Adventure Magazine Cover — page 174: what you’re looking at

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

oo f Wa wh ar, he Tis ow) E The Grand Cham 173 ; Ss struck from the Breton’s head. Rudolfo, “You will not hear it, coz,” remarked panting, exerted every effort to follow up Bembo. “What is left of the grandees is : = pocket. his success and reach his enemy’s bare skull. Michael was taunting him softly. As Rudolfo’s blow fell Michael sprang - forward dropping his sword. The other’s simitar passed over his shoulder and |Mi- chael’s powerful left hand caught the other’s wrist, pinning it to his side. At this the Italian grinned maliciously, for, with his enemy’s left hand occupied; he fancied that Michael was defenseless. So Rudolfo gripped Michael’s throat, bending his head back viciously with his free hand. Somewhat he wondered at Michael’s passivity, not knowing that the Breton’s right hand, useful once more, thanks to long and patient practise, was feeling in his own girdle for the dagger Rudolfo carried. _ Michael’s searching fingers freed the dag- ger and plunged it into the other’s throat, over the mail. Sword in hand, Rudolfo swayed on his feet, choked and wheeled about as if to run. His knees sank under him and he blundered against a rock, falling heavily upon his back. Both his hands gripped the hilt of the dagger, strained at it and were still. Bembo, having dismounted, bent over the condoltiere and ripped off the bulging pouch that was tied to the dead man’s waist. Michael saw for the first time that the jester held a long sling, made of thin strips of leather, a stone ready ‘in the Catching his glance, the jester laughed. “My weapon,” he said proudly. ‘“Gian’s thick head was cracked like a hen’s egg. Gian’s thick purse was full of gold trinkets, plundered, methinks, from the slain. So I __ would fain crack open his master’s nest- ev € ae o> * = : ? “Consummatum est,” murmured Bembo. . 3 “Tt is finished. Gian’s spoil will pay me for -__ Saving your life, coz. These belong to you.” As Michael shook his head, the jester, a nothing loath, poured the coins into his goatskin, after emptying out the remaining stones. Pe tatars, Breathing deeply from his effort, Michael gazed around at the shadows of the ravine and listened in vain for the war-cry of the © <= From Rudolfo’s pouch a stream of Tur- © _ kish gold bezants poured forth. flying toward Angora with worthy Mirza Rustem in hot pursuit. The victory is ours, as I prayed San Marco it should be) He tied up the sack and surveyed Rudolfo . philosophically. "Cousin Michael,” he declared thought- fully, ““you are a wise man. In Venice did you assert that a man follows his bent. And here is Rudolfo, a noble seller of him- self, a condottiere to the king’s taste. He sold himself to Genoa, then Venice, then back to himself again. Last night he traded him to the sultan, and now me- thinks he has gone to purgatory to sell his soul to the devil.” Out on the plain of Angora the sun had set over the red mist and the red dust where the bodies of fifty thousand men lay mo- tionless. # It was night when Michael and his fol- lower sought Mirza Rustem and Tamer- lane in the town of Angora. They knew that where the khan was, the sultan would be. Men had told them that Bayezid had been taken before he could leave the field and that a hundred of his grandees had died around him before he could be taken. _ Torches borne by the Tatars and the glare of building tents revealed to Michael. a strange sight. Tamerlane sat his horse “at the entrance to the pleasure lake of the palace. Mirza Rustem in bloodied armor and the scarred, dust-coated mnoyans at- tended him. Huddled groups of women and slaves stared in a kind of fascination at what stood before the old Tatar. Pushing past the on- lookers to the side of Mirza Rustem, Mi- chael saw the great bulk of Bayezid kneel- ing in front of Tamerlane’s horse. The sultan wore his embroidered cap with the blood-colored ruby, and his tunic of cloth-of-gold. His head swayed on his shoulders and his eyes were half -closed. His glance went from one to another of the noyans and finally rested on Michael. The black eyes of the defeated monarch widened as he recognized the Christian who had been his slave. His lips twisted as he half-made a gesture of appeal, and then drew back before the passionless scrutiny of the Tatars. Michael folded his arms and waited, to hear Tamerlane’s word that would speak oes ? (e(0) im Gc 6) 0) <Si (C@