Swords From the Desert

by Harold Lamb

Mahabat Khan took matters in his own hand.

  "Choose, ye men of the hills, will ye go against the Persians, as Pathans should? Or lurk here like the thieves of al-Khimar?"

  The chieftain of the Yuzufi was the first to spring up.

  "By God, I will go with thee!"

  "And I!" cried others, not willing to be thought lacking in courage. Many said nothing, but Mahabat Khan gave them no chance to quarrel about it.

  "Will ye have me for leader, or him?" And he pointed at the enraged Shamil.

  Now it is a strange thing but true that men are ever willing to pull down an old leader for a new one, and these Pathans loved both daring and dignity. A moment ago they might have slashed Mahabat Khan to pieces, but now they rallied to him.

  "With thee will we go!"

  "Then I shall be obeyed, from now-from this instant!"

  His dark eyes swept over them confidently. And Shamil, struggling with his anger, learned the truth of the saying that a man who cannot master himself may not lead others.

  "Wait!" He tried a new course, changing his words. "Wait for the coming of the Veiled One and hear his command! "

  "Then would ye wait long," smiled the Sirdar, "for al-Khimar is sitting with Baki the governor in the tower of Kandahar. As for thee-" he turned swiftly upon Shamil-"may God judge thee, for thou hast slain a man of mine, taking him unaware. For thee there is but one choice. Wilt thou draw thy sword against me, or Dost Muhammad?"

  The captain of the Rajputs stirred and came forward.

  "Is this the one who struck down Rai Singh?"

  "In the bazaar," assented the Sirdar. "I saw his face, and there are not two such beards in these mountains."

  When Shamil appealed to the Pathans, they jeered at him. In truth, they had not known of the killing in Kandahar. They cared not at all about the life of Rai Singh, but they knew the law of the punishment of blood. Any relative or companion-in-arms of the dead man was privileged to draw his sword against Shamil, and the redheard must look to his own life.

  The law of the hills is inexorable-that no man may shrink from his quarrel. Even Shamil saw the uselessness of appeal, and his face grew hard. He looked once toward the cavern; his eyes no longer drooped, but glared hatred. No doubt he thought al-Khimar had betrayed him.

  In the end he chose to fight Dost Muhammad. Mahabat Khan seated himself on his stone. True, the Rajput seemed both lank and old, and his small sword was lighter than Shamil's long tulwar. But Dost Muhammad grinned at the choice, motioning back the hilimen who thronged about him.

  "Thou shalt taste what is stored up for thee," he said to the redbeard.

  I wondered what Mahabat Khan would do if Shamil vanquished the Rajput, but he seemed not at all concerned. The hillmen thought the more of him because he had been willing to take Rai Singh's death as his own quarrel.

  "Al-Khimar hath set thee upon me," Shamil muttered, and seemed willing to say more, but Artaban mocked him; and presently, the space before the rock being cleared, Shamil fell to watching the Rajput who had drawn his sword and stood in readiness.

  The light blade of Dost Muhammad was a khanda, double edged and finely balanced, of blue steel. The tulwar of Shamil was longer and much heavier at the head-a weapon made for a wide slash. As to strength, I could not judge. Dost Muhammad stood almost rigid, balanced on his thin feet, while Shamil moved about restlessly as a chained bear, his jaw outthrust, his heavy shoulders moving under his tunic.

  "Inshallah!" cried Artaban. "As God wills it, let the end come!"

  The two swordsmen watched each other as keenly as hawks. Being afoot and with curved blades, the struggle would be decided swiftly. Shrewdly, each waited for the other to leap in, while the tribes breathed heavily and jostled, not to lose a single glimpse of the two men.

  Suddenly Dost Muhammad paced forward, his curved blade held at his hip. This spurred on Shamil, who cried out and ran in, his mantle flying, his tulwar flashing out and down. The Rajput thrust out his long arm and parried, letting the long blade slide off his khanda.

  "Hai!" cried Artaban. "The stork wards off the hawk!"

  Shamil pretended then to rush in, twice, without being able to draw Dost Muhammad into a false guard. Then he slashed at the head and changed direction in midair, to strike the Rajput's slender hips. Again Dost Muhammad parried; and now the two blades sang and clashed so swiftly that I could not follow thrust and cut.

  I saw that the tall Rajput walked forward slowly, and that by degrees he forced Shamil to guard himself. The tulwar man scowled, springing back again and again to escape those light cuts of the khanda. Then he saw the folly of falling upon the defense, and leaped forward, his long blade singing in the air.

  Dost Muhammad sprang this time to meet him. The swords clashed and parted, and clashed anew. Shamil cried out, and swung up his tulwar to put all of his strength in one slash.

  Instead of drawing back, the Rajput stepped in, his blade flicking sidewise across his enemy's breast. Shamil made his slash indeed, but the tulwar slowed in the air and fell from his hands. The front of his tunic under the ribs suddenly became red. The khanda had touched him and passed half through his body.

  Dost Muhammad laughed and stood to one side, lowering his point. Shamil, dying upon his feet, gripped his breast, his knees sinking under him. His red beard stood out strangely, as his face became bloodless.

  I looked at the Rajput. He was breathing evenly, wiping clean his blade with a cloth he had picked up from the ground.

  "By God!" cried the one-eyed Artaban. "This man has held a sword before now!"

  The slaying of Shamil silenced any who might have sided against Mahabat Khan. When the Sirdar told them that he sought for true men who would not turn away from weapons, and that men of another mind need not come with him, the Pathans all cried that they would follow him.

  So he drew apart while they made ready, and Dost Muhammad refreshed himself with wine. He took me aside with him and told me the secret of Baki.

  Baki the Wise was a man of a single craving. He coveted wealth-gold pieces and silver. He stinted himself to gather in money.

  And when he had found that the revenues of Kandahar yielded little more than the emperor's tithe, he had bethought him of the hill tribes. Shamil, a merchant of Kandahar, had told the governor of this valley, of their favorite camping place and of the passage through the mountain that led to it. Shamil alone knew of this passage. They knew the superstition of the hills, and planned between them for Baki to appear in the valley, veiled, so that he would not be recognized. Baki had once been a reader of the Koran and knew its verses by heart.

  He found that the tribes were afraid of him, and he gained real influence over them by foretelling the coming of certain caravans-a thing well known to him in Kandahar. He gathered tribute from the tribes, while he held them in leash by promising to lead them to war. Shamil, abiding with them, watched their moods.

  Baki could come and go unseen from his tower, by the little door. So much he had confessed to Mahabat Khan when he was caught in the caverns. As to the bag of money, he had said he meant to give it to the Pathans, but more probably he had been taking it from the tower to a safer hiding place. It was not all his money.

  The coming of the Persians had found him unprepared to make any defense. He had thought of loosing the tribes upon the camp, but had lacked courage to lead them. Truly, a man who gathers wealth is fearful of harm!

  "He was taken like a hare, running from one hole to another," I said.

  "But his scheming opened a way to strike at our enemy," said Mahabat Khan, and when Dost Muhammad came up he gave us careful orders.

  He bade us return at once to Kandahar by the caverns. He wrote out an order for us to give the leader of the Mogul garrison. All the garrison was to be led out under Dost Muhammad and the Mogul captain, about the fourth hour of the night. All must be mounted. With the first trace of light over the plain, they were to attack the Persian camp from the Kandahar side.

  He would lead the Pa
thans down the tangi and the river valley, and be in position to attack from the west at the same time. Dost Muhammad listened intently and nodded, saying briefly-"On my honor!" He asked how many men should be left to keep the citadel.

  "One," said Mahabat Khan grimly, "to watch Baki."

  Dost Muhammad looked at me instantly, saying nothing. I knew that he meant to put me in place of his men, who would not relish being left behind. The prospect filled him with quiet joy, and he was only disconsolate because we could not ride back to the city.

  He saluted Mahabat Khan and turned away. At the cave mouth we both looked back, beholding only the tumultuous preparations of the tribes-and the cold body with the red beard, outstretched by the boulder. So elated were we that we did not reflect how unruly were these same Pathans, and how Mahabat Khan would be cut off from all word from us.

  "Hai, Daril," cried Dost Muhammad, "the sniff of a battle gives life to thy aged bones."

  "Nay," I said, "my old bones rejoice because life is in them after I had thought myself dead."

  More time had passed than we thought, and it was after sunset before we reached the last height. The descent in growing darkness was both slow and painful, and more than once we went astray. By the time we beheld the wall loom up before us, Dost Muhammad was cursing by all the ninety and nine holy names and more names of Hindu gods. The gate was locked, and we had to shout before servants came with torches and went to fetch the Rajputs with the keys. Dost Muhammad was fuming voicelessly, asking how in the name of all the gods he was to rouse and muster and lead out three hundred men at the time appointed. He calmed a little when he found it was no more than the third hour of the night. He hastened to the tower where, as I had suspected, he bade me take the responsibility of Baki, so he would have all his men.

  This was a mistake, and I was doubtful about standing guard over the governor of Kandahar in his own tower. True, Baki was still veiled, his arms bound, and the tower chamber darkened. I did not think he would wish to reveal himself in this garb.

  "Send me the Bedouins and Abu Ashtar," I responded, "and I will remain here."

  Full of his coming battle, Dost Muhammad hastened off. Presently the eleven Bedouins appeared, full of curiosity.

  They all peered at Baki in the starlight of a window and satisfied themselves that this was indeed al-Khimar. To put an end to their questions, I invented a fearful story of how the Veiled One had been chased through caverns that led to the underworld, and how Mahabat Khan had fought with him on a bridge of rock over a bottomless pit.

  This gave them something to think about, for each one was trying to memorize the story, to improve upon it at the next telling. Baki understood me, but had nothing to say.

  After awhile, I too became thoughtful. After all, of what was Baki guilty? We did not know for certain that he had sent Shamil to slay Mahabat Khan. Indeed, why should he have desired the death of the Sirdar?

  In the hurry of events at the gorge I had not spoken of this; now I dared not ask Baki about it, before the Bedouins. It seemed to me that the prisoner was restless and breathing heavily, and that he roused up whenever hastening footsteps passed under the tower. Dost Muhammad had told the Moguls that Baki was taking opium, which was a well-known failing of the governor. No one came to ask about him, and presently all was quiet around the tower.

  Then this quiet was broken horribly by the voice of the captive. He cried out in a shrill whimper that made the Bedouins gasp.

  "Ai-a! This is a night of fear. The wolves are sitting on their haunches and blood will fill the gullies before dawn. Oh, the terror!"

  He continued to moan and exclaim, rocking back and forth.

  "May God forgive me, I see the death of a thousand souls! I see shadows riding in a host through the plain!"

  Then he sighed deeply and flung himself back on the couch.

  "May God be merciful to me-it was not my doing. May their blood not be on my head."

  "Allah!" whispered the blind Abu Ashtar. "He prophesies!"

  At first it had startled me, until I reflected that Baki was no doubt playing a trick of some kind, to excite the Arabs or gain his freedom. But it was otherwise. The man was gripped by a great terror, and so real was his fear that we began to share it.

  "By God, Daril," said Abu Ashtar again, "this is truth indeed. What is happening in the plain?"

  Baki kept on moaning weakly, at times starting to speak and then checking himself to break into new lament. The Bedouins were thrilled.

  "The garrison is gone out," muttered Baki, and turned his head toward me. "Has not Mahabat Khan led down the Pathans to attack the lashgar?"

  Since Dost Muhammad had spoken before him, I saw no good in trying to conceal our plans, and told him what was passing.

  "Then they are doomed," cried Baki and, as if breaking the chains that held him silent, he cried out harshly-

  "You do not know that Shah Abbas, king of kings, lord of Iran and Irak, and master of Persia is in that lashgar!"

  For a moment I did not understand the significance of his words and then I doubted that this could be true.

  "That is surely a lie!" I said.

  "By the triple oath I swear it," he moaned, and then angry impatience swept over him. "Daril, the shah is in that lashgar. The Persians Mahabat Khan captured told him many things, but not that."

  I was too astounded to wonder then how Baki came to know this. For awhile I pondered, the Bedouins, breathless with interest, pressing closer not to miss a word. W'allahi, they thought that this was indeed a noble prophecy!

  A little at a time I pieced things together in my mind. Nisa, with her passenger pigeons flying from the west-her eagerness to make Mahabat Khan captive-her promise that a king would be surety for the life of Mahabat Khan, if he gave himself up. Nay, she was one of the women spies of the Persian court; and she had been willing to trick Kushal to aid the ambition of Shah Abbas.

  So the whole matter became clear in mind, as a mirage drifting away from the hot plain shows the bare rocks and gullies that are really there. It was like the Persians to plan such a trick-to pretend that the shah had been hunting in these mountains, that the shah was really entertaining Mahabat Khan as a guest. But once in Kandahar with his troops, the gate way of the hills would be Persian indeed, and not soon would Mahabat Khan win his freedom.

  "Fool!" cried Baki, trembling. "Canst thou not see what is about to happen? The Persians will beat off the Moguls and those hillmen; they will follow up to Kandahar and enter it easily. They will come here and take thee and set thee on a stake, on a greased stake, to die slowly, for the length of a day."

  "Allah! " breathed the Bedouins, agape. Verily, this was about to happen. I knew well that Shah Abbas would not venture over the frontier without a strong guard of his warlike nobles, the atabegs, and hundreds of his veteran mailed cavalry, the kurshis and his men-at-arms, the Red Hats, who would rather slay than plunder, and rather torture than slay.

  When I thought of the fury of the shah and his men, surprised and attacked in his camp, my bowels became weak and ached mightily.

  "It is certain," cried Baki, "that he has other forces in support across the frontier within a day's ride. There is only one thing to be done, Daril. I have gold-some gold, hidden here in the tower. I will show thee where it is, and thou and these Arabs can take it, and bear me across the hills into Ind. We can take a boat on the Indus and be safe from all harm. But we must hasten!"

  Indeed, I was tempted. Who would not be tempted, knowing that this miser must have gold enough hidden away to yield us luxury for years? No doubt he would try to trick us again, but the Bedouins and I would know how to deal with him.

  "We can leave the city now without hindrance," whispered Baki, still shaken by his fear. "But in two hours it may be too late."

  I went to the embrasure and looked out. Clouds hid the stars and an icy wind swept and swayed through the gardens of the almost deserted citadel. There was no telling the hour. I knew it must be long after midni
ght, and that the air was full of a rising storm. So much the better, if we fled.

  I had not sworn to guard Baki, yet I had promised Dost Muhammad to remain here. Was Mahabat Khan my lord, that I should hazard torture to hold his prisoner here? Yet I owed him the duty of companionship and of salt. I thought of Mahabat Khan riding into the storm with his wild hillmen at his back, and it sickened my spirit to leave him thus.

  "0 Father of the Blind," I cried to Abu Ashtar, "what thing wilt thou do in this situation?"

  He answered promptly-

  "Daril we cannot fly, leaving our tents and women out there."

  When Baki would have spoken, I checked him. A thought had come to me, a memory of words that Baki himself had spoken to the Pathans when he exhorted them to war against the Persians.

  "Saidst thou not, in the valley," I asked him, "'It is written: Thinkest thou that thy wealth will deliver thee, when thy deeds destroy thee?".

  "I said that, indeed, but the Pathans are fools to be swayed by such words. Thou and I, Daril, are otherwise. We are men of wisdom."

  "God forbid!" I responded, "that my wisdom should be kin to thine. I am a man of peace, but I have never reined my horse from a place where my companions tasted death."

  It was clear to me then that I must go at once and warn Mahabat Khan of what Baki had revealed. But how? I wished then for a Rajput trooper. It is easy to sit by and see others hold the reins of command, but it is far from easy to take up the reins they let fall! The Bedouins were waiting for me to decide. They longed for gold; greater than their longing was their fear of what was breeding in the storm.

  "Find horses!" I bade them. "Find and saddle my mare, and tarry not."

  Some of them departed at once, being more than willing to do this. In truth, they knew where to look for mounts, because within the time it takes to light a fire they were back at the tower with thirteen mounts saddled in every fashion.

  "Nay," I cried, "what is this? We cannot take al-Khimar with us. Some few of you must remain here with him."

  All speaking at once, they refused unconditionally to stay in the tower; even Abu Ashtar refused. They were like sheep that would not separate in a storm. So we had to bind Baki more securely and fill his mouth with a cloth, stripping off his turban and binding his jaw tight with its long cloth. At least he would not cry out, and we left him to what God had ordained.