Flying Legion
Page 38
CHAPTER XXXVIII
BARA MIYAN, HIGH PRIEST
The crash of six machine-guns clattered into a chattering tumult,muzzles pointed high over the heads of the Jannati Shahr men. Up intothe still, hot air jetted vicious spurts of flame.
The Legion's answer lasted but a minute. As the trays of blanks becameempty, the tumult ceased.
Silence fell, strangely heavy after all that uproar. This silencelengthened impressively, with the massed horsemen on one side, theLegionaries on the other. Between them stretched a clear green spaceof turf. Behind loomed the vast bulk of _Nissr_, scarred, battle-worn,but powerful. Away in the distance, the glinting golden wallsshimmered across the plain; and over all the Arabian sun glowed downas if a-wonder at this scene surpassing strange.
Forward stepped the Master, with a word to Leclair to follow him butto stand a little in the rear. The old Sheik dismounted; and followedby another graybeard, likewise advanced. When the distance was butabout eight feet between them, both halted. Silence continued, brokenonly by the dull drone of one engine still running on board the ship,by the creaking of saddle-leather, the whinny of a barb.
Lithe, powerful, alert, with his cap held over his heart, the Masterstood there peering from under his thick, dark brows at the agedSheik. A lean-faced old man the Sheik was, heavily bearded with white,his brows snowy, his eyes a hawk's, and the fine aquilinity of hisnose the hallmark of pure Arab blood.
Hard as iron he looked, gravely observing, unabashed in face of thesewhite strangers and of this mysterious flying house. The very spiritof the Arabian sun seemed to have been caught in his gleaming eyes, toglitter there, to reflect its pride, its ardor. He reminded one of afalcon, untamed, untamable. And his dress, its colors distinguishinghim from the mass of his followers, still further proclaimed the rankhe occupied.
His cherchia of jade-green silk was bound with a _ukal_, or filletof camel's-hair; his burnous, also silk, showed tenderest shades oflavender and rose. Under its open folds could be seen a violet jacketwith buttons of filigree ivory. He had handed his gun to the manbehind him, and now was unarmed save for a _gadaymi_, or semicircularknife, thrust into his silk sash of crimson, with frayed edges.
A leather bandolier, wonderfully tooled and filled with cartridges,passed over his right shoulder to his left hip. His feet, high-archedand fine of line, were naked save for silk-embroidered _babooshes_.
The Master realized, as he gazed on this extraordinary old man, whosedignity was such that even the bizarre _melange_ of colors could notdetract from it, that he was beholding a very different type of Arabfrom any he yet had come in contact with.
The aged Sheik salaamed. The Master returned the salutation, thencovered himself and saluted smartly. In a deep, grave voice the oldman said:
"_A'hla wasa'halan_!" (Be ye welcome!)
"_Bikum_!" (I give thee thanks!) replied the Master.
"In Allah's name, who are ye?"
"Franks," the Master said, vastly relieved at this unexpected amity.Strange contrast with the violent hostility heretofore experienced!What might it mean? What might be hidden beneath this quiet surface?
Relief and anxiety mingled in the Master's mind. If treachery wereintended, in just this manner would it speak.
"Men of Feringistan?" asked the aged Sheik. "And what do ye here?"
"We be fighting-men, all," replied the Master. He had already noted,with a thrill of admiration, the wondrous purity of the old man'sArabic. His use of final vowels after the noun, and his rejection ofthe pronoun, which apocope in the Arabic verb renders necessary inthe everyday speech of the people, told the Master he was listeningto some archaic, uncorrupted form of the language. Here indeed wasnobility of blood, breed, speech, if anywhere!
"Fighting-men, all," the Master repeated, while Leclair listenedwith keen enjoyment and the Legion stood attentive, with thewhite-burnoused horsemen giving ear to every word--astonished, nodoubt, to hear Arabic speech from the lips of an unbeliever. "We havetraveled far, from the Lands of the Books. Is it not meritorious, OSheik? Doth not thy Prophet himself say: 'Voyaging is victory, and hewho journeyeth not is both ignorant and blind?"'
The old man pondered a moment, then fell to stroking his beard. Theact was friendly, and of good portent. He murmured:
"I see, O Frank, that thou hast read the Strong Book. Thou dost knowour law, even though thou be from Feringistan. What is thy name?"
"Men know me only as The Master. And thine?"
"_Bara Miyan_ (The Great Sir), nothing more."
"Dost thou wish us well?" the Master put a leading question.
"_Kull'am antum bil khair_!" (May ye be well, every year!) said theold Sheik. The Master sensed a huge relief. Undoubtedly--hard as thiswas to understand, and much as it contradicted Rrisa's prediction--theattitude of these Jannati Shahr folk was friendly. Unless, indeed,all this meant ambush. But to look into those grave, deep eyes, tosee that furrowed countenance of noble, straight-forward uprightness,seemed to negative any such suspicion.
"We have come to bring ye wondrous gifts," the Master volunteered,wanting to strike while the iron was hot.
"That is well," assented Bara Miyan. "But never before have the Frankscome to this center of the Empty Abodes."
"Even Allah had to say 'Be!' before anything was!" (_i.e._, there mustbe a first time for everything).
This answer, pat from a favorite verse of the Koran, greatly pleasedBara Miyan. He smiled gravely, and nodded.
"Allah made all men," he affirmed. "Mayhap the Franks and we bebrothers. Have ye come by way of Mecca?"
"Yea. And sorry brotherhood did the Mecca men offer us, O Sheik! So,too, the men of Beni Harb. Together, they slew five of us. But we befighting-men, Bara Miyan. We took a great vengeance. All that tribeof Beni Harb we brushed with the wing of Azrael, save only the GreatApostate. And from the men of the 'Navel of the World'--Mecca--weexacted greater tribute than even death!"
The Master's voice held a quiet menace that by no means escaped BaraMiyan. Level-eyed, he gazed at the white man. Then he advanced twopaces, and in a low voice demanded:
"Abd el Rahman still lives?"
"He lives, Bara Miyan."
"Where is the Great Apostate?"
"In our flying house, a prisoner."
"_Bismillah_! Deliver him unto me, and thy people and mine shall be asbrothers!"
"First let us share the salt!"
Speaking, the Master slid his hand into the same pocket that containedthe Great Pearl Star, and took out a small bag of salt. This heopened, and held out. Bara Miyan likewise felt in a recess of hismany-hued burnous. For a moment he hesitated as if about to bring outsomething. But he only shook his head.
"The salt--not yet, O White Sheik!" said he.
"We have brought thy people precious gifts," began the Master, again.Behind him he heard an impatient whisper--the major's voice, quiveringwith eagerness:
"Ask him if this place is really all gold! Faith, if I could only talktheir lingo! Ask him!"
"I shall place you under arrest, if you interfere again," the Masterretorted, without turning round.
"What saith the White Sheik?" asked Bara Miyan, hearing the strangewords of a language his ears never before had listened to.
"Only prayer in my own tongue, Bara Miyan. A prayer that thine andmine may become _akhawat_"[1]
[Footnote 1: Friends bound by an oath to an offensive and defensivealliance.]
"Deliver unto me Abd el Rahman, and let thine _imams_ (priests) workstronger magic than mine," said the old Sheik with great deliberation,"and I will accept thy gifts and we will say: '_Nahnu malihin_!' (Wehave eaten salt together!) And I will make thee gifts greater than thygifts to me, O White Sheik. Then thou and thine can fly away to thineown country, and bear witness that there be Arabs who do not love toslay the Feringi, but count all men as brethren.
"But if thou wilt not deliver Abd el Rahman to me, or test thy magicagainst my magic, then depart now, in peace, before the setting of thesun. I have spo
ken!"
"Take him at his word, my Captain!" murmured Leclair. "We can get nobetter terms. Even these are a miracle!"
"My opinion, exactly," replied the Master, still facing Bara-Miyan,who had now stepped back a few paces and was flanked by two hugeArabs, in robes hardly less chromatic, who had silently advanced.
"I accept," decided the Master. He turned, ordered Enemark andL'Heureux to fetch out the Apostate, and then remained quietlywaiting. Silence fell on both sides, for a few minutes. The Arabs,for the most part, remained staring at _Nissr_, to them no doubt thegreatest miracle imaginable. Still, minds trained to believe inthe magic carpet of Sulayman and quite virgin of any knowledge ofmachinery, could easily account for the airship's flying by means of_jinnee_ concealed in its entrails.
As for the Legionaries, their attention was divided between thestrange white host, still sitting astride those high-necked,slim-barreled Nedj horses, and the luring glimmer of the golden walls.In a few minutes, however, all attention on both sides was sharplydrawn by the return of the two Legionaries with the Apostate.
Without ado, the lean, wild man of the Sahara was led, in wrinkledburnous, with disheveled hair, wild eyes, and an expression ofhelpless despair, to where the Master stood. At sight of the massedhorsemen, the grassy plain--a sight never yet beheld by him--and thedistant golden, glimmering walls, a look of desperation flashed intohis triple-scarred face.
The whole experience of the past days had been a Jehannum ofincomprehensible terrors. Now that the climax was at hand, strengthnearly deserted him even to stand. But the proud Arab blood in himflared up again as he was thrust forward, confronting Bara Miyan. Hishead snapped up, his eyes glittered like a caged eagle's, the fine,high nostrils dilated; and there he stood, captive but unbeaten, proudeven in this hour of death.
Bara Miyan made no great speaking. All he asked was:
"Art thou, indeed, that Shaytan called Abd el Rahman, the Reviler?"
The desert Sheik nodded with arrogant admission.
Bara Miyan turned and clapped his hands. Out from among the horsementwo gigantic black fellows advanced. Neither one was Arab, though nodoubt they spoke the tongue. Their features were Negroid, of an EastAfrican type.
The dress they wore distinguished them from all the others. They hadneither _tarboosh_ nor burnous, but simply red fezes; tight sleevelessshirts of striped stuff, and trousers of Turkish cut. Their feet werebare.
Strange enough figures they made, black as coal, muscled likeHercules, and towering well toward seven feet, with arms and hands inwhich the sinews stood out like living welts. Their faces expressedneither intelligence nor much ferocity. Submission to Bara Miyan'swill marked their whole attitude.
"Sa'ad," commanded Bara Miyan, "seest thou this dog?"
"Master, I see," answered one of the gigantic blacks, speaking with astrange, thick accent.
"Lead him away, thou and Musa. He was brought us by these _zawwar_(visitors). Thy hands and Musa's are strong. Remember, no drop ofblood must be shed in El Barr.[1] But let not the dog see another sun.I have spoken."
[Footnote 1: Literally "The Plain." This name, no doubt, originallyapplied only to the vast inner space surrounded by the Iron Mountains,seems to have come to be that of Jannati Shahr itself, when spokenof by its inhabitants. El Barr is probably the secret name that Rrisawould not divulge.]
The gigantic executioner--the strangler--named Sa'ad, seized Abd elRahman by the right arm. Musa, his tar-hued companion, gripped him bythe left. Never a word uttered the Apostate as he was led away throughthe horsemen. But he gave one backward look, piercing and strange, atthe Master who had thus delivered him to death--a look that, for allthe White Sheik's aplomb, strangely oppressed him.
Then the horsemen closed about the two Maghrabi, or East Africans,and about their victim. Abd el Rahman, the Great Apostate, as a livingman, had forever passed from the sight of the Flying Legion.
His departure, in so abrupt and deadly simple a manner, gave theMaster some highly conflicting thoughts. The fact that no blood wasever to be shed in this city had reassuring aspects. On the otherhand, how many of these Maghrabi stranglers did Bara Miyan keep as astanding army? A Praetorian guard of men with gorilla-hands like thetwo already seen might, in a close corner, prove more formidable thanmen armed with the archaic firearms of the place or with cold steel.
A sensation of considerable uneasiness crept over the Master as hepondered the huge strength and docility of these two executioners.It was only by reflecting that the renegade Sheik would gladly havemurdered the whole Legion, and that now (by a kind of poetic justice)he had been delivered back into the hands of the Sunnites he had solong defied and outraged, that the Master could smooth his consciencefor having done this thing.
The direct, efficient way, however, in which Bara Miyan dealt with oneheld as an enemy, urged the Master to press forward the ceremony ofgiving and taking salt.
At all hazards, safeguards against attack must be taken. Once more theMaster addressed Bara Miyan:
"_Effendi_! Our gifts are great to thee and thine. Great, also, is ourmagic. Let thine _imams_ do their magic, and we ours. If the magicof El Barr exceeds ours, we will depart without exchange of gifts. Ifours exceeds thine, then let the salt be in our stomachs, all for all,and let the gifts be exchanged!
"Thy magic against our magic! Say, O Sheik, dost thou dare accept thatchallenge?"
The old man's head came up sharply. His eyes gleamed with intensepride and confidence.
"The magic of the unbelievers against that of the People of theGarment!" (Moslems!) cried he. "_Bismillah_! To the testing of themagic!"