by Harold Lamb
"I go in my own time," I said.
"Ho," he laughed under his breath. "The gray wolf smells out booty. An Arab will find loot."
"On my head be my deeds. Nay, I shared the bread and salt with Radha and Sidri Singh. I will watch the happenings of this night."
He seemed to muse awhile.
"By thy word, Arab, this pasha bath forfeited the immunity of a guest. Within the hour we shall know all the truth. And then-" He turned toward me swiftly. "Swear! Swear, thou, to seal thy lips with silence and to lift no weapon against man of mine this night."
"I swear, by the stone of Mecca!"
Indeed, I was ready to make this covenant. More and more my heart inclined toward the youth. He made decisions quickly, and I had not yet seen the man who dared oppose Mirakhon Pasha. This Rajput seemed utterly reckless. Could he plan wisely and hide his plans? I made test of him.
"Wilt accuse the pasha of an evil deed?"
"I?" Again he laughed, as if delight grew within him. "Another will do so."
"It would be better to fall upon him with thy followers."
"Is a hawk to be taken sleeping?"
While I pondered this, he turned from me suddenly and went toward the hall. I heard horses moving out from the stable, and saw they were two-the young Rajput's black charger and the dun mare of the pasha. A servant-the same who had spoken with my companion-led them, and the sipahi at the courtyard gate was full of angry questions, asking why in the name the pasha's horse had been saddled. Doubtless the khan had waited until he heard the horses before leaving my side.
Standing thus in the entrance hall between the feasters and the courtyard, I wondered what plan the Rajput had formed. The stair leading to Radha's chamber was behind me in the darkness, and it came into my mind that the young lord planned to go up with Byram Khan and strike suddenly upon the two negroes, slaying them and carrying off the maiden. So I would have done, in other years-had the girl been beautiful.
But the Iranis would be out of the hall at the first sound of struggle above them. Also, the khan would leave the greater part of his men to be slain. Still, he had saddled two horses-the best of the horses!
I thought that I, in his case, would fall sword in hand upon the feasters in the hall, trusting to surprise and swiftness to avail against numbers. Then I knew that this, also, was vain. How could the Rajputs, scattered among their guests, be warned of the plan? And what would prevent the warriors swarming up from the camp when they heard the tumult through the open gates of the castle? And, in the end, what of Radha, in the hands of the black slaves? I could think of no plan.
All this passed through my mind in the moment when the young khan walked to the heavy curtains of the banquet hall. With a sweep of his arms, he held them wide.
"Ho, where is the man who boasts of his lance?" he cried.
I could see the Iranis sit upright in astonishment. A gust of warm air, heavy with musk and mastic, swept past me. Mirakhon Pasha held a handful of grapes motionless under his lips.
"The sky is clear and the moon is high," said the young chieftain, smiling. "I have my horse saddled. Nay, we are weary of talk, and I would warm my blood before sleeping. Which is the best lancer among ye?"
By now the pasha's officers had found their voices.
"I!" cried Fazl Ali, springing up.
"By the ninety and nine holy names!" Farash Agha swore. "Dost name me boaster?"
"Art thou the one?" The young lord of Karadak spoke with disdain, scarcely veiled. "Come, my lord ambassador, wilt thou be judge of the joust?"
"What is this?" Mirakhon Pasha frowned.
"The play of Karadak, my lord. We have little skill at play of words or dancing, but it is our custom to mount and ride forth on such clear nights to exercise in arms. Yet thou art weary from the road. So this night we shall run a few courses in the courtyard."
The pasha noticed the change in the youth, the eagerness that he could not hide in his voice. It was clear to him, however, that the other Rajputs took such sport as a matter of course. They rose, making way for their guests. Then the broad face of the pasha grew dark, as I had seen it at Bandar Abbasi, and in the moment that Sidri Singh died. Like a wary boar, peering through the thicket, he scented the approach of something strange.
"0 lord of Iny life," cried Farash Agha, thrusting Fazl Ali aside and salaaming low to his master. "Have I thy leave to clip the ears of this cub?"
"Look to thine own nose," cried one of the Rajputs.
Farash Agha glared about him, hand on sword-hilt. For the slicing of a nose there is only one reason, among the Iranis. Then, to mend his pride, he turned to the khan who had challenged him.
"I do not play with blunted lance points."
"Nor is there need, 0 Agha. Choose thou a lance, and I shall take the sword. If thou touch my garments, or draw blood, the victory is thine. If I parry the onset, taking no harm, I am winner of the joust."
The Iranis exchanged glances, being greatly amazed. They were in no mood to pass by a challenge, and even the pasha saw some rare sport before him. Warriors, minstrels, and nobles passed from the hall, jostling and talking, some bearing with them the great silver candelabra, and the Rajputs followed. Each man of Karadak paused where their young khan stood, and with each he spoke in his own speech. Then he hastened to the side of the pasha.
"Will it please thee to mount, my lord?"
Eh, he had thought to saddle the ambassador's mare, so that the pasha would not be constrained to remain afoot while others sat in the saddle. And he had also another reason that I suspected not at all.
The pasha mounted, Fazl Ali holding the stirrup. Once in the saddle, he took command of matters, placing the attendants with the candles close to him and summoning the warrior who held his javelins. The Iranis ranged themselves about him, some sitting, others walking about, near the wall of the castle, at one side of the door. There was laughter and crying of wagers-for, in a joust of lance against sword and shield, wounds are freely given.
The pasha began to be restless and eager as he watched the master of Karadak mount the black charger and rein up and down the enclosure, displaying the paces of his steed. Even the Iranis murmured approval, for the khan sat as one rarely skilled, and the clean-limbed charger sidled and trotted and wheeled at touch of knee and bridle.
Soon the leader of the sipahis appeared on a Turkoman horse, trotting in and out among the spectators, eyeing the youth of Karadak. For the khan had no shield. Nor did he wear a cloak. His tight-fitting white tunic made a good mark in the elusive light, mingled of the glow from the sky and the flickering gleam of the candles.
The pasha looked at his sentry in the open gate, and past him to the tents and dying fires of the caravan. The watchers fell silent, drawing closer to the wall, the Rajputs mingling with the Iranis.
"Begin!" he cried, leaning on the saddle horn.
The two riders cantered to the far ends of the courtyard, some sixty paces apart. Farash Agha raised his lance tip, and the Rajput drew his saber, saluting. Then the brown horse of the Irani trotted forward, and cantered, while the black charger, tight-reined, trotted, half rearing.
In an instant they were together, hoofs ringing on the hard clay of the enclosure. And those near me shouted loud. Farash Agha, gripping his lance in his right hand, pressing the shaft against his forearm, had thrust savagely at the young khan's girdle. Truly, he did not mean to play with blunt weapons!
The khan's sword flashed out, clinking against the wood of the lance, and the long shining point of the spear was turned aside, sweeping past him harmlessly.
"Shabash!" growled Fazl Ali. "Well done."
But the pasha and most of the Iranis looked disappointed. They hoped to see the Rajput cast, bleeding, from the saddle.
Again the riders turned and faced each other and Farash Agha spurred forward with a tight rein. This time his point wavered and thrust swiftly at the throat of the youth. Eh, the khan, leaning forward, parried upward. Again, the lance point slid o
ff his blade without harm.
The Rajputs watched him with pride, breathing quickly. And when the riders turned for the third course, the pasha and his Iranis thought of nothing but the rearing horses, the gleaming weapons. This time Farash Agha tried another trick.
Leaning far forward, he gripped the spear shaft under his armpit and sat tight in the saddle, trusting by weight and strength to bear through the parrying stroke of the sword.
The young khan saw and acted upon the instant. The black charger darted forward, the rider slipped to the far side of the saddle. The blade of the heavy khanda, held high, smashed down upon the spear, driving the lance point sharply down into the earth.
Before Farash Agha could recover, the point had caught and held. Perforce he loosed his hold on the spear which remained, upright and quivering, in the center of the courtyard. W'allahi, it happened as I have said-the lancer was disarmed.
And before anyone could cry out, the master of Karadak wheeled his charger around to face the pasha.
"The play is ended," he cried.
He had seen from the corner of his eye what we now saw. From the door of the castle, out of the darkened entrance, stepped Radha.
Clearly was she to be seen, by the candles. Her hair, unbound, fell thick upon her shoulders, and her veil had vanished. Swaying, she stood in the half light, a dagger gripped tight against her slender breast.
For the time it takes to draw and loose a breath there was silence, while her eyes, shadowed by grieving, sought swiftly among the men. Her lips parted and she raised her head. Against the dark entrance she looked like a child out of peristan -an elf of spirit-land. But behind her loomed Byram Khan, his bared sword dripping blood from the channels, and his eyes afire.
"0 my kinsmen!" she cried in a clear voice. "Avenge Sidri Singh. I shall live if ye live, or die with ye!"
Her eyes sought the pasha, and Byram Khan strode past her, shouting.
"The proof! To your swords, my children."
Hearing these words I thought that the Rajputs, all eleven of them, had dug their graves. True, the young khan might have ridden past the sentry at the gate. But, penned thus between the sheer cliff behind the castle and the high wall around the courtyard, how could the others flee? Penned in with the pasha and his wolves!
"God is one," I said to myself. "It will be over in a little time."
For the sipahis were no merchant-folk or peasantry to be charged and scattered. Full armed, alert and angered, they grasped at sword-hilt and ax-shaft, and Mirakhon Pasha reached back his right hand swiftly. The attendant behind him thrust a javelin into his fingers.
Without an instant's hesitation-without gathering up his reins or stiffening his seat in the saddle-the pasha launched his weapon, his heavy body swinging forward, grunting with the effort. He struck thus, as a panther leaps, with the release of mighty muscles, swift as instinct.
Clear in the candlelight I saw him cast at his mark, the young khan wheeling toward him ten paces distant.
No rider could dodge a javelin so thrown at such a little distance. Indeed, I did not see the shaft fly. But I saw it strike-against the far wall of the courtyard.
Mirakhon Pasha had missed his cast. Perhaps the flickering candles beside him had drawn his eye from the slim white figure wavering in the moonlight; perhaps anger had clouded his sight. I do not know.
But when the javelin shattered itself against the bricks of the wall, the pasha cried out as if in pain. The young Rajput, the two-edged sword swinging at his knee, spurred at him. The pasha also drove home his spurs, wrenching out his scimitar as the dun mare plunged.
The Rajput came in like flame out of darkness, laughing, leaning in toward his foe. The broad body of the pasha stiffened. The swords clashed once.
I saw it-the shining blade of the Rajput beat aside the lighter scimitar and seemed to stroke the pasha's breast in passing.
The pasha rose in his stirrups and cried out twice. Then the dun mare, rearing in frantic excitement, cast him from the saddle and he lay prone on his face, as a heavy sack, cast from a height, remains motionless.
"Guard thy lord!" shouted Farash Agha, who had seen from the center of the courtyard the fall of his master.
"Ho, my Agha!" cried the Rajput chieftain. "Where now is thy lance?"
He had recovered, reined back the black charger scattering dust and gravel, and wheeled toward the officer of the sipahis. I did not see their meeting. Steel clanged all about me, and the shouts of the Red Hats mingled with the battle cry of the men of Karadak. The dun mare, riderless, swerved within reach of Iny hand.
It was no place to remain afoot. Nay, an aged and feeble man would not long have survived in that place of death. I grasped the mare's rein, steadied her, and climbed into the saddle. In other years I would have leaped without touching horn or stirrup. I drew my sword, because in a mad fight such as this within walls, a gray beard is no shield, and every soul must guard himself.
I looked at the leaders. Wallahi, they were slashing like fiends-Farash Agha with his brow and cheek laid open, the Rajput scattering blood when he swung his right arm. The horses were turning swiftly on their haunches, and the grinding of the steel blades did not cease. A sipahi, his lance poised, stood beside them.
"Allah!" shrieked Farash Agha.
The Rajput's two-edged khanda passed into his body under the heartyea, the half of the blade. And that moment, seeing his chance, the Irani warrior on foot thrust his spear into the Rajput's back.
How could I sit, mounted and idle, and watch a boy struck down in this manner? I kneed the mare forward and slashed at the sipahi's neck above the mail. The edge of my scimitar ground against bone and I had to pull to clear it. The sipahi fell where he stood. It was not a bad blow.
Farash Agha slid from his saddle, but the young khan kept his seat and called out to me above the tumult.
"I have seen, 0 Arab. Ask thy reward in another day."
He was able to walk his horse toward the castle door where Radha stood by the candles, her faces bloodless in its cloud of dark hair. But he was too badly hurt to do more than cry encouragement to his men. I glanced about the courtyard. Never had I seen such play of weapons.
The Rajputs, without shield or mail, cast themselves upon their foes with nothing but the sword. Death struck them and laid them low in an instant, or the sipahis fell under their feet. The youths and old men of Karadak acted as if reckless of life. Indeed, they had but one thought-to spread swiftly the carpet of the slain before other enemies could come up from the camp.
And they bore themselves with the skill of warriors reared to weapons. By swift swordplay they slashed through the guard of saber and shield, and leaped forward. And, lo, the fight was now an equal thing. The fury of the Rajputs matched well the sullen anger of the sipahis. But I knew that if the young hero of Karadak had not overthrown the pasha and Farash Agha in as many minutes, the Rajputs would have been doomed before now.
Leaderless, the sipahis began to think of themselves, to gather in groups. The sentry, who all this time had remained amazed and motionless, so sudden had been the onset, instead of running in, began to beat on his shield and shout in a high voice to the watchers in the camp below.
"Hai-hai! Aid, Kasim ad-Din! Ho, Sharm Be-! Aid-give aid!"
Who can tell the happenings of a hand-to-hand affray? Nay, the man who tells much lies greatly! I saw one of the mountebanks still hugging his guitar, dancing in fear from the swords; I heard a boy shriek for his father-and a man staggering along the wall, curse the name of God. The candles had gone out, and a haze of dust rose against the moonlight.
I rode down one warrior, who tried to guard himself with his shield as if the rush of a horse were the flight of an arrow; I followed another horseman through the murk, rose in my stirrups to slash at his head, and saw that it was Byrarn Khan who had got himself a horse in some fashion known only to God.
A face peered up at me out of darkness, and I thought it was one of the Irani nobles. He was laughin
g-
"Ho-aho-ho!" Thus, on his knees, both hands clutched in his girdle, he was laughing, and it sounded strangely.
Two of the pasha's minstrels, with flying mantles, elbowed and jostled to be first out of the gate, though five horsemen abreast could have passed through without touching stirrup. I thought then that the halfdozen creatures of the pasha would not stand and fight like the sipahis. Then I could see nothing at all for the dust, and drew rein.
A voice behind me called out-
"Close the gate!"
The two, who hurried forward and swung shut the wide portals of teakwood and iron, were men of Karadak, servants who had taken no part in the affray. They turned the massive iron key in the lock and lugged the lance-long bars into place. And the one who had given the order walked up to see that all had been well done. It was Byram Khan.
The fighting had ended. When the dust settled down I looked about the courtyard. Three other Rajputs were on their feet, and none beside the three.
Truly the Rajput swordsmen had spread that night the carpet of the slain.
Nine sipahis and Irani nobles were already dead or soon to await their shrouds. Four, slashed and pierced in the bodies and heads, cursed and moaned for water. Four defenders of Karadak lay lifeless, and three little better. All the pasha's mountebanks and the remaining three of his men must have fled through the gate. Well for us that gate had been open! Cornered men will fight with fury.
Indeed, the desperation of the Rajputs, who had been resolved to prevail or perish together, had turned the tide of victory toward them.
Byram Khan peered at me, his eyes clouded and his breath coming in long gasps.
"Ho, Arab!" He gripped my arm. "How many swords will come against us from the camp below?"
I counted over in my mind the number of the caravan folk.
"Two hundred-nay, two hundred and twenty and eight, and perhaps they who escaped from here."
"What manner of men?"
"Sipahis and Kurdish cavalry."
Byraln Khan looked at his three Rajputs, and at the long stretch of the courtyard wall. He looked at me and said, "God is one!" and walked away. His meaning was that what might happen hereafter would be in the hands of God, not in his.