Adventure Magazine Cover — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

~ 158 Fearing that his tale was lacking fire, Clavijo began to exaggerate as was his wont, until he was boasting hugely, Tamerlane scowled under bushy brows, first at the speaker, then at the ring. Finally he held up his hand for the Spaniard to see. “Behold, Frank, a magician’s stone,” he said orufily. “The topaz turns purple when any one lies to me. I always watch it and it has served me well.” Superstitious, as all men of his time and race, Clavijo stared in dismay. Indeed his round face turned a very good shade of purple. His flow of words dwindled as he scanned the topaz and fancied that it changed color. This might well have been due to the twilight that was falling upon the great pavilion. ‘“Frank,’”? observed the conqueror, “you come at a good time. My army is mounted for war against the Sultan Bayezid. He has preyed upon my subjects in lesser Armenia and I have offered him terms by which he may save his head. We will hear what he will reply.” To hear the sultan who was the scourge of Christendom mentioned as Tamerlane might speak of a slave added fuel to Clavijo’s active imagination. “Tf there is a battle, you will see a goodly sight,” repeated the old conqueror. “Does my son the King of Spain fight battles or is he a dog of a merchant like the Vene- tians?”’ Clavijo essayed a reply, glanced at the topaz ring which seemed to him to be now a deep purple indeed, and the last of his courage oozed from him. Breaking from the Tatar warriors who held his arms, he fell on his knees. “Mercy, great lord,” he bellowed. ‘Oh, mercy. Grantme royal clemency if I have offended. Make meacaptive, but spare my life!” This being interpreted, Tamerlane smiled. “Verily,” he said shortly, “the Frank is frightened by my face. Nay, Timur the Tatar has harmed no ambassador. Fear not, but join fn our feast.” He signed to the men who held the visi- tors. Soranzi, a-tremble with anxiety, took this to be a signal for their destruction. Without waiting for the speech to be trans- lated, he flung himself at the Tatar’s feet, embracing his slippers. “O King of Kings,” he cried, “my com- Adventure panion has lied, even as your wisdom has suspected. He is naught but a seeker after gold, disguised as an envoy. The gifts that pleased you were mine. I will pay more. Do not believe this traitor when he says that I am a merchant, for he is a liar Surprized by this outburst, Tamerlane turned to the interpreters with a scowl. “Now the fat is in the fire,” sighed Bembo. Tamerlane pulled at his thin mustache, his small black eyes darting from one to the other. He surveyed his topaz ring and grunted. ‘There was something wolfish now in the stare of the Mongol warriors. Rudolfo swore under his breath and Soranzi did not cease to moan his fear. Since the attack by the riders at the Gate of Shadows his dread had grown upon him. That afternoon he had seen captives of the khan hauled through the camp in cages, like beasts. “The gifts were mine,” he repeated over and over, holding fast to the Tatar’s slip- per. “Then you are not ambassadors sent to Tamerlane?” 7 “Nay.” Clavijo and Soranzi were an- swering in one breath when Gutchluk knelt and addressed his lord, saying that the Franks had purported to be merchants before their capture. Tamerlane was a man who never minced words and hated deceit. He was about to speak when there was a bustle in the outer porticos. A man flung himself from an exhausted horse, crying— ‘““A courier for the khan!’ Those who had crowded about Clavijo and his party gave back at this, opening a lane between Tamerlane and the new- comer, barely visible in the half-light of evening, who bowed thrice and knelt before the dais. “O King of Kings,” the horseman cried in Arabic, ‘‘I have beheld the answer of the sultan. He has struck off the heads of the Tatars’ envoys and placed them at the gate of Angora. Thus Bayezid has made ’ answer to you.” The old Tatar’s face grew dark and veins stood out on his forehead. He caught his sword from its sheath and swung it over the head of the unfortunate messenger who remained quietly kneeling. ‘Then the khan checked the sweep of his COMME IOOKS: \ (S@)