Swords From the East (22 page)

Yet, as he went with bowed head, the Cathayan heard a whisper other than the note of the wind-an almost inaudible murmur that came from the shadows where men sat unseen, and followed after him. So, coming into a darkened lane between lines of the Gipsy wagon yurts, Mingan stopped and waited, his eyes alert, his hand on the ivory hilt of the hunting knife he always carried concealed in the folds of his girdle.

Standing so, he sniffed at the smoke that drifted from the fires, scenting the faint odor of the sun-warmed sand, listened to the movements of the horse herds-sampling the sounds and smells of the night, for he little expected to see that which followed him. He was being followed, he knew. But, after resuming his course and twisting among the carts, he felt that he had shaken off whoever might be on his track.

After convincing himself of this, he sought out the wagon where Podu's women slept, keeping still to the lane of the shadows. He was now directly behind the feasting pavilion, where all the khans of the Horde were gathered. Mingan wanted very much to know what had happened to Burta, and he meant to find out. The girl had warned Temujin of danger, in the black tents, and now the daughter of Podu had disappeared.

By pressing his ear close to the silk wall of the yurt, he could hear the lisping of Gipsy women's voices, but could not make out words. Mingan had unlimited patience, but his time was short. Presently he might be missed if anyone in the pavilion should happen to call for a song or story.

So, taking out his knife, he slit the silk noiselessly and pried open the slit with two fingers. Darkness. Mingan sighed and felt upon the ground with an exploring foot. Turning over a stone, he picked it up and tossed it over the wagon, hearings its impact on the earth on the far side.

Mingan saw several old women, all looking warily toward the yurt entrance. He saw, too, Burta almost under him, propped up on cushions, her limbs bound tight to her slender body by veils, a fan thrust in her teeth and bound fast to gag her.

"A dog," muttered one woman, "made the noise. Are not Podu's men all about us, on this night? No one would come to that side of the wagon."

"Wine flows," observed another, shaking her head, "and when it does who can trust the guards? I shall be glad when the night is past and Burta is still here under our charge. Otherwise-for us the whipping-post."

Burta turned her eyes toward them and twisted angrily in her bonds. Mingan dared not speak to her. Besides, he had learned something. Podu expected fighting that night. It could be no trouble of Podu's making, or he would have sent his women away into hiding in the desert.

He was waiting to hear more, when he released the tent wall and dropped to the sand, rolling under the wagon. Near him-he did not wait to discover where-sounded the muffled footsteps of men. Against the tent his form would have been outlined clearly.

The men, two of them, drew close and stopped, their boots within reach of Mingan's hand. Lying so, he could make out against the luminous sky that one was as tall and broad as Subotai. In fact this one seemed to have a head the size of a wine cask-a roundish head, gleaming at the top with jewels. The other, too, had something queer about his face. It did not look like a man's face, yet the voice that came from it was undeniably a man's.

Mingan listened attentively, but the two were speaking in a dialect he did not know. Round Head had a shrill voice; Mis-shapen Head whispered. Everyone in the camp was whispering, it seemed, that evening. Presently they moved away a little and Mingan started to roll out from under the wagon to follow.

Then the smaller of the two said distinctly: "If Temujin leaves the pavilion alive, he will not leave his tent so. Go to the riders; bid them see to their horses and await my command."

Whereupon the speaker glanced at the lighted tent, made a sign of caution to his companion, and drew away.

Rising, Mingan went after them, out into a space bright with moonlight. Still in shadow himself, he coughed deliberately. The pair turned to stare behind them, and he saw that the bigger man had a round, black face, surmounted by a wide roll of white cloth; the other had no face at all.

That is, no human face. Over head and shoulders was drawn the skin of a bear, the jaws propped wide, the teeth gleaming. His eyes seemed to penetrate the darkness in which Mingan stood. He clapped his hands softly, and Mingan heard the rush of feet behind him.

A second time he threw himself on the sand as a man's legs crashed against him, and their owner tumbled headlong.

Waiting for no more, the Cathayan leaped up and fled among the darkened wagons, fleetly for all his height, and presently found himself in among the fires where warriors sat eating. Here he fell into a walk, and, making sure that he was not followed, circled the tents to approach the feasting pavilion by the main entrance.

Once inside, he ran his eye over the ranks of the revelers, seeking if any were missing. If one were absent, he would know the name of him who had worn the bear's head. They were all present, the khans of the Horde, seated about the dais on which Temujin sat cross-legged on a leopard skin. In the outer circle, near the wall of the tent, Subotai's red head reared up from the caps of the lesser officers.

Following the direction of his new friend's gaze, Mingan beheld first a wide carpet running from the massive teak pole of the pavilion to the foot of Temujin's throne-seat; second, prostrated on the carpet with his white turban pressing against it, the big man who had been with Bear's Face, half an hour ago. Mingan, as he went to his accustomed place in the gathering by Chepe Noyon, felt quietly in his girdle to make sure that his dagger was secure-then remembered that it had fallen from his hand in the scuffle behind the tent.

"What man is this one?" he questioned the Tiger in a whisper.

"A Turk, captured by Podu, 'tis said, in a caravan from India way. A mighty wrestler, he boasts himself. Just before your coming he walked in and challenged any of the Horde, asking that if he conquered he be given life and freedom."

"Did he come in alone?"

"As I said. No one is eager to step on the carpet, for the Turk is big enough to break a foe in twain."

Now Mingan was aware of the stir of excitement in the revelers, and knew why his entrance passed almost unnoticed. Podu was fingering his thin mustaches in chagrin.

"0 my Khan," the Gipsy observed, "this wrestler of the Turks is a mighty wrestler. He has thrown the best of my champions, breaking of one the back, of another the leg, until my followers will not go up against him. The Jelairs of Jamuka have seen him at work and they likewise sit still in their places. The Tatars are licking their sore joints from the contests of the day. Yet we cannot let the challenge of the stranger pass."

As if guessing the meaning of the chieftain, the swarthy Turk lifted his head and smiled contemptuously. The khans began to mutter, because it was without precedent that a champion came to the games of the Horde and held the carpet unchallenged. The muttering rose to a demand that Temujin call out a contender.

"0 my cousin," spoke up Jamuka coldly, "have you sat so long on the carpet of the council that you fear to set your feet on the wrestling rug? It was not so with Yesukai, your father. Show us, as aforetime, your strength and skill."

Mingan could not speak to Temujin without being overheard, but, catching his chief's eye, he shook his head slightly in warning. Whatever the Turk and the man in the mask had planned, it meant no good to the Mongol.

In the past Temujin had found that Mingan did everything for a good reason, and he glanced to where Subotai sat, looking on eagerly. A match between the Turk and the Buffalo would be worth watching.

"So the Khan is afraid?" the soft voice of Jamuka broke in on his thoughts. "Was Yesukai the last of the Mongol heroes?"

Hereupon men set down their cups, gently, so as to hear the better what would follow; the cup-bearers ceased moving about, and there was heard the rustling of the long silk banners suspended over the head of Temujin. Podu twisted the turquoise rings on his thumbs, biting his mustache uneasily.

Old Mukuli chuckled with heavy amusement.

"Aye, Temujin, in the days aforetime the Mongols would start up at the trumpet heralding the day's march, but now you and your men love well the lute that summons to a feast. If you sit too long under the banners someone will roll you up, with one for a shroud-by Natagai, so it will happen."

Memory of his discomfiture at the hand of Temujin's new sword-bearer that day rankled.

Very promptly at this Temujin stepped down from his high seat and threw off feast robe and mantle. Naked to the waist he advanced toward the Turk, who had stripped himself of turban, vest and shirt. A murmur came from the lips of the assemblage at sight of the Turk's solid chest over which rippled muscles, of the round arms and the white teeth agleam under a black mustache. For all his weight, he was quick on his feet as he circled his adversary warily.

Temujin was short in the leg, but long of body; his back was straight, his arms knitted to high shoulders by massive sinews-muscles better adapted to swinging a weapon than to quick and cunning hand grips. Min'an noticed that his chin came no higher than the Turk's shoulder, and that his skin was scarred by old wounds, and the flesh of his neck by the wooden kang he had worn when a prisoner.

The Khan followed the motions of the experienced Turk with expressionless eyes, but slipped aside as the big wrestler sprang forward to butt him in the chest, and strived to trip him. No whit disconcerted, the big man reached out, caught one of Temujin's wrists, and sent the Mongol flying over his shoulder by wheeling his body and pulling down on the wrist he held.

Before Temujin could roll clear, the wrestler fell on him heavily, driving both knees into the Mongol's stomach. He sought for a grip on the chief's head, but Temujin broke his hold and kicked loose, springing to his feet. Mingan saw that blood was dripping from the mouth of his friend.

"A goblet full of gold pieces," cried Podu, beside himself with excitement, "that the Turk pins the Khan to the carpet!"

No one took his wager, and it dawned on the Gipsy that here was no friendly bout, but a struggle out of which one man might come crippled for life. If it should be Temujin-

"Let us stop the match," he exclaimed to Mukuli.

The Tatar wiped his mustache mechanically, but before he could answer an outcry filled the pavilion.

The Turk had thrown Temujin again, with one of his panther-like tricks of hand and body. Leaping down at the chief a second time, his knees met only the carpet. Temujin had rolled out from under in time. But what brought the spectators to their feet was the sight of a dagger that fell from the girdle of the big wrestler, shaken loose by the heavy impact.

"Hai -the man had steel upon him! Slay him!"

Chepe Noyon's hand went to his empty scabbard. Then, remembering that all their weapons had been left at the threshold of the pavilion, he was starting toward the entrance when Mingan pulled him down.

"Wait, and watch!" whispered the Cathayan.

The gleaming steel had caught Temujin's eyes, and he had kicked the dagger away from the wrestler to the carpet's edge where Subotai, surging through the onlookers at Chepe Noyon's shout, set his foot upon it and glared around, as if daring anyone to try to pick it up.

Gaining his feet, the Khan rushed his adversary, and now his head was down, his deep eyes glowing with the fire of conflict. The two locked grips, chin pressing shoulders, fingers digging into flesh, and this time it was the Turk who strove to break free. He tried trickery, leaning his weight on the Mongol, then, all at once he began to squeal with rage; he was being hurt.

"By the beard of my sire," grunted Mukuli, licking his lips, and-finding them dry-handing up his goblet to a staring cup-bearer who was quite oblivious of the act. "By Natagai, by one will break the other's back. Ha! For all the gold in Cathay I would not set hand between the Khan and his foeman now."

For Temujin's narrowed eyes gleamed red under the beads of perspiration.

"Make an end!" a voice cried somewhere in the crowd.

Exerting all the remaining power of his big limbs, the Turk broke free. Wise in the way of his profession, he knew that Temujin was seeking his life, and he cast himself at the Mongol, forgetful of everything but the need of pinning the other's arms to his body.

Stooping, Temujin caught the man around the knees and raised himself erect, shifting his grip swiftly, so that the Turk balanced on one shoulder. A shrill sound came from the mouth of the wrestler as he felt himself helpless. Then Temujin caught his legs and whirled him through the air with all the strength of mighty sinews and straining back.

The head of the Turk thudded against the teak pole of the pavilion, and he dropped to the carpet, silent now, his skull shattered.

"A good match!" roared Mukuli. "Now-"

Temujin, staggering and gasping for breath, made his way toward Subotai, thrust the giant aside, and picked up the dagger.

"A viper was sent to sting me: now the viper is crushed but his sting remains. Who sent it-who?"

"Cousin," said Jamuka's quiet voice, "I know not, save that the dagger is Mingan's-your orkhon's."

Mingan started as Temujin, his face a mask of anger, strode toward him.

"Though he has changed his skin," cried the Jelair, "I know him for the Cathayan who came to you through the Wall. I bade you slay him once, but there is still time, before he deprives the Horde of its master."

"He is a snake!" added Podu vindictively, thinking of his lost ponies, and thankful that Temujin's anger had been centered on one whose death would not promote a new feud in the Gobi.

Standing up, Mingan started to speak, but-aware of the blind rage in the heart of his friend-folded his arms and kept silence. No words would serve to turn aside the torrent that was ready to engulf him.

His calmness, however, did not stay Temujin, who caught his beard in one hand and raised the knife with the other.

A tensing of iron muscles, and the dagger flashed downward, but its course was checked abruptly by a more powerful arm. A hand gripped Temujin's wrist, and a voice spoke in his ear: "Your nature is likewise weak. Because," went on the Buffalo, "you, 0 Khan, like myself, cannot take part in the games without lusting for blood."