by Harold Lamb
She was a child of fourteen, slender and delicate of face with a mass of dark hair that descended over her shoulders. The small, olive face that turned up at the Cossack was frightened. So it was that Khlit met the girl Kerula, child of Mir Turek, whose mother, a Kallmark slave, was dead.
“Eh, little sparrow,” chuckled Khlit, patting the girl's hair, “I will not hurt you. Tell your master, Mir Turek, the shrewd merchant, that Khlit, called the Wolf, is come to his house.”
He seated himself on the rugs the girl had left. No sooner had he done so than she approached shyly and began to tug at one of his heavy, boots.
“Truly, lord,” she said softly, “when a lord is drunk it is hard to take off his high shoes. Yet I would show honor to the one who comes to buy me. Such is the will of my master, Mir Turek, who can cheat better than any other merchant of Samarkand.”
“In the house of a stranger, little daughter, they must slay me before my boots can be taken off, or my sword from my side.” Khlit threw back his shaggy, white-haired head, with a roar of laughter that startled the girl. “So, I have come to buy you? Nay, devil take it, I have come for some ivory trinkets.”
“I did not know, lord,” the girl drew back and Khlit saw that she was trembling. “Mir Turek said that he would sell me, and that I should comb my hair, for men would come to look at me and feel my limbs. They have never seen my face in the streets of Samarkand, yet Mir Turek told Fogan Ultai, chief of the servants, that I would bring the price of two good horses. Fogan Ultai doubted, and for that Mir Turek beat me. Then Fogan Ultai struck me on the ears to ease his honor—”
A sound of shuffling steps caused the child to break off in alarm. Mir Turek stood before them, scowling.
“Chatterer! Slanderer of your master! Be off to the slaves' quarters. This is a Cossack lord, not a buyer of slaves, Kerula. Leave us.”
The girl slipped from the room, and a smile replaced the scowl on the merchant's face as he seated himself by Khlit. The Cossack considered him in silence. He had never seen a man who resembled Mir Turek. The man's eyes slanted even more than those of a Turkoman; his black hair was straight, instead of curly, and his hands were long and carefully kept. The merchant proffered a cup of wine from an ebony stand, but Khlit shook his head.
“The Turkomans say,” said Khlit grimly, “that when a sword is drawn, no excuse is needed. I have come for the trinkets, not wine.”
“Yet I am no Turkoman,” smiled Mir Turek, and his voice purred. “See, it is written that he who drinks from the cup need have no care. Can you read the words on the cup? The language is like that on your sword.”
“Nay, it looks as if a dog had scratched it,” responded the Cossack idly.
He could not read in books, but he was wise in the language of men's faces and he knew that Mir Turek had more in his mind than he spoke.
“Here is the money, I will take the trinkets.”
He nodded at where the elephants stood on an ebony cabinet, but Mir Turek held up one hand.
“The men of Samarkand are fools—Usbeks—and are fit only to be slaves. The chief of my slaves, Fogan Ultai, has told me that there is a story in the bazaars that you are Khlit, the Cossack who outwitted Tal Taulai Khan, leader of the Golden Horde, and that your sword is as much to be feared as that of Kaidu, the warrior of the Tatars. Truly, I see that you are a man of valor. I have need of such a man.”
“Aye, I am Khlit. Men call me the Wolf. Say what is on your mind, Mir Turek. The short word is best, if it is the truth.”
Mir Turek's eyes half-closed. Through the narrowed lids they rested on Khlit's sword.
“Before the star Ortu descends from its zenith,” he said slowly, “I am going from Samarkand to Karakorum, in the land of the
Tatars far to the north. The journey will be over the mountains that these fools call the Roof of the World, past Kashgar, to the Great Desert of Gobi. There is no one in Samarkand who will go with me, yet the journey is not difficult, for my grandfather's father came over the route from Karakorum to Samarkand.” “Aye,” said Khlit.
“I need a man who will lead the Turkomans who go with me, as guard,” pursued the other. “There are robbers in the Roof of the World and by the borders of the Great Desert the Tatar tribes fight among themselves, for Tal Taulai Khan is dead and the Jun-gar fight with the Kallmarks and the Boron-gar with both.
“The home of my family is in Altur Haiten, by the mountains of Khantai Khan. But the journey to the North is perilous, and I need a leader of fighting men. I am learned in the knowledge of books and trade, but I cannot wield a sword. The name of Khlit, the Wolf, will protect my caravan.”
“Aye,” said Khlit. Something in his tone caused Mir Turek to glance at him sharply.
“Will you come to Karakorum, lord?” he asked. “Name what price you ask. It will be paid. As a pledge, take, without payment the twin elephants.”
“I will come,” said Khlit, “when your tongue has learned to speak the truth, Mir Turek. Truly, I am not a fool, like these of Samarkand. An Usbek chief could lead your men, and for little pay. My name is not known north of the Roof of the World. Cease these lies, Mir Turek—I like them little.”
The slant eyes of the merchant closed, and he folded his arms into his long sleeves. He was silent for a space as if listening, and as he listened a change came over his face. Khlit heard the sound, too, a low murmur in an adjoining room. Mir Turek got to his feet without noise and vanished in the direction of the sound. Khlit waited watchfully, but in a moment the merchant reappeared, dragging Kerula by the arm. The girl's brown eyes were filled with tears.
“Busybody! One without honor!” He flung the slender form of the slave girl on the rugs, and planted his slippered toes in her ribs. “Blessed is the day when I can sell you and be bothered no longer by tears. Did I not say the lord was not a buyer of women? Fogan Ultai shall reward you for listening.”
The girl sobbed quietly, rolling over to escape the assault of Mir Turek's broad feet. Khlit watched in silence. She was the merchant's property, and he was entitled to do with her as he chose. Still, the sight was not pleasant. Mir Turek continued his imprecations, mingled with promises that Kerula would be sold without fail, on the morrow. Khlit touched the girl's hair as if admiring its fine texture.
“Harken, Kerula,” he said. “Is there no young Turkoman who looks upon you with favor and who would please you for a master?”
“Nay, lord,” sobbed the girl, withdrawing beyond the merchant's reach, “why should I like a Turkoman? Without doubt, they are shaggy as mountain sheep.”
“She cannot come to Karakorum,” put in Mir Turek. “The journey through the mountains is too hard, and she would die, without profit to me.”
Khlit regarded his black pipe thoughtfully. It was long since he had seen the fresh face and clear eyes of a child. He reached into his wallet and drew out the coins he had offered for the elephants. These he laid before Mir Turek.
“You have named a price for the girl, Mir Turek,” he said, “the price of two horses. Here it is. I will buy the child.”
The merchant's slant eyes gleamed at sight of the gold, but he shook his head dubiously.
“I could get a better price in the bazaars. What do you want with the girl, Cossack? She cannot come on the journey.”
Khlit's beard wrinkled in a snarl.
“Take the money for the girl, Mir Turek. I will take Kerula. Nay, she will not come with us, one-without-understanding!” Turning to the slave, Khlit's tone softened. “Tomorrow, Kerula, you can beat the back of Fogan Ultai with a stick, for I will watch. Go where you will in Samarkand, for you are free. I have bought you of Mir Turek. And I say to go where you will.”
The girl gazed at him wide-eyed. As if to convince herself she had heard aright she put out her hand and touched the Cossack's coat. The latter, however, took no more notice of her.
II
Khlit had said that Mir Turek lied. It was then that the merchant told Khlit the true cause of his jour
ney to Karakorum. And this tale was strange, strange beyond belief. It was the fruit of Mir Turek's reading, and the tale of the Leo Tung astrologer who had gone, with Mir Turek's grandfather's father, to the mountains of Khantai Khan, to the tomb of Genghis Khan.
Yet in spite of the strangeness of the tale, Khlit did not say this time that Mir Turek lied. In Khlit's veins was the blood of the Cossack Tartar folk who had ruled the empire of the steppe and taken treasure from their enemies. He wondered, but did not speak his thoughts.
It was a tale that began with the death of Genghis Khan, called the Master of the Earth, and ended with the death of Mir Turek's ancestor and the Leo Tung man from the vapor that lay among the trees of Khantai Khan. It was about a treasure such as Khlit had not thought existed in the world, the treasure of Genghis Khan.
There came a time, said Mir Turek, when the Mighty Man-slayer paused in his conquest of the world. The beast Kotwan appeared to Genghis Khan in a vision, and the ruler of the Tatar horde which had subjugated the world from Khorassan to Zi-pangu, and from Lake Baikal to the furthest city of Persia, returned home to die. Genghis Khan was wiser than all other rulers. Knowing that he was dying, he gave orders that peace be made with his worthiest foes, the Chinese of Tangut and Sung, and that his death should not be disclosed. When his body was carried to the tomb in the mountains of Khantai, twenty thousand persons were slain to keep him company to the shades of the Teneri, among them those who built the tomb. So said the astrologer of Leo Tung. Thus none could say they had seen the spot where the Master of the Earth lay in the grip of the Angel of Death.
Twenty thousand souls accompanied Genghis Khan on his journey to the Teneri, and the treasure, spoils of a thousand cities, was placed in his tomb. This tomb was unmolested by the Tatars, until the coming of Leo Tung, who was a Chinaman and dared to look on the dead face of the leader of the Horde. Leo Tung had found the spot in the forests of Khantai Khan with Mir Turek's ancestor. They had passed the gate of the Kukukon River; they had passed the Onon Muren; they had seen the starlight gleam on the Bearers of Wealth.
They had seen the treasure of Genghis Khan, said Mir Turek, his eyes gleaming as with fever, but the mists of Khantai Khan had closed around them. Mir Turek did not know just why they had left the tomb. He knew that a great fear came on them and they fled. The Leo Tung man had died very quickly, and the other went from the Khantai Khan region to Samarkand.
Before he died he had told his son the way to the tomb of Genghis Khan. And so the tale had come to Mir Turek. The merchant of Samarkand knew that a change had taken place in the Tatar people. Their power had been broken by the Chinese shortly after the death of Genghis Khan. With the assistance of Khlit, he might enter the tomb and find the treasure of Genghis Khan, Master of the Earth and leader of the Golden Horde.
Aye, said Mir Turek softly, he was a scholar, but he had searched in books for the wealth of Genghis Khan. There was the tale of Chakar Noyon, gylong, which told of the tomb. Chakar Noyon, being a priest, had said that the Onon Muren or spirits of the slain twenty thousand guarded the tomb; that was an idle story. Mir Turek did not believe it.
Nevertheless, when the other had finished, Khlit asked himself why the fathers of Mir Turek had not sought for the tomb of Genghis Khan. He found the answer in the fever that burned in the other's eyes and the restless movements of the white hands. Mir Turek felt in his heart a great fear of what he was to do, and this fear had been his fathers'.
Khlit was not the man to shrink from seizing gold. Even the gold of the tomb of Genghis Khan. Yet, with his desire for gold was mingled delight at the thought of returning to the steppe that had been his home, even in another part of the world.
III
Thus it happened that Khlit began the journey which was to take him over the mountains called the Roof of the World, above Ladak, or Tibet, north of Kashgar, past Issyuk Kul and Son Kul, the twin lakes of the clouds, to the desert of Gobi.
Concerning this journey and its ending there are few who believe the story of Khlit. Yet the Cossack was not the man to say what was not so for love of the telling. And there is the book of Chakar Noyon, to be found in one of the Samarkand mosques, and the annals of the chronicler of Hang-Hi, the great general of the Son of Heaven. Truly, belief is, after all, the fancy of the hearer and only the fool is proud of his ignorance.
When the sun gilded the top of the ruins of Bibi Khanum, the followers of Mir Turek had pitched their felt tents on the slope of Chupan Ata, on the way to the Syr River. Already the heat of the Samarkand valley had been replaced by the cool winds of the mountains and Khlit was glad to don his old sheepskin coat. He looked around with some satisfaction at the camp.
Mir Turek's following consisted of a dozen Turkomans and Fogan Ultai, master of the slaves. These had placed their tents in a circle beside the donkeys, the pack animals of the expedition.
Khlit's leadership had already instilled discipline into the sturdy but independent followers. Two stood as sentries near the caravan path. The Turkomans had tried rebellion against the Cossack, and had learned why he was called the Wolf. Fogan Ultai, however, as the servant of Mir Turek, was not under Khlit's orders. Twice during the day the leader of the slaves had refused obedience and Mir Turek had upheld him.
Fogan Ultai was a small man, pale in face, with dark hair like his master's, and the same slant eyes. Khlit did not like the man, who was watchful and silent, speaking occasionally to Mir Turek in a tongue the Cossack did not understand. As long as Fogan Ultai did not interfere with his authority over the Turkomans, Khlit was willing to leave the other in peace.
It was after the evening meal, and Khlit was smoking his pipe in front of the tent he had pitched for himself. He sat with his back to the tent, his sword over his knees, watchful of what went on. In the twilight gloom he could make out the figures of the men throwing dice by a fire.
Suddenly Khlit took his pipe from his mouth. He made no other movement, but his tall figure stiffened to alertness and his keen eyes searched the gloom. A shadow had appeared, slipping from tent to tent, making no sound. And the sentries had not given warning.
The shadow paused in front of him, and Khlit's hand went to his sword. The form approached him, and a small figure cast itself at his feet. A pair of white hands clasped his boots.
“Lord, you are my master—be merciful,” the voice of Kerula came out of the darkness. “Lord, do not kick me, because I followed after you on a donkey that was lame, so it was not taken with the others, and slipped past the men who are watching. I followed because you would have sent me back if I had come sooner. But my hunger is very great now, and I am cold.”
Khlit reached out his rough hand and took the girl by the shoulder. Kerula's white face looked up into his. He could feel the girl's warm breath against his cheek.
“I said you could not come, Kerula,” he replied gruffly. “Why do you seek the hardship of the journey? It is no path for a girl. There are gallants in Samarkand who would buy you flowers and slaves—”
“Nay, lord. I am afraid of the men of Samarkand. I have no master but you, Khlit, lord. The others would bring shame on me, the women say. I will follow after the caravan, truly, on the lame donkey, and you will not know I am there. Perhaps I can prepare your food, or clean the mud from your boots. Do not let them send me to Samarkand.”
Khlit shook his head, and the child gave a soft wail of distress. “The way is too hard,” he said. “The men will give you food, but tomorrow—”
The girl rose from her knees, with bowed head.
“You are my lord, and you send me to the bazaars of Samarkand. I have no home. If you would let me follow, I would sleep with your horse, and bring your wine cups, until we reach the land where Genghis Khan rules. My mother, before she died, told me of the land.”
Khlit raised his head in surprise at the girl's speech. Before he could answer a shadow appeared beside Kerula, and Fogan Ultai's soft voice spoke.
“Get back where you came from, Kerula, or your
palms will be well whipped! You have heard the word of the Cossack lord. Our master, Mir Turek, would let you off less easily if he knew you were here.”
The master of the slaves caught the child roughly and shook her. She clasped his hand and sank her teeth into it viciously. Fogan Ultai gave a cry of pain. As he lifted his free hand to strike the girl she sprang free defiantly.
“Mir Turek shall know of this, offspring of the low-born,” hissed the servant. “You say you have had no food for a day. Good! You will pray to me for food before you shall leave the camp.” “Who gave you authority, Fogan Ultai,” said Khlit, “to give orders in the camp? If I say the child shall eat, you will bring her food.”
“I?” Fogan Ultai shivered as if with cold. “I am no slave, and my caste—” he broke off—“nay, I heard you say she was to go, Khlit.”
“I said that the men would give her food. You have keen ears, Fogan Ultai. Since you have come, like a dog at the scent of a carcass, you may bring the food to Kerula. She is hungry.”
“Mir Turek would not allow that to come to pass, Khlit,” the other's voice was smooth and sibilant. “He knows it is not for such as I to bring food, or for a Cossack to give me orders—” Fogan Ultai's speech ended in a strangling gasp. Khlit had risen from his sitting posture, and as he rose his heavy fist crashed into the other's face. Fogan Ultai lay on the ground, his arms moving slowly, half-stunned. Slowly he got to his feet, staggering. The girl drew in her breath sharply and shrank back.
“Cossack,” Fogan Ultai mumbled, for blood was in his mouth, “the girl is yours and if it is your wish—she shall eat. But a man is a fool who seeks an enemy. Let another bring the food.”
“I said you, Fogan Ultai, not another.”
The attendant was silent for a moment. He felt his injured face tenderly. Khlit waited for the flash of a dagger or the hiss of an imprecation but Fogan Ultai was silent. Surely, Khlit thought, he was a strange man.