise.

"Some say there is another way out of this cavern."

"Then let them look! I will not enter it."

"Does none go in?"

"Shamil-nay, I saw a man of the Waziri khels carried out with his toes turned up and a knife in his heart. Why not? Al-Khimar keeps all the offerings of his people-all the silver that we shall need someday-in there."

"True. Who does not know a day of need?"

"As for me, 1 take what I require."

Artaban struck his fist against his broad chest covered with chain mail to which some traces of gilt still clung. I wondered if the steel shirt were the reason why the Yuzufi had escaped wounds.

"So Shamil goes in," nodded Mahabat Khan, his head close to the tribesman's shaggy locks. "Surely he is the servant of the Veiled One."

"Nay, his watchman. Red Shamil keeps the silver and sees to it that none goes in. If one of us went in, how would we know that the silver and precious things were not stolen? The Hazaras and the Waziri are great thieves." Artaban spat.

I heard a man breathe at my shoulder and turned swiftly. The man called Shamil stood within touch of me, his eyes fixed on the ground, his thin lips sneering.

"So," he said harshly, "ye twain have come hither to hear the Veiled One? Will ye go to his place and speak with him?"

The Yuzufi dropped back a pace and stared, but Mahabat Khan considered a moment and nodded.

"Aye."

"Why?" demanded the watcher.

"I am of the Lodi Pathans and I have come far. I bear a message to al-Khimar."

"From whom?"

"That is for him to hear."

For a moment Shamil combed his beard, swaying his red head from side to side. I wondered what the Sirdar would find to say to the prophet. It would have been a mistake to refuse to go with Shamil-who among these men would refuse?

And suspicion was in the air.

"And thou, Daril," snarled the redbeard, "hast thou a message also?"

I shook my head, and he turned on his heel, motioning for us to follow. Mahabat Khan did not look at me, but he waited until I had reached his side before he advanced. His step and hearing told me that he foresaw no good thing awaiting us. Artaban and a dozen others trailed along to listen.

The fires had died to glowing embers, and, when we climbed up behind the boulder, we could see little except the dark mouth of the cavern. A cold gust of air touched our faces. Shamil bade us stand, while he went forward to speak to al-Khimar concerning us. I looked up at the stars, above the black wall of the cliff, and envied the Bedouins in their blankets by the river.

W'allahi! It is written that no man knoweth what the next moment will bring to him. I thought of many things, but not of what happened now. Shamil had vanished into the darkness, and I strained my ears in vain, hearing only the coughing and shuffling of the tribesmen who had lingered by the boulder.

Then I beheld a tiny spot of light that danced on the rock wall of the cavern. It vanished, and a soft glow was cast upon the arched roof, slowly moving toward us. I stared at it like a sheep. Mahabat Khan moved beside me. Steel slithered faintly through leather.

The flickering glow came nearly over us, when suddenly a glaring light shone full into my eyes.

The light was from a copper lantern held in a man's hand. I could see the hand and the long sleeve, but little else, for the frame of the lantern was so wrought that it threw its illumination only in front. In such shadow and at such a moment the eyes seize upon a little thing, a familiar thing. I was sure that I noticed Shamil's curling beard. I think he had brought the lantern from elsewhere and wrapped it in a soft blanket, because presently my toes caught in a loose cloth upon the rock floor. But at that moment my ears were filled by a high-pitched shout-the voice of al-Khimar.

"Spies! These twain be spies, sent by the men of Kandahar. Slay them, ye men of the hills!"

The voice came from behind Shamil, and I thought that verily this was a prophet of true words. One instant's sight of our faces, and he had cried out at us. The hair prickled on my scalp, and I put my hand to my sword hilt.

It was the part of Mahabat Khan to act now; he was the leader, his the responsibility. I did not need to wait the space of quickly drawn breath to see what he meant to do. Before the light shone upon us, he had drawn his blade, and now he slashed at Shamil behind the lantern.

The watcher of the Veiled One caught the glimmer of steel descending and sprang back. Mahabat Khan was after him like a panther, and Shamil ran to the side of the cavern, the light swinging wildly. Eh, Shamil bleated like a sheep, and I ran in to corner him. Nay, I should have remained at the edge of the cavern!

Mahabat Khan whirled suddenly away, flinging over his shoulder a command to me to finish the redbeard. I heard his saber grate against steel, and then the dish-clash-clank of many blades striking together.

Shamil was like a rat, slipping this way and that, evading me. He drew and flung a knife that ripped through a fold of my headcloth, the guard scratching my ear. Darting past me, he ran out of the mouth of the cavern, close to the rock.

I saw then that Mahabat Khan had taken his stand in the entrance of the cavern. His sweeping blade barely missed Shamil. But four Pathans were pressing in upon him, Artaban roaring his war shout, the foremost of them.

My eyes searched the cavern for a glimpse of al-Khimar, but in vain. He had vanished. And yet I saw one thing that was most precious. The beam of the lantern, which Shamil had dropped, struck against a cleft in the rock wall at the back of the cavern. I saw that the cleft was wide enough for a man to pass through and that the ground lay upward within it.

Mahabat Khan was engaged too closely with the four hillmen to withdraw. The mouth of the grotto was perhaps seven paces wide, and they were trying to slip past him to take him from the sides. Verily, the Sirdar seemed to be two men, bending from side to side, parrying and slashing with an arm of steel. With a quick thrust and snap of the blade he disarmed one of the Pathans. Nay, he did not cry out his name or make any plea for mercy.

It would have been easier to check a wolf pack by prayers. I made up my mind to join him and fall, if need be, with a weapon in hand, when Artaban began to shout at his companions to stand clear.

"Aside ye dogs! I will make trial of him, and the Veiled One shall see his blood run."

The Pathans to right and left of the one-eyed chieftain gave back, and Artaban sprang at Mahabat Khan alone. Between the faint glow of the outer fires and the radiance of the lantern their figures loomed half seen-tall forms that swayed forward and back while steel grated shrilly. Eh, it lasted no more than a moment.

Artaban slashed fiercely and the Sirdar caught the descending blade upon his hand guard. The steel snapped and flew against the rock. Artaban bent low and drew from his girdle a long pistol. Stepping back swiftly, he pulled at the trigger and the flint snapped down.

Many times have I seen such weapons snap without roaring, yet fortune favored the Yuzufi, for the pistol bellowed. I heard the bullet flatten itself somewhere upon the rock, and Mahabat Khan suffered no hurt at all, while black smoke swirled through all the cavern.

"Back!" I cried to him, seizing this instant of quiet, while the Pathans were peering into the smoke. "Here-"

He turned and ran toward me, and I snatched up the lantern. To light his way-there was no time for talk or hesitation-I ran into the cleft, finding it so narrow that the sides brushed my shoulders.

The ground was firm beneath me, and the lantern showed the marks of many footprints. For perhaps ten lance lengths I went up, the crevice growing wider, until I stood within a second rock chamber.

"Set the light down-there!" Mahabat Khan pointed with his sword tip, and took his stand at one side of the entrance.

Before doing as he commanded I turned the light in all directions. The walls were of the same red stone, ridged and crumbling, as the outer cliffs, yet darker. Space and darkness lay above us, and I saw no end to this place. Near my feet lay several blankets, a water jar and the stained leaves of a Koran. In truth we had come to the nest of al-Khimar-a place of cold and darkness.

"Good!" laughed Mahabat Khan, breathing a little quickly.

When I had listened to the muttering of the Pathans in the outer cavern, I whispered to him that it would be better to go away. Shamil was urging them to follow us, and Artaban and others were grumbling. Verily, their fear of al-Khimar served us well, because the hillmen were reluctant to enter the cleft where the dim light showed. We had vanished in the smoke; they had no love of this maw of the cliff. In a little while Shamil might persuade them to go forward, perhaps by leading them.

"We can hold this corridor," the Sirdar mused.

"And gain what?" I asked. "Nay, without water or food, it would avail us nothing."

He considered and nodded.

"Is there a way out?"

"God alone knows. Let us go and see."

After looking down the passage, he felt in his girdle and drew out a little wooden tube, the same in which Baki had sealed his message. He looked at it and tossed it down the cleft. "A bone for Shamil to gnaw on! Come!"

Picking up the lantern he shook it close to his ear to hear how much oil might be in it. Then he grinned and strode back into the depths of the cavern, I following. It was needful to go quickly or not at all.

It was a strange path, that in the belly of the mountain. Indeed, it seemed to be no path at all, but a goat's track that squeezed through rock walls and ascended from ledge to ledge, and once ran along a bridge of stone over a crevice that had no bottom at all. Here the air rushed up, and the flame of the lantern flickered and died down, so that I breathed not until Mahabat Khan sheltered it in a niche between two boulders.

He said that water had made this passage through the heart of the mountain, and showed me how the surface of the rock was worn, and how the very boulders were round and smooth.

At times we were forced to quest about and choose among many passages. The thought came to me that we might have chosen wrongly, and were lost in this cursed place; but Mahabat Khan was only concerned about the oil in the lantern, lest it fail and leave us in darkness. We were walking swiftly through a long corridor when a thought came to me.

"Bism'allah! The Veiled One must have gone before us."

Mahabat Khan looked at me. "Eh, Daril, I wonder if Shamil is not the prophet? Hast thou seen the two, at the same moment?"

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