by Harold Lamb
The shepherd muttered that he was free to do with the girl as he chose. The merchants glanced at each other. Sheillil was a beauty and would fetch a high price at one of the city bazaars. She was worth taking.
“Azim,” said Khlit grimly, “when you have fought a battle and taken captives it will be time to speak of slaves. This woman has sought refuge here. She is not to be sold—”
“The caravan is moving on,” broke in the Dungan merchant. “We have no time to haggle. The three of you can divide the money. Here; we cannot wait—”
He fumbled in the money bag at his belt. The other merchant moved nearer to the girl, who stood close beside Chagan, watching all that went on eagerly. At a signal from the Dungan, the man spurred his horse forward, hoping to ride down the Tatar.
Chagan, however, was not to be caught unawares. The merchant had whipped out his sword, and, as Chagan sprang aside, he slashed at him. The sword-bearer warded the blow easily. The return sweep of his weapon caught the rider in the side. The man swayed and slid from his saddle to the sand.
The Tatar turned toward the Dungan. But the latter, with a startled glance at his fallen companion, wheeled his horse away. He hesitated for a moment, then he rode through the dunes in the direction he had come. The girl clapped her hands in delight.
“That was a good blow,” she cried. “See, the man is cut halfway through!”
A glance told Chagan that she spoke the truth. Picking up the dying man by the belt the sword-bearer lugged him around the mound to the slope of the Jallat Kum. Khlit, who had followed, saw the Tatar toss the body down the slope. It rolled upon the damp sands, and in a moment was gone.
“Evil comes of such women, lord,” muttered Chagan with a shake of the head. “Harken. You have said that the Tsong Khapa has laid a trap for us. The trap is rarely baited. How else comes the dancing girl here? She is no common slave escaped from a caravan.”
Khlit made no response to this. He returned to the spot where they had left Azim, intending to question the shepherd. But Azim had vanished.
VIII
Late that afternoon Khlit sat with Sheillil on the summit of the temple mound, from which he had a good view of the ruins of Talas. The girl was humming softly to herself, cross-legged in the sand. Khlit, engrossed in his own thoughts, paid little attention to her.
Azim had not reappeared, and Chagan, making a cast into the desert, had learned that the caravan had gone on its way. The silence of the ruins irked Khlit, who had little liking for cities, living or dead. So far there had been no signs of envoys of the Dalai Lama. But Khlit reasoned shrewdly that they would seek him out, once they were aware that he had arrived. What did they want with him? What were the plans of the Tsong Khapa?
Khlit did not bother himself about what would happen at Talas. It was his policy when dealing with enemies more powerful than himself to enter their ranks, whatever the danger might be. A single man, he reasoned, was useless fighting against an overpowering force. But in the stronghold of his enemies that man might accomplish much. To learn the plans of his foe and to defeat them from within by a stroke of the coldest daring was possible only to one of Khlit's craft, and in a country where an alliance of tribes might be broken up in a night, or two chieftains come to blows over a word.
But in following his usual scheme of attack, Khlit now faced two considerable obstacles. He could not count on the aid of his own followers, who were under the influence for the time being of the Dalai Lama and were held at home by the fear of the coming Khirghiz invasion. And in pitting his strength against the master of Lhassa, Khlit knew that he was meeting a foeman of extraordinary keenness, whose intentions were a secret to him.
It was a desperate venture. Khlit had only two advantages in his lone struggle for the life of the Jun-gar. The clergy of Tibet, informed by Dongkor Gelong, would doubtless underestimate his own ability, as other enemies had done to their cost, aided by his simulation of blunt thickheadedness. And he was dealing with two enemies instead of one.
He glanced carelessly at the girl, who crooned to herself well-pleased with the event of the morning. Who was she? What was her mission in Talas? What master did she serve?
Sheillil yawned prettily and stretched herself.
“You are not good company, Khan,” she said idly. “Go below with the big Tatar and sleep. I will watch if any come.”
Khlit presently followed her advice. He found Chagan snoring on his back on the rugs of the anteroom. The Cossack had not intended to sleep, but he found that his head dropped on his shoulders. He had slept but a few hours of the last week, and the girl's singing soothed him. His mind drifted away, and Chagan's snores dwindled to silence.
He woke almost at once. Sheillil's song had stopped. He heard muffled voices, and presently a step sounded on the stairs. Khlit became wide awake on the instant. There was not one step but several. He had only time to kick Chagan to consciousness when the light from the narrow doorway was blotted out.
Sheillil entered, and after her came a half-dozen men in a motley dress ranging from the sheepskin coat of the plainsman to the black hat and long robe of a Dungan spearman. The group parted, and a man wearing a familiar garb of orange and black stepped forward. It was one of the Chubil Khans who had attended Dongkor Gelong.
“See, O man of the Yellow Hat,” cried Sheillil gleefully, “here be the two Tatars who came here yesterday taken drowsing like sheep in an aul. Take heed of the broad-shouldered one. He wields a sword like one possessed of Erlik.”
Chagan, who had sprung to his feet, clutched at his weapon. But Khlit motioned him back. The tower without was filled with armed men. The Chubil Khan had come well escorted. Still, men seldom traveled alone in those days of ever-present danger. “What seek you with me?” Khlit asked bluffly.
Sheillil made a deep and mocking salaam, hands outstretched over her dark head, forgetful or heedless of the fact that she had promised to warn the Tatars of the coming of strangers.
“It is a messenger, O Khlit, from one who is wiser than you, to command your attendance—”
“At the Kashgar lamasery, Kha Khan,” put in the Chubil Khan, a crafty gleam in his narrow eyes. “The almighty Tsong Khapa, whom Heaven has honored by divine reincarnation, has further tidings for you.”
“I will hear them,” said Khlit calmly. “But I did not know the Dalai Lama was at Kashgar.”
The Chubil Khan spread both arms outward.
“I am but a lesser servant of the Tsong Khapa, Khan Tuvron; the Tsong Khapa is, like the light of the sun, everywhere among his people; yet none but the higher priesthood see his face—never strangers.”
There was a bustle in the group of men, and the tattered figure of Azim pushed forward, falling on his knees before Tuvron. He clasped the bandaged feet of the envoy, speaking, to Khlit's surprise, the tongue of the lamas.
“O mighty Chubil Khan, do not forget your servant Azim, who tends the empty shrine of Talas and who sent you word by way of the Dungan caravan of the coming of the Tatars. I ask humbly but a single ray of light from the radiance of the beneficent Tsong Khapa—only a very tiny reward. Give your servant Azim the dancing girl Sheillil, who wandered here, for my comfort and enjoyment. Then, when I am through with her, she can be sold for a good price—”
Tuvron stared at the girl in surprise. Sheillil drew close to him and whispered. The man's expression changed, and he would have spoken. But the girl checked him. She placed her slippered foot on Azim's neck, pressing his head to the floor, and laughed delightedly.
“Your comfort, Azim!” she mocked. “Little comfort would Sheillil of Samarkand be to you. It is in my mind to throw you to the Jallat Kum, but one needs you who has use for even such a low-born thing as you. Pray to your departed god to bring you a mate—from the cattle herd.”
With that she turned and ran up the tower steps. When Khlit and Chagan mounted camels and set out in the midst of the Tibetans, Sheillil rode ahead on Tuvron's white camel, which she had chosen for herself, singing
to herself as she guided them to the caravan track that led to Kashgar, a two-days' journey to the west.
IX
There are many gods in the world, but no man shall have two gods lest evil come to his household.
Khirghiz saying
A knock sounded on the heavy door of Chu'n Yuen, armorer of Kashgar. The proprietor rose, took up a lantern, and sought the door, his potbelly shaking under the silken curtain of its costly robe. Chu'n Yuen wore the black skullcap of a Dungan. Otherwise his face and dress were those of a Chinaman, blessed with vast flesh and full years of prosperity.
Chu'n Yuen opened a narrow panel in the door at the height of his eyes and peered out cautiously. Only by consummate shrewdness had the Chinaman, who sold to the mountaineers arms brought from Damascus and Persia by caravan, been able to keep his wrinkled head whole on his plump body. By shrewdness and the fact that as a Dungan he was allied to none of the warring clans of Central Asia.
The armorer scrutinized the person who had knocked, through slant eyes. He had learned to discriminate carefully between the thin, bearded, and turbaned face of an Usbek of Kashgar and the hard, round countenance with the small, black eyes and drooping mustache of a Khirghiz hillman. For the Usbek was keen to cheat him of his wares, while the Khirghiz would pay generously on one occasion and lay waste his shop on another.
But Chu'n Yuen saw the slender form of a veiled woman and opened the barred door readily. His visitor stepped inside with a quick flash of brown eyes around the shop and the curtained door beyond it. Chu'n Yuen barred the door again and set down the lantern with a silent chuckle. If a woman came alone to his shop at night, it could be but for one purpose. Indeed, as if reading his thoughts, she walked with a light, swaying step to the curtains and slipped into the inner chamber where the Chinaman was wont to dispense wine to those who desired.
His visitor quite clearly did not wish wine. She surveyed the greasy benches, the dingy couches and the wine casks with something like contempt. The shop was empty, save for two camel drivers too drunk to sit upright. Chu'n Yuen stepped forward and inclined his massive shoulders politely.
“Here is a soft nest for those who seek good living,” he murmured. “I am a kind master and the hillmen who come here pay well, especially for a dancer who is light on her feet—”
“For a woman who has danced in the palaces of Samarkand before the sultans?” The girl's voice sounded musically with a hint of laughter. “Nay, this does not look like a palace and you, Chu'n Yuen, have the face of one whose soul is rolled in fat.”
The brown eyes flashed at the owner of the shop quizzically, and Chu'n Yuen drew his breath quickly, for he was not used to mockery from a woman.
“If you can dance, Strumpet-tongue, I will see that the great Khirghiz chieftains come to see it—although when they were last here they carried off my Turkish pistols without a silver coin in payment.”
He grasped her hand, and made as if to pull off the veil. The girl slipped away deftly.
“Ho, you will need taming, I see. But you will not leave as easily as you entered yonder door.”
His visitor seemed not to be listening.
“The Khirghiz are here—Iskander Khan and Bassanghor Khan? Are many Khirghiz with them? Or Kallmarks?”
“They came with a small following—a hundred hillmen. There are to be horse races and games, by request of the lamas, I have heard,” said the Chinaman in surprise. “Still, that is no concern for your pretty head. Perhaps you want me to pay you silver, as a sign of good faith. If I could see your face—”
Again the girl avoided his clutch at the veil. Chu'n Yuen's pig eyes narrowed ominously. It had been in his mind to deal gently with the mysterious woman who came unmasked to his shop. Her figure suggested beauty, which was more than the women had who were brought here by Khirghiz or Tibetan raiding parties to be inmates of the vendor's shop. But if she flouted him, Chu'n Yuen was prepared to whip her into submission, for she would mean many shekels for him.
“Fool,” said the girl mockingly, “and half-caste thief of a race without honor! What will the mullahs of Islam say when they hear that you traffic in wine! Have you forgotten the Koran?”
In spite of himself Chu'n Yuen gave back a step and lifted his fat hand as if to ward off a blow.
“There is no word in the Koran against selling wine,” he responded sullenly, “and there is no mullah in Kashgar.”
“Fool! To sell your honor for the gold of unbelievers. Dirt for each passerby to spit upon, if he pays! Is there no word in the Koran against that—”
With a cry half of fear, half of rage, the shopkeeper lifted his fist to strike the girl. Quickly she thrust her arm in front of his scowling face. A gold bangle, glittering on her wrist, caught his eye. His hand fell to his side and his jaw dropped.
“A sign of the true faith!” he muttered. “Upon a woman's bracelet. Nay, I have heard—I meant no harm to a follower of Islam. But you came here alone and at night, honorable lady—” “Oh, it is honorable lady now,” she gibed. “How quickly your tongue twists! Nay, remember to treat Sheillil of Samarkand with
courtesy. Or there are those who will stick a dagger between your fat ribs, Chu'n Yuen. Now take heed and tell me what I wish to know. Iskander Khan is here?”
Chu'n Yuen stared at the gold bracelet as if fascinated.
“He is here with his followers—whom may Allah curse with a lasting blight—in the caravansary without the walls. Already there have been brawls between the Khirghiz hillmen and the Usbek people of the town. Mo fi kalbi hir’Allah—there is nothing save Allah in my heart, honorable lady.”
“Then,” said Sheillil coolly, “Iskander Khan will rejoice to know there is a wine-bartering Mussulman here who has a goodly store of weapons. This shop will make rare picking for his hill-men, and Iskander Khan, they say, has turned his face more to Lhassa than to Mecca.”
“May Allah—” Chu'n Yuen began and choked.
Verily this woman was a fiend incarnate! Sheillil read the blind fear in his quivering, fat face and judged it would not be wise to anger the shopkeeper too greatly, or he might kill her.
“Yet it may be, Chu'n Yuen,” she added gravely, “that I shall whisper to Dongkor Gelong, who is head of the lamasery here, that he has a worthy servant, an armorer and a wine dealer, who is a man of parts and may be relied on in need. Eh, what say you to that? The star of the Dalai Lama is rising in Kashgaria, and, as you know, the half-moon of Mecca is low on the horizon.”
The Chinaman's eyes flickered shrewdly. The name of Dong-kor Gelong was one to conjure with in Kashgar.
“For two days and nights,” he whispered, with a glance around the room, “the Yellow Hats, whose ways are baneful as the coming of the star of ill omen, have been passing into the city gates in numbers. They are not to be seen in the streets, for they have gone to the lamasery. And it is not the custom for Dongkor Gelong the all-powerful to celebrate games.”
Sheillil watched the shopkeeper through half-closed eyes, a gaze which he tried to meet and could not.
“Eh, you are clever, O Mandarin,” smiled the girl, and Chu'n Yuen held his head higher. “You have the eye of a steppe fox. We shall be friends, you and I. Is Dongkor Gelong in the town?” “Alas, that cannot be known. He goes and comes like a shadow.”
“How many of the Yellow Hats are within the walls?”
“Very many. The Chubil Khans are assembling with the higher lamas. Of their followers perhaps a thousand are here—besides the Usbeks who are of their faith. They are waiting for the games, which will be the day after tomorrow.”
“Aye, they are waiting,” said Sheillil, half to herself. “Harken, Chu'n Yuen, give wine freely to the hillmen when they come. And say nothing to the Yellow Hats concerning my visit. I shall have need of you later—and you will be paid thrice over.”
Chu'n Yuen bowed profoundly. Sheillil guessed shrewdly that he would obey the first part of her instructions, but would not still his wagging tongue concerning her. Wh
ich was what she wished. She slipped through the curtains and had unbarred the outer door before the Chinaman realized she was gone.
X
In his cell in the lamasery Dongkor Gelong sat beside a plain wooden table. It was a bare room, fitted with pallet, stools, and a few books on the table, for, although Dongkor Gelong wore the high hat and ornate robe of a Chutuktu Lama, it was his pride to live simply and unostentatiously as when he was a monk.
A candle on the table cast its glint on the prominent forehead of the Tibetan, under which gleamed dark eyes in a white face— the face of an ascetic and a fanatic. He looked up as the door opened and Tuvron Khan entered with a bow. On a sign from his superior the Chubil Khan ushered in Khlit with an attendant of the lamasery and took his stand by the door.
The Cossack declined Dongkor Gelong's courteous offer of a seat and faced the lama across the table. For a long moment the two men studied each other, Dongkor Gelong's long, dark countenance wearing a slight smile, Khlit's lined face impassive.
“I think, O Kha Khan,” began the lama slowly, “that I can read your thoughts. You are thinking that you have been tricked— brought here among enemies, because you obeyed the instructions of the Tsong Khapa. Yet it is not so. You see you are an honored guest. You still have your sword, which I have heard is one to be prized above many. And it is not the fault of the master of Lhassa that you are alone. He urged that you bring your followers.”
Dongkor Gelong paused as if to hear what the Cossack would answer. But Khlit was silent.
“And you are wondering, perhaps, why the Dalai Lama should send a man of rank like yourself to such a place as Talas. It was no trickery. Nay, it had been our intention to welcome you fittingly at the spot but you traveled with such speed that you were there before us. It was not well to let the news get abroad on the steppe that you had come to Kashgar. So much the Dalai Lama in his wisdom foresaw. And he is ready to make good the words of the oracle.”
“The wisdom of the Dalai Lama is beyond my understanding,” returned Khlit calmly.