by Harold Lamb
Khlit stood up and stretched himself.
“Aye, there is the veil of words that covered the trap. Chagan, I smell treachery. Long have I smelled danger; the wind whispers tidings of evil. Ha! We have come to the trap, you and I.”
“Khlit, lord,” said Chagan slowly, “I smelled the trap in the camp on the steppe. Likewise, when I bridled the horses, I heard the two Chubil Khans speaking together within a tent close by. They planned to set out in the night for the Thian Shan, to bear word of your departure to the Kashgar lamasery.”
“And still you came with me? Nay, you are one without brains.”
“I came, lord,” Chagan straightened with rough dignity, “to bring the horses, that we might arrive here before the men of the Tsong Khapa expect us. Thus you might see the jaws of the trap before it was ready. Now you can ride back to the Thian Shan safely. There is no time to be lost. And there is nothing here that can fulfill the Dalai Lama's promise. Hasten; there is no time to be lost.”
Khlit's mustache twitched in a hard smile.
“It is true that you are a fool, Chagan. Where am I to go? Back to the Jun-gar? Matters would be no better. And where else? Here we stay, Chagan, you and I, until we see what manner of thing the Yellow Hats have prepared for us.”
Chagan swore blackly.
“Death is brewing for us here, lord. We will fare no better than the cursed horse that walked into the Jallat Kum.”
“I will stay,” repeated Khlit. “But you can choose a horse and go.” Something like fear flashed into the stolid face of the sword-bearer.
“Nay, lord,” he cried anxiously. “I have ridden at your horse's tail in battle and hunt. I have eaten meat and salt with you. I have slept beside you and gained honor thereby. We two are one.”
“So be it, then,” said Khlit, turning away.
Chagan left him to his thoughts and sought out the horses. These he looked over carefully, picketing them so they would not wander on the quicksand and cutting some foliage for fodder. He then inspected their horn horseshoes and made sure that the saddles had not suffered from the hard riding of the last six days. He gave them a little water from the goatskin and departed in search of a possible spring in the ruins. For the stagnant pool in the river bed was well out on the quicksand beyond reach.
After a moment of this, Chagan paused and scratched his head. He had come upon a series of tracks in the sand, made by horses shod differently from his own. He followed out the winding trails and presently compared the marks with those of Azim's mount. They were the same.
It occurred to Chagan that the shepherd might have returned in the night. But the other had professed to be afraid of the ruins after sundown. Further inspection convinced the Tatar that the tracks were a day or two old. Azim, then, had been here before, not once but frequently in spite of his talk of evil spirits.
Tracing out the course of the tracks, Chagan found that they led to the mound of sand which rose at the end of the Tarim basin behind the place where the river had once sunk into the earth. This mound, Chagan noted, was different in shape from most of the sand dunes. It was round instead of wave-shape, and it was a good sixty feet in height. Buttresses of stone projected through the sand at points.
Chagan made the half-circle of the place. Abruptly he halted, and his jaw dropped. The sound of singing came to his ears, faint but distinct. To his fancy, it was a woman's voice. And it seemed to issue from the mound of sand.
VI
The hair had not descended to its normal position on the back of Chagan's head when Khlit joined him. The Cossack had heard the voice. The two men gazed at the mound curiously.
“Said I not the place was rife with evil spirits?” growled the sword-bearer. “That is the song I heard in the night.”
The voice dwindled and was silent. Khlit inspected the stone ruins which showed through the sand. Then he motioned to Cha-gan.
“Here is no sand dune,” he growled. “The sand has covered up a building, and one of size. Some parts of the walls show through the sand. If we look we will find a woman in the ruins.”
“Nay, then she must eat rock and drink from the Jallat Kum,” protested the Tatar. “If there was a house here, even a palace, the sand has filled it up—”
Nevertheless he followed Khlit as the Cossack climbed over the debris of rock that littered the sides of the mound. They went as far as they could, stopping at the edge of the basin which the mound adjoined. There was no sign of a person among the remnants of walls. But Khlit pointed to the tower on the summit of the mound.
Chagan objected that there were no footsteps to be seen leading to the ruined tower. Khlit, however, solved this difficulty by scrambling up the slope. The shifting sand, dislodged by his progress, fell into place again behind him, erasing all mark of his footsteps. He vanished into the pile of masonry. Presently he reappeared and directed Chagan to bind together a torch of dead tamarisk branches and to light it at their fire.
When the sword-bearer had done this, Khlit assisted him to the summit of the hillock. There he pointed to the stone tower.
Its walls had crumbled into piles of stones, projecting from the sand no more than the height of a man, but in the center of the walls a black opening led downward.
Steps were visible through the aperture. Khlit took the torch and descended into the opening, followed by Chagan. The stairs had originally led to the tower summit, for they curved downward along the walls. As they climbed down, sand sifted in from occasional embrasures in the walls. Chagan guessed that they had descended to about the level of the desert plain without when the steps terminated in a pile of sand.
Throwing the light of the torch around them, Khlit saw that they were in a square chamber somewhat larger than the diameter of the tower. At one side a door showed, dark in the flickering light from the burning branches.
Through this doorway Khlit went, stooping under the lintel, for the sand had piled itself a foot or so on what must have been the flooring of the building. As they stood up in the chamber beyond the door, both halted in surprise.
A candle lighted the place—a small room with stone walls, the floor cleared of sand and carpeted with rugs. Some Turkish cushions were piled in one corner, and on the cushions a girl was seated. She was unveiled and the candle glinted on her startled face, delicate and olive-hued.
She was dressed in a dainty, fur-tipped khalat and baggy trousers of nankeen. She had the very slender figure of a dancer, with the customary veil penning her black hair behind turquoise earrings. What held the eyes of the two men was her face, fair for middle Asia, small-mouthed and proud. Not since he had left Persia had Khlit seen a woman of such loveliness; moreover, the girl stirred his interest, for she had the garb and henna-hued countenance of a dancer—yet there was authority in the erect carriage of her small head and in her quick movements.
Chagan sniffed at the elusive scent that filled the room, a faint odor of dried rose leaves tinged with musk.
“By the winged horse of Kaidu!” he swore. “If this be truly a woman and not a spirit, it is no wonder that Azim's horse left tracks around this place.”
The girl frowned at his words, as if trying to grasp their meaning. She rose quickly to her feet with the gliding motion of the trained dancer. Her breath rose and fell tumultuously under the khalat with her startled breathing. Her brown eyes were wide and alert. Still the look she cast them was not so much fear as curiosity. Khlit, seeing that she did not understand the Tatar of Chagan, spoke to her in Uigur.
“How came you here, little sparrow?” he asked gruffly. “And what is this place?”
She held out her hand appealingly.
“Have you water, Khan? I have had no water for a day and a night, nor food.”
For the first time Khlit noted that her olive cheeks were pinched and there were dark circles in the paint under her eyes. He took the flask of watered kumiss from the sword-bearer's belt and gave it to her. She caught it to her lips eagerly; then, remembering, she drank a swall
ow slowly, repeating the name of Allah after the fashion of Islam.
“The gully jackal who bears the name of Azim has not come, as he is wont, to bring me water and rice for the last day,” she said angrily. “For that I will pull many hairs from his beard when he comes.”
Khlit scanned her idly. He had little liking for women who were soft and quarrelsome. Yet this one spoke as if she was accustomed to give orders. By her speech he guessed her from the region of Samarkand.
“How can Azim pay such a handsome harlot?” Chagan growled, for his mind admitted of but one idea at a time.
The girl caught something of his meaning. Her slender hands clenched, and she stepped close to Khlit until her perfumed veil touched his mustache.
“What says the one without breeding? Eh, have I the manner of a slave? Azim is a dog who does my bidding. Since I came here, escaped from a caravan upon a camel, he has tended to my wants, thinking to sell me for a good price.”
Khlit motioned around the chamber.
“Why did you come here?”
She scrutinized him, head on one side, with the bright curiosity of a bird.
“My name is Sheillil,” she made answer, “and I am the dancer of Samarkand. There is a fat merchant of Kashgar who thought that he had bought me for five times a hundred gold shekels. Nay, men are fools. I left the caravan during a sandstorm and came where I knew none would follow. The camel stepped upon the Jallat Kum and is not. But Azim came and showed me this place.”
Khlit said a word to Chagan, who left the tower and presently returned, grumbling, with a handful of meat he had warmed at the fire and dried milk curds. These the Cossack gave to the girl, for he saw that she was weak with hunger. When she had finished, he took up the candle, which was a large one and of good yellow wax. Sheillil took his hand and led him through a further door, into what seemed a hall of considerable size.
“Azim has fewer wits than a camel,” she commented, “but he has heard the tale of this place from his father, who heard it from his father. It is a place of strange gods. Look!”
She pointed to the walls of the chamber. Khlit saw carved wooden columns with faded paintings on the walls between them. A balcony ran around the chamber, and there was a dais of jade at one end, as if the statue of a god had been removed from it. He saw why the place had not been filled by the sand which had risen over its roof.
Evidently the structure had been a temple, built to endure. For the walls were massive blocks of stone, and the embrasures were small. Under each opening was a waist-high pile of sand which had filtered through. A coating of sand covered the floor. Several carved ebony benches stood by the walls in a litter of rugs, bronze candlesticks and candles of the kind that Sheillil had appropriated.
“It is the temple of Talas,” whispered the girl, a little awed by the gloom of the empty chamber. “When the sands drove the people from Talas, the other houses crumbled, but this was strongly made, being the home of a god, and it stood. For a while men came to plunder, and many of them were lost in the Jallat Kum. Now it is forgotten. There are other rooms. But the god has been taken away.”
Abruptly she ceased speaking. Khlit and Chagan whirled involuntarily. The silence of the temple was disturbed by a muttering sound.
It stole in through the stone walls, echoing in the vaulted space. It was a sound that stirred their blood, vast, grumbling with a thunder-like note.
Sheillil looked from one to the other, her eyes mischievously alight.
“Eh, that is a rare music,” she said, pointing to the tower entrance; “it is the voice of the Jallat Kum when the sands are moving. Azim calls it the singing sand.”
She touched Khlit lightly on the arm.
“Send your man up the tower. I would speak with you.”
VII
Sheillil disposed herself comfortably on the cushions in the antechamber of the temple, with a catlike daintiness. Leaning on one slim arm, her eyes sought the Cossack's from under long lashes. He was conscious of the delicate perfume that came from the dancer's garments, of the scent of rose and aloes in her hair. He seated himself cross-legged on the stones, a little distance from her.
“I wonder,” she began slowly, “how many daughters of khans have come to this temple, leaving their slippers outside, and prayed with rich offerings before the god who is no longer here? Yet behold, I am here, a woman of Islam, and you a caphar.” Khlit returned her gaze indifferently. He had seen many women and all were fond of talking. Sheillil puzzled him slightly, for she went unveiled and seemed without fear. He judged that she had been much with men, bought and sold in many bazaars. Still she could not be more than seventeen.
“It is written,” she pursued, “that with Allah are the keys of the unseen. Can you read the future, Khlit, Khan—”
“The devil!” Khlit stared at her. “How knew you my name?” Sheillil propped her chin on her two hands and smiled.
“I know many things, Khlit, Khan. Messages travel quickly across the steppe to the mountains where my home was. Nay, you wear the curved saber of Kaidu. Once you were in Samarkand. I have been there also, and men talk freely to me, for I am lovely as the dawn in the hill gardens of Kabul. Their blood is warmed as with wine when they look at me.”
The Cossack felt that the girl was trying to catch his glance. He lit his pipe and smoked silently.
“In Kashgar,” continued Sheillil, disappointed, “I heard it said that the horsemen of the Khirghiz were at war with the Tatars of the Jun-gar. Is that the truth?”
“The Khirghiz bands invaded our boundaries. They will come again with Summer. Why do you ask, little sparrow?”
“Because I would know, fool!” Sheillil's delicate brows met in a frown. “There is much talk in Kashgar among the clergy of the Yellow Hat and their followers, the Usbeks. They say the strength of the Jun-gar is gone, and that their lands will be spoil for the first comer before the next snow.”
“In the cities,” Khlit responded calmly, “men say what it pleases them to hear.”
“Then it is true?” Sheillil waited for a response and, receiving none, rattled the bracelets on her round arms angrily. “The Khirghiz clans will take what land they need. I know, for I was born among them. My father was a khan. You are truly one without wit. I had the thought that the owner of the sword of Kaidu would be a wise man. Why are you not with the Jun-gar?”
Khlit's gray eyes peered at the girl from under shaggy brows, and her lips parted at the somber fire she beheld there.
“It was the word of the Dalai Lama that I could find aid here for the Jun-gar,” he said. “So I have come to learn the meaning of the message. Truly it is a strange place—”
Sheillil threw back her dark head with a peal of shrill laughter. She lay back on the cushions and laughed, rocking her slender form in joyous mirth. Khlit regarded her impassively.
“A wise khan,” she cried, “a true shepherd of his flock! Nay, tell me. What aid do you find here? A ruined city and a flea-ridden Azim. What think you now of the word of the Tsong Khapa?”
“I think,” responded Khlit slowly, “that I may hear from the Dalai Lama at this spot.”
Sheillil sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Truly,” she responded, “you are a man of the steppe. It is not the way of the hillmen to wait for what is to come. Life is too short for that, and Allah has favor for the bold in heart.”
A step sounded behind them, and Chagan made his appearance.
“Azim is without,” he motioned up the steps. “He has come with two men from a passing caravan. One, who is a merchant, says that he may buy the girl Sheillil if she is fair.”
The girl tossed her head proudly. “Am I one to be sold by a shepherd? Nay, tell them to begone.”
Khlit left the dancer in the chamber to ascend the tower with Chagan. He found the Dungan shepherd with two others, mounted and of important bearing. They had met Azim, they said, at the nearby watering place on the caravan track, and the man had said he had a Uigur girl
of beauty for sale.
Azim disappeared into the tower steps and presently returned, cursing and hauling at the girl, who was resisting vigorously. Sheillil had drawn her veil across her face, and, as they stumbled down the sand slope, she tore herself free from Azim and ran to Khlit.
“I am the daughter of a khan,” she panted, “and women of my blood may not be bought and sold. Such is the law. Slay this scoundrel for me and bid the others go.”
“Nay—it is not my affair,” said Khlit shortly.
The merchants had reined their horses up to the girl, and, as she spoke, Azim seized her again, tearing the veil from her face. To Khlit's surprise she flushed crimson with shame and turned from the strangers. Chagan grinned at the sight. One of the merchants, a stout Dungan, leaned down and tried to draw the khalat from the shoulders of the struggling girl.
Sheillil, who was weeping with rage, twisted in Azim's grasp. Suddenly she freed one arm and snatched at the sword that hung from Chagan's belt. So quickly had she acted that the Tatar had no chance to prevent her. The weapon was a heavy one, made for Chagan's great strength, and the girl could barely lift it. At sight of the gleaming blade, however, Azim jumped nimbly back.
“Dolt!” cried Sheillil furiously. “Dirt, of a jackal's begetting! Am I one to be sold by your breed?”
“She is not ugly,” said the Dungan merchant with a grin. “We will take her.”
At a sign from Khlit, Chagan stepped forward and deftly took the sword from the unsuspecting girl. The Cossack eyed Sheillil doubtfully and caught the reproachful glance she threw at Cha-gan. A dancing woman of the bazaars she might be, but she had the manner of a girl of noble blood. It was no business of his whether Azim disposed of her to the merchants.
“She is worth much,” put in Azim craftily. “And she can dance.”
The girl faced the merchants proudly, her slender figure tense and her cheeks flushed. Khlit stepped forward between her and the others.
“Nay,” he said gruffly. “She is not a slave. She comes from the hills, and she has the blood of a khan.” He wheeled on Azim. “Are you her master?”