Adventure Magazine Cover — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

48 fit to claim this slave for a fourth of his value. I have eaten wrong-dealing “ _ “Which you will spew out again, father of thieving!’ growled the Turkoman, and made a sign for his companions to close around Michael. As they moved off Michael saw the jani- zary stop to curse the desert man, and then —well aware of the danger of crossing an official of the castle—stride away toward Demid. He had not gone far before a lithe, tattered figure stole after him, and stumbled over his heels. The blade of a knife flashed, and the purse which the soldier had tied to his girdle, dropped into the hand of the son of the Arab. Michael, despite his disappointment, could laugh merrily at this. The butt of the Turkoman’s spear smote his cheek, splitting the skin. “O caphar, unbeliever, you can work your spells in the darkness under the Wolf’s Ear. Hasten, for you will have an au- dience with your master.” So it happened on the day of the festival in Aleppo that the man with the signet ring passed into the gate of the palace wall, and after him Demid and his charge, and upon their heels, in a sad strait indeed but no whit disheartened, Sir Michael of Rohan. IX THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS A NIGHT and a day Michael waited for the interview with his new master. The chamber in which he had been confined without food was bare except for two hemp ropes suspended from the beams of the ceil- ing and ending in slip-nooses about a yard from the floor. Under the ropes lay two lengths of bamboo, tough and _ pliable. Under the bamboos was a thick veneer of dried blood—the mark of the bastinado, in which a prisoner was strung up by the ankles and beaten with the bamboos upon the soles of his bare feet until exhausted herves gave way and he confessed, or lied to save himself. At the end of the time a door opened and two armed negroes entered with cresset torches, signing for Michael to advance to the black square of the open portal. But on the threshold they stayed him, and he made out a figure in the shadows beyond. This was a thin, stooped form draped in Adventure striped silk. A form with a beak of a face and a pinched mouth, seeming to droop under the weight of a massive green turban set with emeralds. “The Sidr ibn Ahmad,” grunted one of the slaves, “‘would have speech with thee.” Michael bowed and stood at ease, sniffing the odor of musk and opium, while two large eyes considered him. “O Frank,” said the Moslem sharply, ‘““where are the kazaks?” It startled Michael more than a little that this man.should be aware he spoke Turki, and had knowledge of the raid of the Cossacks. ‘Who knows,” he replied musingly, ‘‘if not Allah?” “You do.” ‘That is not true.” “Bah! Offspring of swine, the Sidi has eyes that can pierce beyond the hills. A band of kazaks rode toward Aleppo. Where did you leave them?” : “Tf you can see through the hills, then you can see them. I know nothing, O pasha.” ““Dog of an unbeliever! You were in their company. What plans had they formed when you were taken from them?” If, Michael thought, the pasha of Aleppo could not see beyond the Caucasus, he must have ears in every bazaar in Asia Minor. And this was close to the truth, for the man in the doorway was well served by spies. “‘The chief of the kazaks,”’ went on he of the turban, “‘is like a falcon, striking far from home. But where are his men?” Michael, wondering if Demid’s disguise had been pierced, only shook his head. Demid had been careful to say nothing of his plans to any one. The man in the door snapped his teeth angrily and motioned to the guards to string Michael up. As they moved to do this, a high voice whispered something from the darkness behind the dignitary, who hesitated and drew back. ‘“‘We will not wheedle you like a woman. You have until the mid-morning prayer of the morrow to make up your mind to con- fess. When that time comes if you do not speak you will be drawn on the stake—“‘he paused, the pinched lips curving with rel- ish—”’ by horses.”’ “Nay, not that!” cried Michael, starting. ‘“‘Aye, unbeliever. Prepare to taste maut ahmar, the bloody death.”’ The slaves drew back and the door COMmicloo S C©