by Harold Lamb
Khlit was reasoning along similar lines, but unlike his friend he did not sulk in silence. He was curious concerning the manner of their betrayal; also he fancied he saw certain weak spots in the scheme of Taleb Khan which might be useful.
“Thus,” he said slowly, gaining time to think, “Ram Gholab was ordered to send us into your hands?”
He spoke almost admiringly, as if he could relish the superior cunning that had trapped him. Taleb Khan stared, then leaned back upon the ebony chest with a smile. Verily this aged wanderer was providing excellent sport for his enjoyment.
“Not so, O wise owl. Ram Gholab is a fool of fools—a dotard who is bemired in his own magic of the snake. He believes that he truly serves the Mogul!” The ameer broke off cautiously. “That is, he is no agent of mine. He was ordered to send the message of your departure, believing that I would safeguard your journey. Aie, it was well thought upon. Also he was ordered to send you by the ship.”
Taleb Khan, relishing his words, had lowered his voice to a whisper so that the coolies might not hear. A faithless man himself, he did not trust others.
“And Kehru likewise. He came to my tent like a fledgling warrior upon a mission of state. Naught he knows of your theft.”
“Then,” mused Khlit, “this tale of the slayers is but a tale. We saw them not.”
“Oh, there is some truth in it, most wise old owl. Aye, there be bands of thags hereabouts. But two swift riders, strangers like yourself, could have passed through them unmolested. They seek lesser prey. Yet Ram Gholab has heard much of their doings and his solitary musing has made them great, like huge shadows cast by a small fire at night.”
Whereupon Taleb Khan wearied of his sport and rose to give heed to the landing of the boat at the ghat. Khlit also had food for thought. He was silent while the vessel was worked to the shore and the sail dropped.
It was mid-afternoon and the heat was great when he and Abdul Dost were led over the sands to the Pawundur road. Behind them the coolies brought their horses. Taleb Khan mounted one, for he was bulky and the heat irked him. Mustafa led the way.
At the crossroads were the tents of some merchants, likewise a stained crimson canopy at one comer of the caravansary. The ameer's round tent had been pitched in the enclosure, and under the open fly slaves had set meat and drink for the refreshment of their master.
When Taleb Khan was partaking of the food, seated upon his carpet, Khlit nudged Abdul Dost. They were seated, still bound, near their captors, but at one side of the tent opening in the full glare of the sun.
“Take heed,” he whispered, “and watch. There is something that the ameer does not yet know.”
“What matter?” asked the Afghan moodily. “Ram Gholab spoke truly concerning our fate. We know the treachery of the ameer. Will he let us live? Nay. Already he has planned the manner of our death and but awaits the coming of the vizier who is nearby, so the coolies said.”
But Khlit caught the wandering eye of Taleb Khan. The ameer was refreshed by food—while Khlit and Abdul Dost were suffering the first pains of a long fast—and he was restless because of the excitement of his attempt to defraud the Mogul. He was restless, looking for diversion, and his eye strayed to the rug under which the box had been placed for concealment. Perhaps he meant to open it, but the Cossack's words arrested him.
“If a bridge is built with a hole in the middle, is it safe to walk upon, Taleb Khan?”
The ameer was surprised. He did not quite know what to make of the graybeard who sat bound by his tent, but who faced him as one chieftain to another.
“Not so,” he responded, motioning the slave behind him to stir the air with his fan of peacock plumes.
“Then is your plan like to a bridge, Taleb Khan. You will fall through the hole and perhaps die. The Mogul deals swiftly with a faithless servant.”
“Aye. You and your comrade will be slain on this spot by the vizier and your heads will be put in a cage. The cage will be hung outside the walls of Delhi by the caravan gate.”
“And what of you, Taleb Khan?” Khlit's voice was stern. “Think you the vizier will not see the hole in your scheme? He will ask why you sent two riders for the revenue at Ghar instead of going yourself. What will you answer?”
The ameer lay back luxuriously upon the rug. His eyes twinkled. He hesitated, then spoke, for the pleasure of his stratagem was still strong upon him.
“With words I will not answer, O unfortunate one. You know not the officials of the Mogul.”
“One we know,” observed Abdul Dost grimly. “It is sufficient.”
Taleb Khan waved his hand airily. The Afghan's dark face flushed and the veins stood out in his forehead.
“By the tomb of Mohammed!” he cried softly, for he was a proud man. “There be chieftains at court who count the name of Abdul Dost, mansabdar, warrior of Akbar—may he rest in peace—among their friends.”
“Akbar rests in peace. Likewise, who will know the blackened skin of a severed head for that of Abdul Dost? We will permit the ravens to pick at your eyes and the carrion birds to tear your lips—a little. Thus your friends will not know you. Have you a name?” He looked around for Mustafa and saw him not. “Nay, we know not your name.”
Khlit pressed his arm warningly upon the Afghan's knee. Threats were useless against the ameer. “You have not said,” he remarked, “how you will cross the hole in the bridge.”
The ragged turban—for the ameer had not desired to exert himself sufficiently to change his garb—of Taleb Khan nodded affably.
“I like your wit, graybeard. It is delightful as the pretty trick of a wanton woman. I shall cross the hole with a gold plank. Ten ounces of gold will I put into the hand of the vizier. He has his price. Who has not? A jewel—a blood ruby—for the head treasurer over the vizier, and my tale will not be doubted. As for the Mogul: if he asks, there will be the two heads—yours—of the thieves to show.”
“Will that content him?”
“Why not? He knows Pawundur is restless.”
Taleb Khan smiled, pleased with his own shrewdness.
“Many will tell,” he added, “if need be, of the theft of the panshway and how you sought to escape. Death of the Prophet! Shall I not keep the gold I labored to wring from this heathen land?
The villagers are like barren curs, so wretched are they. Only by seizing the wives and virgins of the dead men did I obtain the full quota of wheat and grain.”
Khlit looked at him inquiringly.
“Aye, it was cleverly done. Mustafa saw to it. And when we had the quota, the women were returned, although, of course, some were no longer virgins. My men must have some sport, for they are weary with this cursed land.”
“And the tax of the merchants?”
“I sold them the grain at double price. Those that bought not were hung for traitors. Few were hung.”
It was a pleasant day for the ameer. He felt the full tide of success reward his efforts. And to crown his delight came Mustafa to the tent, pulling after him the slim form of Daria Kurn, veiled.
“A nautch-woman have I found, Lord,” explained the mirza, “within the soiled tent. Oh, a fair woman with soft eyes.”
“Bare her face!”
Mustafa jerked the veil from the cheeks of the dancing girl. The cheeks were kohl-stained. The beautiful eyes glanced swiftly, sidewise, at Taleb Khan. The ameer crowed joyously and straightway forgot Khlit and Abdul Dost.
“A prize, Mustafa, a prize! Come, my precious jade, my splendid dove! Dance and let your feet be light. I am weary.”
Daria Kurn looked slowly about the tent at the watchers who had crowded into the shade at the coming of Mustafa.
“I will not dance,” she said sullenly.
“Sing then, my bracelet of delight, my pretty trinket of love. Sing!”
“Lick your palm!”
Taleb Khan scowled at this abrupt refusal of his request. He was accustomed to having his commands obeyed. Mustafa struck the nautch-woman on the cheek. Stra
ightaway she fastened her slender fingers in his beard, screaming with anger, one side of her sharp face crimson.
The mirza bellowed with rage and felt for his sword. Daria Kurn scratched his hand. Many coolies and followers of the merchants came running from their sleep at the outcry and formed a staring ring about the two struggling figures. Taleb Khan lay back on his rug, the better to laugh, for he was stout.
“Master,” came a stifled voice from behind Khlit, “I have your curved sword and the scimitar of the Muslim warrior.”
Schooled by bitter experience, the Cossack did not turn his head. He recognized the voice of Kehru. Abdul Dost sat up abruptly.
“I took the weapons from the low-born slaves who tended the horses. They know it not.” The whisper of the boy trembled with eagerness. “I hid them in an antelope skin and I crawled hither. For I heard them talk of how you were to be slain. I know not why you are bound. But you gave to me a round-bellied pony without flaw, and I am your man. Aye—your warrior.”
Mustafa had freed himself from the angry woman and drawn his dagger. In his rage he would have slashed the painted face of Daria Kurn, but Taleb Khan cried him halt.
“Would you spoil me this gem, Mustafa—this oasis in the sands of Hindustan? Nay, touch her not. I have not laughed so much in a fortnight!”
Khlit glanced sidewise at the throng. Intent on the spectacle of the woman, the bystanders had no eyes for him. He sat with Abdul Dost slightly back from the group, near to the side of the tent. Legs bandaged and naked rose about him. Slowly he rose to a kneeling position until his feet and bound limbs were behind him and concealed from view of those within the tent.
“Bid the boy look to see if any watch from the caravansary,” he whispered to Abdul Dost, who had quickly assumed a similar position.
“No one watches,” informed Kehru. “Those who have not come hither sleep.”
Hope was arising like the rush of fresh water in the parched body of Abdul Dost. He lifted his dark head for the first time in many hours and felt the burning of the sun across the back of his neck.
“Allah is good,” he said.
Khlit glanced at him warningly. They were in a throng of full thirty men. Others rested in the nearby tents. Around all ran the stone wall of the caravansary. Guards were at the entrance. Their position, despite the unexpected aid of the boy, was little short of deadly. Both he and Abdul Dost seized upon the thought at the same instant.
“Sever our accursed cords silently, from beneath,” whispered the Afghan from still lips. “But let them rest as they are, once they are loosened. Then leave our swords in the skin. Seek the horses—”
“Pick out our mounts,” added Khlit, “and the pony. Bring them to the rear of the tent swiftly.”
He thought of the vizier, riding toward the caravansary with his followers, and leaned forward slightly to glance into the tent. Daria Kurn was tossing fragments of beard disdainfully into Mustafa's purple face. She swayed mockingly before him, poising bird-like on her toes.
Taleb Khan sat up and stroked his mustache.
“Sing!” he cried. “By the footstool of God! So fair a form must have a voice like to that of the nightingale.”
“Am I a bazaar scavenger,” stormed the woman, “to lift my voice before coolies?”
“But—”
“The sun is hot.”
“I will pay a gold mohar.”
“I will sit by your knee, in the shade of the tent, my lord.” With a smirk Taleb Khan piled high the cushions at his side. Daria Kurn tripped forward swaying and seated herself daintily. He clapped his hands.
“Wine!” he ordered. “Snow cooled—the best of Shiraz!”
“Aye, wine!” cried the girl. “Wine for the pleasure of my lord.” She stroked his cheek and he lay back against the cushions, well-content. The discomfiture of Mustafa had only made Daria
Kurn more desirable in his eyes. Was not a woman of spirit more fitting to attend him than a whimpering maiden of the people?
Khlit felt a light tug at his hands and the cords loosened. His feet likewise were free. A glance assured him that Abdul Dost also had only the severed thongs upon his wrists and that the antelope skin was upon the sand behind them within arm's reach, and something bulky under it.
Kehru had vanished silently, leaving only the prints of his naked feet.
Then Mustafa, smarting under his ordeal, saw fit to wreak his ill humor upon the captives.
“Aye, bring wine,” he growled, “and let it be poured upon the beards of these thieves. Thirst shall teach them the first lesson of their crime.”
He knew that neither of the warriors had tasted drink for the space of many hours during which they had lain in the sun.
Catching a goblet from a slave, he strode over to the two, his eyes gleaming wickedly. Khlit measured him silently, cursing the ill luck that had drawn Mustafa's attention upon them. The men in the crowd laughed carelessly.
“Guard well that wine, Mustafa,” cried the Cossack quickly. “For I will truly drink of it and my thirst shall be eased—by your hand.”
“Wherefore?” grunted the mirza, hesitating.
Khlit had spoken as if by authority.
Taleb Khan paid no heed. He was staring greedily at Daria Kurn, who knelt above him, her dark eyes straying about the throng, her lips humming softly the words of a song. The subdued light in the tent glimmered on her bare arms and waist. The fat hand of the ameer wandered among the strands of her brown hair. It pleased his vanity to play with this woman before his followers.
Khlit threw back his head and laughed, laughed with a ring of real merriment.
“Wherefore? Why, Taleb Khan has been robbed!”
The ameer ceased his gallant efforts and glared at the Cossack. Khlit sat back upon the loose cords of his feet. The woman glanced at him once with the cold anger of a startled snake.
“Robbed!” Taleb Khan was uneasy; those who covet gold are ever quick to fear theft. “How? When? The man is mad!”
“Not long since. I have watched the woman,” growled Khlit. “Ho! It is a good jest. The thief has had his gains lifted from him.”
“Verily,” said Daria Kurn musically, “the sun has made him mad.”
She smiled upon the bewildered ameer and loosened the girdle about her waist. It was a thin, silk girdle, redolent of musk. Her hand strayed artlessly to the ameer's stout fist, and Taleb Khan's frown lightened. Not so Mustafa.
“No madness is it,” he grumbled, “to beware of the craft of such a she-jackal. Speak, graybeard—what have you seen?”
Khlit, listening for sound of horses' hoofs moving behind the tent, made answer boldly.
“I have seen what the ameer will pay well to hear. I have seen the gold taken from the ebony chest. I have seen Taleb Khan robbed of his treasure. If he would know where the gold has gone, he must bargain with me.”
Mustafa uttered a round oath. The faded eyes of Taleb Khan widened slowly and his mouth opened. He glanced uneasily at the outline of the chest on the farther side of Daria Kurn. He grunted and extended a tentative hand to the rug, across the knees of the nautch-girl. Then he hesitated.
He glanced at those who watched. It would not be well to bare the treasure to the sight of these merchants and their servants, if it were actually in the chest, for some would go to the vizier with the tale.
Then Taleb Khan would be obliged to pay a heavier bribe for the vizier's silence—heavier, that is, than if the official really thought that the ameer had been robbed of the revenue. For the vizier would be forced to pay the merchant for the information.
But, he thought hastily, what if Khlit's words were true? He flushed and stared narrowly at the woman. She took his hand in hers and kissed it.
“You have lied!” he muttered to the Cossack.
But his tone was far from assured. Suppose the gold was actually gone? The woman was artful.
“I have not lied,” Khlit's mustache twitched in a smile. “The bags of gold are gone. What I have
seen, I have seen.”
With a cry Taleb Khan snatched the rug from the ebony box. His avarice had overcome his caution. He fumbled with the bronze lock. The men pressed nearer.
Khlit saw a noose descend over the head of Taleb Khan and close about his throat.
Daria Kurn had sprung erect. In both hands she held the girdle that she had slipped around the ameer's neck. It had been knotted cleverly. She tugged with all the strength of her slender frame, placing a slippered foot against the back of the man. Taleb Khan's round face changed from red to purple. The cry that had started in his throat choked to a gurgle.
At the same instant, Khlit's hand darted behind him. He had felt the touch of muslin against his cheek. He flung himself backward.
“Your sword, Abdul Dost!” he shouted, and his words were tense with peril.
For simultaneously with the strangling of the ameer he had seen nooses appear magically from nowhere and drape about the throats of Mustafa and the followers of the ameer. He had acted without waiting for more.
The man who had sought to strangle Khlit had been, perhaps, a trifle slower than his companion thags, believing that his victim was bound. He held an empty noose. He had not long to dwell upon his mistake.
Khlit's sword flashed up as the Cossack lay on the ground and the man's legs were cut from under him. He sank down groaning, but Khlit was no longer under him. A second stroke cut through the thag's waist to his backbone.
The strangler who had stood beside Abdul Dost had thrown his noose over the Muslim's head and drawn it tight. Yet the Afghan was hardly slower to act than Khlit. He caught the cord firmly in one hand and grasped his sword from under the antelope skin with the other.
The thag yelled in alarm and plucked his knife from his girdle. He lifted it to spring on Abdul Dost. He struck at the Afghan, but only the bloodied stump of an arm reached the chest of the mansabdar. The hand and the knife fell to earth.