Adventure Magazine Cover — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

152 lives, he said. O body of San Marco, O blessed head of the Pope! He will hold me ' for ransom—a prince’s ransom—” Soranzi sighed, whereat his meager teeth fell to chattering. “Do you not see the rest, Master Bearn? The varlets, save his bravi, are dead or will be. Clavijo can not impeach him, for dread of the retribution of the council. You he will first try to bribe, believing that you, like himself, are bent on spoil. If you refuse his offer Gian will handle you till you reveal the way by which we may return - to Trebizond.” “This is no news,” said Michael shortly. “Tt means merely that Rudolfo knows that be has lost his way and is losing patience.” “But you will never see the walls of Trebizond. You will be left in a grave at Cabasica. Nay, more. Rudolfo, see you, with my goods and person in his hand, will attack and overpower the small Venetian outpost in the city. He will sell his spoils and perchance his sword to Genoa, which will pay a rare price. It was for this he sailed with us. Oh, we are lost! Yet the wise astrologer of my house in Venice pre- dicted sight of extraordinary profits for me on this venture—the like of which I had never handled before.” Soranzi crept closer and clutched Mi- chael’s shoulder in a sweating hand. “Good Master Bearn, you know this country. You are intimate with the pagan Moors and other infidels. I will pay well for a quick hand to aid me. Is it true you can lead us back from this accursed spot?” Until now the Breton had been surveying the changing shadows on the black moun- tain walls that seemed to press down toward the fire. “Tt is the Gate of Shadows,” he said. “The tengert darband. The Turks say that the spirits of a thousand dead, slain by this sword, walk in the valley of nights. It is the site of a massacre a generation ago. Theyshunit. Aye, it isa pass in the Ectag Mountains, through which Fra Odoric made his way out of the unknown land that lies beyond.” Even in his panic the merchant was struck by his companion’s tone. “You were here before? How may I know it?” Inbred suspicion struggled with his new desire to propitiate Michael. “Behind the tower of skulls, in the sand of the gorge between two rocks that have Adventure the semblance of men’s faces, you will find a grave with a cross, Soranzi.”’ “T have seen it.” “Five men are buried there. They were my mates, Christian slaves taken from a French caravel off the Anatolian shore.”’ “In the name of ——,, why did you return hither?” Michael stretched his stiff arm and laughed. “To see the face of the king who did not fear the Turk.” The merchant’s. fears were thronging upon him. “Harken, Master Bearn. I see Rudolfo talking with Gian. You are a man of your word; I never doubted it. If I free your feet with this dagger—the knots be over- strong for fingers—and give you the weapon, will you stab Rudolfo when he comes hither? He will think you bound. The sentry is my man. He and I will set upon Gian, until you can join us. Money and their own fears will deliver the other two soldiers to us Fe . “And if I will not?” “Gian’s knife in your ear. larger bounty? Name it.” By now Rudolfo and his lieutenant were moving toward them slowly. Soranzi fairly capered in anxiety, holding the dagger just beyond Michael’s reach. “Swear!’’ he whispered. ‘Five hundred gold bezants—nay, seven hundred of Vene- tian weight and measure——”’ “A pox on your mouthing,” grunted Michael. ‘Be still!” He was studying the surrounding dark- ness with interest. A stone had rolled from the mouth of a near-by gorge. From the plain outside the ravine he could make out the soft click-click where a horse’s hoof struck upon rock. Riders were closing in on the men by the fire. Michael had expected them for some time. Rudolfo, after carelessly letting the Tatar slip away, had left a trail broad enough for a blind man to follow. Then, as if this were not enough, the Venetians had made a bonfire in the ravine that would indicate the exact position of theircamp. The question in Michael’s mind was— were the newcomers Tatars or Turks? Evidently the former, since the Ottoman bands shunned the gorge that they had named the Gate of Shadows. You want a (CCOPMIE IOXOLKS,€O)