by Harold Lamb
“A curse upon your quaverings, dogs,” he growled. “String the old man up by his thumbs, and take the knife from the hunter. He is overquick to use it.”
“Nay,” Atagon responded at once. “There is no charm, save the wrath of God upon the despoiler. But have a care what you do, Tatar. There is one whom you may offend.”
“Where?” The khan glanced idly about the chamber. “I see him not, unless you mean yon Gurd of the scowling brow. He will make good eating for the leopards, Chagan.”
“Not he,” responded Atagon. The patriarch pointed to Khlit who was watching moodily. “The Kha Khan has not said that you may take these things. They belong not to me, but to God. Have a fear what you do, Khan, for your master knows the name of God.”
All eyes were fixed on Khlit. Gurd folded his arms and glanced at the intruders blackly. He had not forgotten it was his doing that they came here, in Khlit's tracks. The girl clasped her hands in silent appeal.
Chepe Buga's face bore a look of sincere astonishment. He cared nothing for the deities of the shamans, or for others. It had not occurred to him that Khlit would hesitate to seize the treasure. Had the Kha Khan not promised he would do so?
“Speak, Khlit, lord,” he cried, “and bid us close the mouth of this long-robed conjurer with a sword. Then he will trouble us no more.”
But Khlit was silent. It had been long since he had seen a cross other than the one he wore around his neck, or the candles burning before an icon. He had been a wanderer, far from the Church. Yet he knew that his faith was alive in his heart. To refuse Chepe Buga and his companions permission to take the treasure of Changa Nor would mean protest, discontent, a weakening of the small force of Tatars which was still at his command. It would be hard, even dangerous. He had given his word that the treasure of Changa Nor would be theirs before he knew its nature. How was he to do otherwise?
“Remember your promise, O Kha Khan,” the voice of the shaman cried from the group at the door.
Khlit whipped out his sword on the instant. “Bring me that knave!” he cried.
The Tatar warriors turned, but the shaman had slipped away into the shadows of the outer chamber. They returned empty-handed after a hurried search through the castle.
“Such words are spoken by cowards,” said Khlit grimly. “I love not to be told to keep my word. Did I not keep my promise when I led the khans against Hang-Hi at Altai Haiten? Was not my word true when I brought you to the army of Li Jusong? Speak!”
“Aye, lord,” cried Chagan's deep voice. “It was true.”
“What I have sworn,” said Khlit, “I will carry out.”
He sheathed his sword. Stepping to Chepe Buga's side he replaced the emerald cross on the altar of the shrine. The Tatars watched him in silence. Atagon closed his eyes as if in prayer. Khlit faced his men, his back to the shrine. His shaggy brows were close knitted in thought.
“Harken, warriors of the Jun-gar,” he growled. “What did I say to you by the shore of Changa Lake? I promised that the castle should be taken without bloodshed. Have we not done so? I said it would be ours when the lake was coated with ice. Is it not covered with ice today?”
“Aye, but you promised us the treasure, Khlit, lord,” spoke one of the men respectfully.
Khlit's keen eye flashed, and he tapped his sword angrily. “And is not the treasure ours?” he asked. Gurd made an angry movement, but Atagon motioned him back. “We have it in our hands. Nay, I will tell you more. It was decided in the kurultai that we would use the money to buy back our lands from the Kallmark invaders. That would not be wise. I thought so at the time, and now I will speak my reason. Who would buy back what is theirs—save a whipped slave? If we pay the treasure to the Kallmarks, they will be back next Summer for more.”
“Aye, that is well said,” nodded Chepe Buga.
“But what of the Kallmarks?” objected Chagan. “Riders have come to us in the last few days who say that the Kallmarks are riding north with two thousand men.”
Khlit stroked the curved scabbard at his side thoughtfully. He knew as well as Chagan the numbers and strength of the Kall-marks who were bent on the destruction of the horde of the Jun-gar.
“Have the hearts of the Jun-gar turned weak as women?” he made reply. “Nay, it is the Kallmarks who will pay for their invasion. We will keep the treasure of Changa Nor.”
“Then let us take it to the camp by Lake Baikal,” broke in Chepe Buga, “where it will be in our hands.”
“Is not the Kha Khan, Chepe Buga,” growled Khlit, “the one to say what we will do with the treasure? Nay, where is there a better place or one more secure than Changa Nor?”
“We got into here,” protested the khan stubbornly, “by good hap, and the scent of our leopards. It is a hard nut to crack, this castle. Who knows whether we can get in again?”
Khlit stroked his mustache and frowned. His purpose to safeguard the treasure of Atagon was hard to carry out.
“We will leave a guard here over the treasure, Chepe Buga,” he said at length. “Chagan will stay. Gurd will come with us, so that the sword-bearer will have no foe within the castle. Then, when we return, we may decide about the treasure.”
“And the pay for our horsemen?” cried one of the Tatars. “The money for powder and new weapons?”
“We will take spoil from the Kallmarks.”
Chagan nodded heavily.
“But how may we turn them back? They are many, and strong!” “With this.” Khlit drew his sword with a quick motion and laid it on the table. “Aye, by the sword of Kaidu, the hero and guardian of the Jun-gar, we will drive back the Kallmarks, and take their herds.”
The words and the act appealed to the war-like feelings of the Tatar throng. With one voice they gave a ringing shout of approval. Khlit smiled grimly. Without earning the ill will of the khans he had achieved what he wanted—time, and the safety of the shrine of Changa Nor.
As he was about to pick up his sword, the group by the door parted. In strode the portly figure of the shaman, Lhon Otai, accompanied by the man who had fled a few minutes before.
X
The slant eyes of Lhon Otai glinted shrewdly as he surveyed the men in the shrine. His words came smoothly and softly from his thick lips.
“Where are your wits, men of the Jun-gar?” he cried. “The evil spirits of Changa Nor have cast a spell over you. You are blinded by an unclean charm. It is well I came to save you from the dangers of this place.”
The Tatars glanced uneasily at each other. The chief of the shamans knew well his power over them. He pointed angrily to Khlit.
“Aye, the evil priest of the caphars has bewitched you. Know you not this man who calls himself the Kha Khan is a Christian? He will not give you the treasure. He has deceived you with lying words.”
Chagan stared at Khlit blankly.
“Nay, lord,” he protested, “tell them this is not so. How can a Kha Khan of the Jun-gar be a Christian?”
A murmur of assent came from the warriors. Lhon Otai crossed his stout arms with a triumphant smile. His glance swept from Gurd to Khlit and back again.
“It is so,” he said. “Your chief is a caphar, a brother in faith to yon dark hunter who is allied to evil spirits. The place here is accursed. I have come from the North, where I saw this hunter Gurd talk to a lynx of the forest as his brother, and summon ivory bones from the ground by a dark spell. By my power I overcame him and took the ivory. Then I hurried here to safeguard you against the caphars.”
Gurd smiled scornfully, but the Tatars had eyes for no one but Khlit.
“Speak, lord,” said Chagan again, “and tell us this is not true.”
Khlit surveyed his followers moodily. He knew that they were superstitious, and under the influence of the shamans. He had only to deny his faith, and all would be well. Lhon Otai would be silenced.
The shaman had long been Khlit's enemy, for he was jealous of the Cossack's power. Khlit wondered if Lhon Otai had seen the gold cross he carried under his
svitza. The conjurer and his followers had spies everywhere and there was little in central Asia that they did not know.
And Lhon Otai had chosen the moment well. Khlit had already risked his popularity with the khans by holding back the treasure of Changa Nor from their hands. Probably the shamans who accompanied Lhon Otai had told the latter what had passed in the shrine of Atagon. Khlit decided to make one more bid for favor with his followers.
“Nay, Chagan,” he said slowly, “do you tell me this. Have I failed in my duty to the khans? Have the Jun-gar ever gone to defeat under my leadership? Let the kurultai of the Jun-gar decide. I will abide by their word. If they say that I have done ill, I will give over my command to Chepe Buga.”
“He speaks with a double tongue!” cried Lhon Otai, seizing his advantage cleverly. “For he has kept the treasure of Changa Nor for himself and the caphar priest. This treasure would buy your lands from the Kallmarks. He sent me to the Dead World, where the hunter Gurd tried to slay me—”
“A lie!” cried Gurd. “I knew not the Kha Khan. It was Lhon Otai who followed me, and slew my reindeer by treachery.” “Nay, then,” put in the other shaman swiftly, “if Khlit knew you not, how comes he here, with the caphars, unknown to the khans?”
Chepe Buga waved his heavy hand for silence. “Say one word, Khlit, lord,” he bellowed, “and we will boil this conjurer's tongue in oil.”
Khlit glanced wearily from under shaggy brows at his comrade in arms. His pride was great, and he had no fear for himself, despite the hostility of Lhon Otai. But he feared for the shrine of Atagon.
“Nay, Chepe Buga,” he said, “I am a Christian.”
A stunned silence greeted this. A proud light shone in the eyes of Atagon. Lhon Otai was not slow to seize his advantage. His cunning was a match for Khlit's craft.
“Come!” he cried, raising both arms. “You have heard. This is a place of evil. We will drive out the dark spirits in the manner of our fathers and their fathers before them. Come! A sword dance. We will purge the place.”
He ran from the chamber, followed by the Tatar warriors and the other shaman. Chagan was next to go, dragging the two leopards with him. At a sign from Atagon, Gurd and the girl Chinsi accompanied the priest without. Khlit and Chepe Buga remained. The Cossack stretched out his hand to Chepe Buga.
“Speak, anda, brother in arms,” he said gruffly, “what matters my faith to you? We have fought together and shared the same bed. Will you leave me for the fat conjurer?”
The Tatar's handsome face twisted in vexation.
“I swore to follow you, O Kha Khan,” he said slowly, “to be at the front in every battle, to bring the horses and spoil we captured to you, to beat the wild beasts for your hunting, to give you to eat of the game I took in hunting, and to guard you from danger with my sword. Christian or not, I remember my oath. Yet, we have need of the treasure of Changa Nor. Bid us take the treasure, that we may know your heart is with us.”
Khlit turned away from the appeal in his friend's eyes. He made as if to speak; then his head dropped on his chest. He was silent. He heard the Tatar leave the shrine.
When he looked up he saw that he was alone with the icon and the flickering candles on the altar.
XI
In the hall of Changa Nor, Lhon Otai mustered the Tatars for the sword dance. Two tall candles gave the only light in the long chamber, for it had grown dark outside the castle. When Khlit entered the hall, he saw that Atagon and the Christians had taken their places in the balcony. The Tatars, who had drawn their swords, occupied the floor. Lhon Otai faced them at the farther end.
Even Chagan had taken his place with Chepe Buga in the ranks of the warriors, after tying his leopards fast to a pillar. The Tatars watched eagerly while Lhon Otai took from the pouch at his girdle a human skull fashioned into a drinking cup. Then he summoned the trembling Gutchluk to bring him wine. With this he filled the cup.
Lhon Otai bent nine times in homage to the west, where the sun had set. The Tatars lifted their swords with a single shout.
“Heigh!”
The shaman's heavy face was alight with triumph. He placed his girdle across his shoulders and poured out a little wine from the cup to the floor.
“Precious wine I pour to Natagai,” he chanted, “I give the tarasun to the god Natagai.”
The warriors swung their swords overhead.
“Heigh!”
Lhon Otai tipped the cup again.
“An offering I pour to Meik,” he sang, “to Meik, guardian of the forest.”
“Heigh!” cried the Tatars.
They bent their bodies, lowering their swords. Then they came erect, swinging their shining blades above their heads. Khlit knew the fascination the sword dance held for them. Already they were breathing more quickly.
“Wine I pour to the Cheooki gods, to the Cheooki gods of the North who light the sky with their fire.”
“Heigh!”
An echo of music sounded in the hall. The other shaman had drawn a dombra from under his cloak, and was striking upon it. As the sword dance, led by Lhon Otai, continued, the Tatars became more excited. They bent their bodies and circled three times. Then they raised their blades with a shout.
“Heigh!”
Lhon Otai now stood erect, his face raised to the rafters, his eyes closed. When the Tatars saw this their shout changed.
“A wisdom!” they cried. “Our shaman sees the raven in the rafters. He is listening to the words of wisdom!”
At this they ran to the sides of the hall, and returned, raising their swords in concert. To the strains of the dombra they circled, making their blades play about their heads. Sweat shone on their brows. Their teeth gleamed through their mustaches.
Khlit watched impassively. He saw that Lhon Otai was working the warriors to a pitch of excitement. It would be useless for
him to interrupt the sword dance. Yet his fear was not so much for himself as for the group watching silently from the balcony.
Then Lhon Otai raised his arms. The sound of the dombra ceased. The Tatars lowered their swords and waited, panting from their exertions.
“A wisdom!” cried Lhon Otai in a high voice, his eyes still closed.
“A wisdom!” echoed the warriors.
“Tell us the word of the raven.” The shaman crossed his arms over his chest.
“Danger is near the horde of the Jun-gar,” he chanted. “The soul of Genghis Khan mutters in his tomb, and the sun is darkened in night. The treasure of Changa Nor must be our safeguard. With it we will buy our homes and our pastures from the Kall-marks. We will send riders to the camp of the khan Berang by Lake Baikal and bid him disband the horde. Thus will the Kall-mark chieftains know we mean friendship.”
Khlit made a gesture of protest unheeded by the Tatars who were hanging on the words of the shaman.
“Evil omens are afoot,” went on Lhon Otai. “Dead fish infest the ice of Baikal under the three Diandas. The great wolf pack of the North is hunting for its prey. Evil is the plight of the Jun-gar, owing to the false words of a Christian. Bind the arms of the Christian Kha Khan with stout ropes, that he may not harm us again. Him we must leave in Changa Nor. The shamans with the khan Chepe Buga and the sword-bearer Chagan must watch over the treasure until the army at the Baikal camp can be disbanded.”
Khlit thrust out his arms in grim silence, to be bound, while Chepe Buga watched. The khan glanced at him uneasily while they tied his hands but avoided meeting Khlit's eye. Only once Khlit spoke.
“These hands carried the standard of Genghis Khan,” he growled. “Who will lead the Jun-gar if I am bound? Yon fat toad?”
Lhon Otai's broad face twisted in anger, and his eyes flew open. At a sign from him the shaman bound Khlit's arms close to his side.
“Harken, Tatars!”
The words, in a clear voice from the gallery made them look up. Gurd was leaning on the stone railing, his heavy hands clutching the barrier. His dark face was bent down. His eyes were glowing.
“The Chinese fire!” cried the shaman contemptuously. “We can deal with such sorcery.”
“Nay, it is not the fire, Lhon Otai. You know the legend. Changa Nor is guarded by a power greater than your swords. Death awaits you in the shadows of the castle. Tempt it not. I give you this warning. There is a curse upon the foe of Changa Nor, and upon his children and his herds. I have seen men die from this curse. Brave men.”
“Kill me that rascal!” cried Lhon Otai to his followers.
With the exception of Chepe Buga and Chagan the Tatars rushed for the stairway leading to the gallery.
“I have seen you touch the treasure of the shrine,” Gurd called to Chepe Buga. Pointing at Lhon Otai he added, heedless of the rush of his enemies, “And I can see the mark of death on your forehead.”
Chepe Buga laughed lightly, while the shaman glared at Gurd vindictively. The Tatar warriors had gained the gallery. They cut down the old Gutchluk who stood in their way and rushed toward Gurd.
As their swords were lifted to strike him, the hunter sprang over the railing. Hanging by his hands an instant from the balcony, he leaped to the stone floor below. He landed lightly, for all his great size.
Chagan drew his two-handed sword and stepped toward Gurd. The latter crouched and dodged the sweep of the sword. Grappling with the mighty sword-bearer he flung Chagan headlong to the floor. The Tatars were returning down the stairs, unwilling to take Gurd's daring leap from the gallery.
The hunter darted swiftly toward the chamber where the door opened to the lake. His pursuers were after him in a moment, but he had vanished in the darkness. Chagan stumbled to his feet.
“Back, fools!” he roared. “We will deal with the hunter as he deserves. He is unarmed. Watch.”