Swords From the Desert

by Harold Lamb

  "Ask her!" he muttered after a long silence. "She alone can explain her secrets. Last night, when I went to look again at her house, these same men told me she had gone away."

  I remembered that she had warned Kushal to go from Kandahar; but it is profitless to try to reason why a woman does things. Each hour brings her different moods and different thoughts.

  "Nor more than a day ago thou didst call her a child untaught," I reminded him. "What now?"

  Kushal was not minded to smile at his misfortune. He lay down upon the divan with his arms beneath his head and pretended to care or think nothing at all about it. He had been taken captive and bundled into a camel pannier by a woman, and his honor suffered greatly.

  "She could have had the emerald yesterday, for the asking," he cried once.

  It occurred to me that she had said Kushal must leave the city within a week. The time, it seemed had grown less-something had happened since our first meeting with her. Sitting in silence I listened, and after a while became certain of two things.

  We were in a strange encampment, and no small one. Horses were being watered-many of them. Men passed with a hurried tread, and such talk as I heard was in Persian or dialects I knew not. At sunset the callerto-prayer made himself heard, and his words were not familiar.

  There did not seem to be many women about, and indeed little was to be heard. The camp seemed to be muffled in quiet, yet in constant motion. After dark the maid brought us a good repast, and I ate Kushal's share when he would not touch it.

  Once I made as if to go out of the entrance, but the guards stayed me, saying that it was not permitted.

  "By whose orders?" I asked.

  They pretended not to understand. So I went and sat and listened attentively. Eh, by its tracks a camel reveals itself-whether it be laden or not, whether it be old or young, weak or strong; and by the sounds of evening much may be learned of a camp.

  These were no tents of merchants. Orders were given in the speech of the Persians, and arrogantly. When a group of men passed our tent, I did not see the glow of torches or lanterns-they moved about in darkness, often stumbling over pavilion ropes and picket lines. At such times, weapons clanged or clashed. I heard an officer curse some servants for allowing a fire to blaze up. By one thing and another I thought that this was an encampment of nobles, with strong guards, and that the leaders desired not to attract attention to themselves. All this was true.

  About the second hour of the night Nisa slipped into the tent. She seemed to be grieving. Her bright hair fell in disorder about her cheeks; there were shadows under her dark eyes. Soundlessly she went toward the divan upon which Kushal lay. At his feet she seated herself, he paying no heed.

  In a moment I heard feet approaching, striding free and heavily. A word of command was spoken. Our two guards sprang up swiftly, drawing back the entrance hanging.

  Nisa crossed her arms on her breast and bent her splendid head until it nearly touched the divan upon which she knelt.

  "Shabash! A man spoke harshly. "Well done!"

  Peering into the outer darkness I made out several figures in long mantles, the gleam of tiaras and jeweled turban crests-for an instant only, because, at a second command, the guards let fall the hanging and the footsteps retreated. Beyond doubt these lords of the encampment did not wish to be seen.

  For awhile Nisa sat in silence, brushing the flies from Kushal's head, her eyes dim with thought. Never have I seen a more beautiful pair than these two-the wild Pathan, cloaked in his pride, and the golden-maned singing girl at his feet.

  Eh, many times have I seen the fire of love brighten and grow dim. Nisa was wrapped up in her love for this man, as strange and fierce a love as ever glowed in the eyes of a pantheress. As if fire had burned all other feeling out of her, she bent over his feet, sweeping away the flies with the end of her shawl, until suddenly she remembered me and sprang up, bidding me follow her. Only then did Kushal look at her, as a man might glance at a dog behaving in some new fashion.

  Outside the tent, she led me swiftly toward a mass of horses and stopped under the clear starlight, where none could overhear.

  "An order has been given to flay him alive," she whispered, and I began to understand a little why she grieved.

  At Kushal, sitting the saddle of his horse and singing in her courtyard, she had hurled insolence and defiance. For Kushal, captive and defenseless, she grieved. And yet she had brought him hither herself!

  "They will torture him," she went on, "unless-" she checked the words to glance fleetingly into distant shadows -"unless thou canst bring Mahabat Khan hither before sunrise-sunrise after this next."

  I wondered what this encampment was and why they wanted Mahabat Khan and how she expected me to bring him; but I said nothing, since she was minded to speak freely at last.

  "When the first rim of the sun is seen over the plain, they will bind him and begin tearing the skin from his throat and breast," she whispered. "By noon, they will have taken the skin from his back and at the end of the day he will be dead."

  "No man may escape his fate," I said, to spur her on.

  The white blur of her face drew near me and the scent of rose leaves came to my nostrils.

  "Daril" she cried softly, "thou art a man of honor. Forget that I beguiled thee in Kandahar and made sport of him." She clasped her hands and laid them against my breast. "Wilt thou pledge me this?"

  "What?" I asked. "And under what conditions?"

  "To ride now, at once, to Kandahar, and tell Mahabat Khan all thou hast seen. Tell him that the life of his companion, the songmaker, is in his hands. He may come alone, or with his men." She leaned close to look up into my eyes. "Daril, a man such as thou wilt not believe a woman's oath. I cannot swear to this truth, but it is surely true that Mahabat Khan will suffer no harm by coming."

  "To whom?" I asked. "Who sends for him?"

  "I-I do. It will be better for him to come without escort."

  "W'allahi! Will the Sirdar of Ind come forth unattended at a woman's whim? To visit a woman?"

  "To save the life of Kushal-aye! He must!"

  "What if he chooses to bring a squadron of Moguls and his Rajputs?"

  "It is all one to me; but he will fare better alone. Nay, I swear-nay, Daril, a greater lord than thou or the Sirdar of Ind, swears on his honor that Mahabat Khan will suffer no least harm. He will be entertained for a day, perhaps a little longer, and then he and the songmaker may ride free."

  Reaching down, I took her wrist in my fingers, feeling the beat of the blood in her veins. Understanding that I was making test of her, she withdrew her wrist and pressed my hand under her breast against the heart. It fluttered and throbbed as if heavy fever were in her veins. Indeed, fever burned in her.

  "Thou art beside thyself, Nisa," I said. "Mahabat Khan will not believe such a tale as this of mine."

  At this she laughed softly.

  "Nay, he will believe. I will give thee such proof as he will believe. Thus!"

  She put into my fingers a hard object, about the size of a date, wrapped in thin silk.

  "Kushal's emerald," she explained. "And here-" she gave me a tiny tube such as messenger pigeons carry- "is a letter saying that Kushal will be tortured, as I have said, unless he comes."

  I let the things lie in my hand while I pondered. Indeed, the songmaker was captive in this camp. As to the matter of his death, I knew not. But I believed that Nisa hoped to save his life, if Mahabat Khan could be persuaded to visit this place. Clearly it would serve no one for me to remain sitting in this tent. I decided to go to the Sirdar and explain all that had happened. The responsibility, then, would be his.

  "Give me a horse," I said, "and tell me where Kandahar lies."

  She sighed, as if a burden had been taken from her back, and motioned toward the line of beasts near us.

  "My men have a horse awaiting thee. Kandahar lies no more than two hours to the north."

  "How can I enter at night?" I demanded, remembering that
the gates would be closed.

  "Show the silver tube to an officer." She waved me away, as if dreading any least delay. "God requite it thee!"

  The tokens I thrust into my girdle and asked yet one more thing.

  "Thy sword?" She clapped her hands impatiently, and presently a tall figure swaggered up leading a saddled horse. "Sher Jan took it. He has it now."

  The figure halted suddenly, and I stretched forth my hand. Indeed it was Sher Jan, my companion of the road, and among his many weapons he had my scimitar in his sash. Reluctantly he drew it forth, and I girdled it on again, without a word.

  "Lead him past the guards," Nisa commanded the camel driver, when I had mounted, and, in silence, Sher Jan holding my rein, we moved away. I heard the sound of sobbing behind me, where Nisa stood, the starlight gleaming faintly on her hair. After that I was more inclined to put faith in her words, because a fair woman often tries to bend a man to her will by tears; but if she weeps after his departure, it must be that she has cause for tears.

  "So thou has taken service with a new mistress," I remarked to Sher Jan.

  "Aye, indeed, my lord." He grinned up at me. "Oh the excellent food, and the wealth to be had!"

  He had lingered at Nisa's house on the street of the steps and had wheedled himself into the attention of her majordomo. There was no good in reproaching him for turning against me; although it irked me that he should have handled my sword.

  "And thy mistress," I hazarded, "hath found a new lord to serve."

  But Sher Jan's tongue would not start wagging. He conducted me past the outer sentries and commended me to the mercy of God with great dignity.

  As it happened I had no need of parley at the Kandahar gate. Torches were lighted over the gate tower, and I was challenged an arrow's flight distant. When I spoke my name, the small door beside the gate was opened, and I led in my horse-a shaggy mountain pony, worth very little.

  "Mahabat Khan is above," said one of the Mogul soldiers, eyeing the pony and its saddle without approval. "He gave command to send thee up."

  It seemed to me that the custom of the guard had changed in the last day and night; but I was grateful that Mahabat Khan should be at the gate. He was sitting on a couch in the chamber of the tower above the arch, by an embrasure that gave him sight of the road of approach. He looked graver than before, with deeper lines about his eyes.

  "My men were searching for thee, Daril," he said at once. "How in the name of God didst thou get out of the city?"

  "In a camel's howdah," I answered, but he did not laugh.

  He was in no mood for trifling. I told my tale with few words, watching his brow darken the while. At the end he struck his hip impatiently.

  "Am I to shepherd witless minstrels and doddering hakims? Where are the tokens?"

  He glanced at the emerald and laid it aside, but the tiny message tube he turned over in his fingers before withdrawing the cap. He shook out a roll of paper no larger than the written prayers that some physicians give their patients to swallow by way of cure. It had only a line of writing on it, in a fine hand, without flourishes.

  "A woman wrote this," he said. "It bears witness to thee, Daril, in this wise:

  "The Arab hakim is a speaker of truth, and the hour of fate is the second sunrise."

  Again he glanced at the tube, which had elaborate ornament inscribed upon it.

  "How large is that encampment? " He used the word lash gar, which may mean the traveling camp of a lord, or the gathering place of a tribe.

  I told him that they had led me out by the horse lines, and I had seen little. But I thought that several hundred men might be in those tents. At this he nodded.

  "And the visitors who came to look into thy tent-what didst thou see of them?"

  "They walked carelessly, spoke harshly, and wore costly attire."

  "What is thy thought concerning them?"

  "Mahabat Khan," I said, "at first I thought that some of al-Khimar's bands had made me captive. But the men of that lashgar were not Pathans. I do not think the girl Nisa serves this prophet."

  Again he nodded.

  "They, who hold Kushal, are Persians. While I sat beside thee on the height behind Kandahar, in the clear light of early morning, I saw at a great distance a long line of men and beasts moving up from the western defiles into the plain. They were soon lost to sight among the trees."

  "Eh, then they must be the hunters the camp al-Khimar saw in his dream."

  "Or otherwise. They are at least Persians who have crossed the frontier and kept very much to themselves." He mused a while, pulling at his mustache. "I sent two of my troopers out to look at them from a distance; my men reported that they number more than a thousand, and have baggage enough for a journey to Isfahan."

  I wanted to ask why such men should have come up into the plain without seeking Kandahar, and why they should desire Mahabat Khan to come to them. Then I remembered that al-Khimar had promised his hill people that they should plunder this lash gar.

  "It is well for al-Khimar that these Persians have come into the plain; for, if his men had attacked such a strong force, the Pathans would have been cut up and driven away empty-handed, and they might then have made al-Khimar the victim of their disappointment."

  Mahabat Khan looked at me with straightforward eyes.

  "Daril, I think thou hast spent more time in the saddle of war than upon the rug of the physician."

  He told me to go and sleep, but not to leave the tower. So I unrolled a rug and lay down by the charcoal brazier in the corner. The stone beneath the rug was both hard and cold, and the smoke from the charcoal made me cough, so I did not sleep at first. Mahabat Khan called at once to the men below, and several of them came and saluted him. What orders he gave I know not, but they went away with the manner of men who have much to do in little time.

  Horses were led out below, and I heard the little door open and shut. The horses trotted away and began to gallop, before they were out of hearing. Mahabat Khan mused awhile, leaning in the embrasure, looking up at the stars. Then, without calling anyone, he blew out the candles and threw himself down on the divan.

  When he heard me moving about, trying to ease my bones on the stones, he laughed a little.

  "These Persians have made Baki fearful," he remarked. "Also the planets foretell calamity to come-so he calculates. He is drinking wine and making his calculations over again in his tower, after praying me to take charge of the city gate."

  "And thou?" I made bold to ask.

  "Eh, the stars tell the hour of the night, but men make or break themselves."

  He said nothing of Kushal or of what he meant to do; before long he was breathing deep. I do not think he had had any sleep since two nights before.

  Just before I fell asleep the thought came to me, as such slight things do when the mind is empty and drowsy, that Baki had warned Mahabat Khan that, if he sent a messenger to al-Khimar, he would have not one but two blood feuds on his hands. Indeed, matters had turned out as Baki had predicted.

  I heard a stir below us before dawn, and Mahabat Khan rose and went out quietly. It was too cold to sleep anymore, so I sat up and fed more charcoal to the brazier and became aware of excitement that grew around me as the light increased.

  Because Mahabat Khan had commanded it, I remained in the tower-that is, within call of the tower. The gate was still closed and held in strength by the garrison-threescore Moguls, short and stocky men, in good chain mail and leather, wearing burnished steel helmets. The Sirdar's escort of Rajputs sat by their saddled horses, with the air of men awaiting a summons. To them I went, seeking Dost Muhammad, the leader of the escort, who was striding back and forth, examining girths and stirrup leathers.

  Dost Muhammad stood even taller than I, by reason of his white silk pugri; he was a man gaunt and restless as a racing horse and almost as sparing of words. His beard, brushed to either side his chin, was streaked with white. Verily, with his feathers and his stiff muslin skirt projecting out fro
m his knees, and his white leather slippers and the tiny jeweled hilt of his light sword, he seemed to be robed for an audience at court rather than service of any kind. Yet Kushal had told me that he was terrible with the sword, when aroused. When I asked whether he was in command here, at the gate, he looked down at me, as if searching for insult, and said that Rajputs never mounted guard.

  Then he remembered that I was the guest of his lord and he began to explain what all Kandahar was talking about. The men of the garrison sent out by Mahabat Khan last night-the party I had heard riding off-had scouted around the Persian lash gar. They had brought back three prisoners, sentries carried off from an outer post. These captives proved to be Red Hats, soldiers of the great shah of Persia. They had been persuaded-Dost Muhammad did not choose to explain in what manner-to talk and had admitted that twelve hundred or more soldiers of the shah were in that camp, commanded by royal officers.

  The Red Hats swore that they did not know why they had been led beyond the frontier, although they believed that the hunting was only a pretense. They swore likewise, very earnestly, that their leaders had no designs on Kandahar, because no artillery or siege tools had been brought along.

  "There are no greater liars anywhere," said Dost Muhammad, "than these dogs of Persians. Still, it must be true that their camp is a military camp, and it is well indeed for the Mogul governor that the Sirdar of Ind is here."

  "Why?" I asked, for the captain of the Rajputs was too blunt to relish anything but plain words.

  "When the eagle is perched on the edge of his nest, the hawk keeps its distance," he smiled.

  He added that Kandahar, being the gateway in the mountains between Persia and Ind, was greatly desired by the shah.

  For the present the shah and the Mogul were at peace, but it was the uneasy peace of powerful emperors, who complimented each other while they had their hands on their swords.

  "Nay," said Dost Muhammad gravely, "those Persians have crept up to pluck Kandahar from Baki."