Adventure Magazine Cover — page 115: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

114 ! Michael Bearn looked up quickly, intend- ing to warn his mates not to accept the proffer of the Moslems. But they did not meet his eye. They were Portuguese and Italians, wasted by sickness and misery. “Tt is not fitting, verily,” the spokesman went on, interpreting the low words of ' Bayezid, “that a good weapon should be given to the hand of one who is accursed. Yet a lion may slay a dog, and the sight of an infidel’s blood is a blessing to a true believer. So, one of you may take up the quarrel of your comrade and fight with swords against one of the champions of the Janisseries. Whether your champion con- quers or not, the man named Bearn will be spared the torture.” Whereupon the sheikh drew his own simitar and held out its hilt. Michael Bearn would have taken it, but the wily Moslem shook his head. “Not you,’ he explained in Arabic. “The Most Wise will presently make a test of your strength. Now he tries out the Christian hearts of your comrades.” As none of the others volunteered for the duel, the sultan made a further concession. The man who offered to fight would be set free—if he lived—with Bearn. But the five men would not hazard their lives on a chance of liberty. They cast sidelong glances at the glittering simitar and at a stalwart warrior who stood forth from the guards, his shield dressed ready for the conflict. It gave keen pleasure to Bayezid to see these men refuse the issue. He smiled to think that they clung to the ignoble life of slavery. His own men were trained to value their lives lightly in battle and to die for their faith. It pleased Bayezid, also, to deny Bearn the chance of the fight, for he knew that the young seaman would have welcomed it. “So be it,” he nodded. ‘The torture.” The expectant master of the slaves sum- moned the waiting warrior and set the table before Michael Bearn. “Hold forth your arm,” he commanded. Michael paled and set his lips as he ex- _tended his left hand. “The right one,” objected Bayezid, fol- lowing all that passed with the eye of a connoisseur. A moment later Michael’s right arm had been thrust up to the elbow into the iron gullet of the lion and strapped into place. Adventure The Breton stiffened as he felt the cold touch of the vise, concealed within the form of the lion, grip his bare forearm. Bayezid nodded, leaning back on his pillows, under the sweep of a peacock fan in the hands of a slave. The two Janisseries threw their weight on the projecting levers and there came to the ears of the spectators a dull crack as if an arrow had been snapped in half. But Michael did not cry out. Sweat started on his face and blood dripped from his lip where his teeth had set upon it. This did not suit Bayezid, who had expected screams and a prayer for mercy. ‘“Aoain,” he snarled. The two torturers altered the position of Michael’s broken arm slightly and clamped the levers into place a second time. This time Michael groaned softly and swayed on his feet, sinking to his knees. “Now the caphar’s pride is broken be- cause his strength has passed from him,” thought Bayezid, watching keenly. To: the attentive sheikh he whispered: “The broken ends of the bone of the arm have been ground together and he will whine for mercy—like the other dogs who have no stomach for pain.” The Janisseries released Michael’s arm from the instrument of torture at a glance from the sultan. On the back of the fore- arm the skin had been broken by a bloodied fragment of bone. _ Supporting himself by his left hand on the table, Michael rose slowly to his feet, wincing and setting his lips as he did so. His eyes were dark with agony as they sought Bayezid’s face. The youthful pride and humor had vanished from Michael’s countenance, leav- ing a grim mask of purpose. The abundant vitality of his powerful body had been sap- ped by the ordeal. But there was a new vigor in his poise, the strength of an unal- terable determination. So the captive faced his tormentor. “T shall not forget this, my lord sultan.” He indicated his maimed limb. “TI shall be avenged—” His voice choked. The Sheikh of Rum who had been study- ing the eyes of the injured man now drew his weapon again and salaamed before Bayezid. “O Most Wise, it would be best to slay this one. An injured snake is quick to — strike.” : COMME MOO KSaeC)