by Harold Lamb
Wasting no thought upon the how or why of it, the crusader got to his feet, felt for the center pole of the pavilion and lurched to the entrance. But when he pushed through the entrance his blood was stirring, sleep gone from his limbs. Kneeling, he looked from side to side along the ground. The light of the stars was clear, and against it he found what he sought, two figures moving away from the pavilion.
On the taller of the two, for an instant, metal glinted-the star glow reflected from polished steel. Sir John was unarmed in his sleeveless leather tunic and leggings; but this did not stay his run and leap upon the taller figure. His arms closed around the waist of a big man, and he threw him heavily.
He heard a woman's gasp beside him and the snarl of an oath beneath him-and the clang of steel upon stones. Bending over, he felt for and found his long sword and rose with it in his hand.
"Bid thy churl keep his distance," Sir John said. "For I have no mind to strike him down."
"Hush-oh, hush!" Thamar's voice whispered.
Sir John heard the stamping of restless horses, saw the dark blur of picketed beasts near at hand, by the black bulk of a shed. Then men came running up from behind the shed, a lantern swinging among them. They were Tatars, evidently the guards of the horse lines, and they stared silently at the three captives, thrusting the lantern close to Sonkor, who was rising from his knees, shaken by the heavy fall on the hard earth.
Thamar's face gleamed white in the lantern light, above the dark folds of her cloak.
"Ill was thy waking!" she cried at the crusader. "Another hour and we would have been riding free."
But Sir John was ill pleased by the taking of his sword.
"A woman's fancy," he responded harshly, "to try to lift horses under eyes like these." And he pointed at the Tatars.
"0 churl," she whispered. "Thou art no man, but a dull beast fit to be led to the slaying pit."
And she turned back to the pavilion.
But Sir John sat out the hours of the night by the entrance among the guards who were both puzzled and suspicious.
After the first light Arslan talked it over with the officer of the detachment that had brought Sir John, and it seemed clear to them that the captives had quarreled.
"Before the iron man came," Arslan ruminated, "the woman made no harm."
"A woman," responded the officer reflectively, "is like a magician. Who knows what she will do? Nay, I will keep them apart and not allow them to speak."
So after that morning, armed Tatars rode between Princess Thamar of Georgia and Sir John Sheldon. Only through the tossing horsetail plumes and the shaking lances could the crusader see the hooded head of the girl as they raced along the Great South Road. But when he sat alone of nights over the embers of a fire, he beheld again her dark, lovely head in the whirling smoke, and in his memory he heard again the echo of her song.
The sun struck through the forest of Xanadu where Kublai Khan had built his pleasure palace. Life stirred in the shadows under the blue pines and the tendrils of the willows, for the forest was filled with game. Quail scampered through the lush grass, and deer flitted away in the clearing; waterfowl clamored among the rushes of the lake, and cormorants splashed in the shallows.
The air was heavy with the fragrance of sun-warmed vines and cedars. In a grove of gnarled cedars by the edge of the lake Sir John had been quartered alone, in a gilded kiosk of split bamboos. His Tatar escort had left him at the forest gate, and an Armenian merchant had appeared to guide him to this spot, and to explain that on the morrow he would be led before the great khan. Then the merchant had left him, solitary, to all seeming, but with invisible companions.
Even the little kiosk was full of unexpected things. At first Sir John had seen only a silk-covered pallet and a lacquered table with a low chair beside it. Paper lanterns with long tassels hung from the peak of the roof, and upon the bed lay a light robe of floss silk with long sleeves, very much like a knight's surcoat. This Sir John put on, after doffing his heavy mail and placing it beside his helmet and shield that had been left with him at the bamboo hut.
"Faith," he muttered, "here is comfort enough, but little to eat."
He did not venture out until after sunset, when he heard music over the water; and, going down to the shore, he beheld something that looked like a gold castle moving across the lake. Women's voices reached him faintly, rising and falling in a slow cadence that kept time to the dipping of the oars. The strange pleasure barge merged into the mists, the singing ceased, and the crusader went back to his quarters, pausing on the threshold with a quick-drawn breath.
The lanterns had been lighted in his absence. Some of them were still revolving slowly, and while he had not noticed them before in the obscurity of the pointed roof, he had reason enough to stare now. They glowed in fantastic colors, and leered and grimaced at him. Human faces had been painted within the paper globes. And the table now bore a silver tray filled with sugared fruits and smoking mutton and a bronze pitcher of clear wine.
Sir John looked around and sat him down, drawing out his knife and attacking the meat with good will. He filled a jade cup with wine and lifted it toward the gallery of lanterns.
"Hail!" he laughed, and then sat rigid.
Among the lanterns a human face looked down at him from sightless eyes. The skin of the face was shrunk upon the bone and the lips were drawn back from set teeth.
But the crusader had seen before now the severed head of a man, although not one stuck upon a hook above his own.
"Poor wight," he thought, "his day is o'er. Aye, he has gone before me."
He attacked his dinner again, the head under the roof disturbing him less than the movement and snuffling that went on outside the bamboo walls. Keeping one eye on the door, Sir John listened curiously. The breathing resembled an animal's, but the slight rustling and tread suggested the presence of men.
So he moved his chair to face the door, which stood open, and went on eating in the intervals of quiet. Evidently he was spied upon, and the stealth of the creatures outside was not reassuring. Sir John sipped his wine slowly and waited patiently. The movement ceased, but he still could hear the faint sniffing.
Then he set down the jade cup and frowned. In the square of darkness beyond the door two green eyes glowed. They vanished and appeared again, more clearly, moving toward him.
Sir John's hand closed upon the hilt of his sword and for a moment he sat motionless.
Without a sound a long leopard padded into the room and snarled.
Presently the leopard turned its head, and the crusader saw the mark of a collar on its neck. It wore no collar, but he knew the mark, and the manner of a hunting leopard-a tame animal. When it brushed against his leg he wiped his hands on its fur. The big cat sat down and began to lick itself over, like any domestic tabby. Sir John finished his wine.
Only once more was he disturbed, when a man came to call the leopard away. The crusader saw him outside the door, a bent figure in a short cloak, a dark, seamed face nearly hidden in a mass of hanging hair from which projected the horns of a beast. The figure hissed and the leopard padded out; then man and beast disappeared, and Sir John laughed.
"Faith, they have quartered me among the magicians, and they are the jesters of this court."
Whether he had hit upon the truth, or whether these men of the forest of Xanadu had meant to try his courage, he did not know. He was left in peace until the sun was high the next morning, and then appeared a Tatar clad in shining cloth-of-silver, with a gold baton in his hand. He rode a white pony and led by the rein a bay horse, and he signed for the crusader to put on his mail and helmet. Curiously he watched while Sir John adjusted the loose coif over his shoulders and laced tight the gorget of his steel headpiece, and picked up his shield.
At a foot pace the two rode through the sunlit forest. Other cavalcades going in the same direction drew aside for them, and the crusader saw that all the Tatar nobles were in court robes of stiff silver cloth and gold tissue; some
of them carried white gyrfalcons on their wrists, and their saddlecloths were flowered silk or tiger skins. Never had Sir John seen such horses. No one mocked him, although the slant eyes stared at him with grave curiosity. The throng became denser, and Sir John saw that he was passing through a strange gateway.
On either side stood elephants draped in black leather with turbaned men astride their shoulders. First one then another threw up its trunk and the earth reverberated with their trumpeting roar, while the sword blades flashed on their tusks, and the horses danced in terror. But the crusader sat erect in the saddle, his hand firm on the rein, and the Tatars did not guess that he had never seen an elephant before. They signed to him to dismount and led him through a garden of twisted cedars, out upon a stone terrace. And he knew then that he stood before Kublai Khan.
On his right hand rose a marble palace, the crown of a hill that descended at his left, terrace by terrace, to the blue lake. Beyond the lake he saw the dark mesh of the forest and snow peaks rising out of distant mist.
The portico of the palace rested upon gold pillars, each the semblance of a dragon with its head and claws upholding the marble eaves. In front of the portico the crusader beheld a white canopy like a tiny tent against the mass of the palace. But yellow silk covered the marble here, and in the shadow of the canopy a man sat upon a dark jade dais. Around him were grouped the Tatar lords, and on the steps beneath him stood long lines of guards, their black helmets crested with white horsehair.
Toward these guards Sir John was led, up many steps and out upon a second terrace of red tiles. It was an arrow's flight in width and length, and he felt as he strode across it that a thousand eyes took stock of him. Tatar officers came forward to meet him and motioned to him to undo his sword. He did so, and they took it and his shield and carried them up, placing them before the man on the dais.
Two of the officers remained at his side, waiting until they should be summoned to the khan. Meanwhile giant negroes hastened up, tugging at the chains that were the leashes of lean tigers. They led the beasts before the jade slab, falling on their knees and veiling their eyes with their arms. And the tigers, a score of them, lowered their striped heads, swaying from side to side and snarling-making their salutation to the khan. The fierce heads sank to the paws, and then the negro keepers drew their charges away, and a woman was led forth from the guards.
"Princess Thainar!" the crusader cried.
She heard him, glanced at him swiftly, and went on. Her hands had been bound together loosely by silk cords as a sign that she was a captive. Alone she stood before the dais, looking up into the face of the man who sat heavily in a low gold chair, powerful hands resting on his thighs. His head was broad and dark and expressionless; his wide mouth beneath its thin drooping mustache was both cruel and full of power; under a jutting forehead, blue eyes surveyed the beauty of the girl before him.
After a moment Kublai Khan turned his head, spoke a word to the nobles who stood below him, and Princess Thamar was led to one side. So it happened that Sir John came within a spear's length of her when he was ushered forward in his turn. The Tatars on either side caught him by the arms and motioned him to kneel. His sword and shield were brought and laid at the feet of the khan.
Then the crusader was aware of another who knelt at his side, and of a curling beard that brushed the marble step-Sonkor's beard. For a moment the khan upon his golden throne surveyed the two captive men of valor, and not so much as the rustle of a robe broke the silence. The khan spoke, and when he had ceased a peacock on the jade throne stone lifted its wings and spread the glory of its tail; but the wings were gold, and the bird was gold, and the plumes were set with the sheen of pearls and the gleam of yellow diamonds.
"Rise," said a voice in good Norman French.
Sir John found a stranger at his side, a short man in a velvet cloak and somber cap, whose beard was carefully trimmed and whose eyes were keen and patient.
"My master, 'tis an ill word I have to speak thee. The great khan hath commanded me to bid thee arm thyself and fight with this stout fellow." The stranger nodded at Sonkor. "There is no help for it, but whoso slays the other will be spared."
Turning to the Georgian axman he explained again that the two Christians must fight before the Tatars, and the survivor would not be harmed. Sonkor was to choose a shield and a weapon from the guards.
The bearded warrior understood, for he nodded, and suddenly threw himself toward Thamar, drawing his two guards with him as if they had been children tugging at the horns of an ox. On his knees he pressed his lips against the hand of his young mistress, and rose to his feet.
"And what of her, the princess?" Sir John asked the interpreter.
The stranger glanced at the headdresses of the women of the court, as if puzzled, and then at Thamar.
"The captive? Nay, there are a hundred women of royal blood within this place. The khan said that indeed she is beautiful, and will bear strong sons when he gives her as a wife to some brave officer."
A swift rush of blood darkened Thamar's throat and brow.
"No Tatar will boast that he had me in his arms, for if that happens I shall be dead." She bent her head, a faint smile on her dark lips. "Nay, my Lord of the Cross, it is I who must yield up my life, for thou mayest prevail in the weapon play, since Sonkor wears no armor."
Sir John checked the words that quivered in his throat.
"May God keep thee, my lady," he said at last. Grim of face he turned away, for he loved the girl who had mocked him.
He made his way down the steps, through the ranks of the guards that opened to let him pass and closed after him. Not until then was he given his sword and shield, and the one he thrust on his left forearm, the other he gripped and swung about his head until the fine-edged steel hummed in the air. Out upon the red tiled terrace he strode, into the great cleared place where Sonkor awaited him, in the heart of the watching concourse. Turbaned men and slaves, scarred veterans of Tatary, long-robed savants of Cathay-all watched impassively the two champions of Christendom.
"By the rood," said the crusader, "let us make an end of this, Sonkor."
A glance showed him that the Georgian had chosen a round shield of rhinoceros hide, and a long-handled ax with a heavy head. Bearded jaw outthrust, legs bent, he poised himself against the first blow. Sir John still held his sword tip down; he knew that he could slash that shield into fragments and then cut through the clumsy guard of such an ax.
"Thy death is at hand," he said slowly. "Dost thou understand?"
Sonkor's teeth gleamed through his beard as he growled assent.
"And so is mine," went on Sir John, resting the point of his sword on the tiles. "Never has it been said of me that I sought to gain life by the death of a companion. I will not lift weapon against an unarmed churl, but together we will go against the Tatars. Wilt thou do it, fellow?"
Bewilderment struggled with suspicion in Sonkor's broad face. He knew that he was doomed in any case. But to have a comrade at his side-to go down striving with a multitude-that was good. Fiercely questioning, he peered into the cold blue eyes that looked down at him from under the steel rim of the helmet.
"Aye!" he cried.
"Come," said Sir John quietly, and turned on his heel. "Follow, and keep my back."
Utter silence fell upon the watchers as the two champions strode back toward the steps. The heavy footfall of the axman echoed the clanking tread of the mailed crusader. Nearer they came to the lines of guards. A murmur rose and swelled as a helmeted Tatar went out and motioned them back with his long spear. Sir John stepped forward and slashed off the point of the spear. His long sword swung again, and the guard's head jerked from his body.
Behind the crusader, Sonkor roared his battle shout, and the knight knew that berserk fury had seized the axman. A half-dozen Tatars rushed toward him, and he strode to meet them in silence. He had been brought before this pagan emperor to fight and he meant that this affray should be memorable.
He thrust swiftly over the shield of the nearest guard and the man went down with his throat open. A side slash of the long sword and another fell heavily. Taking the smash of a curved sword on his shield, Sir John sprang back.
Sonkor's ax crushed in the face of the Tatar who had struck the knight. Then, beside himself, the big Georgian smashed out to right and left-flung his shield into the eyes of a foeman, and gripped his ax shaft with both hands. Grimly the Tatars closed in around him, until Sir John, seeing his peril, drove at them with raised shield and lowered point and cleared a little space.
"Back to back!" he shouted, and felt the straining shoulders of the axman against his own.
Now they were the center of a ring wherein the clatter and clang of steel sounded louder and swifter. Sir John heard Sonkor groan, and the thudding of steel blades into a human body.
Leaping aside, he swept his sword out and down, turning swiftly on his heels as he did so. Sonkor had vanished as a dog goes down among wolves. He himself was hemmed in, nearly carried from his feet. He felt his peril, and lowered his head behind his shield. Shortening his sword, bracing it against the shield's edge, he thrust suddenly between the men who had rushed in too eagerly to grasp him. Swords smashed in the steel links on his shoulders and thighs, and the glancing blow of an ax stripped the mail from his right arm.
Blood spurting from him, the crusader drove clear of the massed Tatars. Blood was in his mouth, and he felt that his helmet was gone. For an instant he saw the white palace against the deep blue of the sky. Then he turned and hewed at his foes, his battle shout roaring from his straining lungs.
Where the great sword struck, iron shattered and bones splintered. Men ran at him from the side, and he swept them down and sent their bodies sliding and clanking over the tiles.
"For the Cross!" he thundered.
Under the blow of a mace a bone snapped in his thigh and he staggered. The sky was red, all was red, seen through the drip of his own blood. His shield arm dangled, broken from his torn shoulder, and in his ears roared ever louder the cling and the clang, and the crash-