Adventure Magazine Cover — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

52 Turks what he had seen in the way of torture visited upon other Nazarenes. Michael’s voice croaked. ~“Vah khawand, a word with yonder noble, El Kadhr. I who go to the Severer of Life ask it.” » “Will you confess the pe place of the pig kazaks?”’ Michael shook his head, not caring to trust his voice again. He ‘wished to warn Demid that Balaban was in Aleppo and that Balaban was Sidi Ahmad; but when he took an uncertain step forward toward his friend, nausea seized on him. “Wine!” he whispered. ‘“‘A cup of wine before the ordeal.”’ “To hear is to obey!” The janizary whispered something to one of the palace slaves, who presently fetched a silver goblet from the courtyard. Michael seized it and raised it to his lips with a hand kept steady by the utmost effort of his will. ‘Within the cup was vinegar. Michael quivered and hurled the silver goblet at the Moslem who had tricked him, and the mameluke smiled, beholding his musk-scented companion soaked with the vinegar. “Eh, there is a devil in this prince of unbelievers! Nay—’’ as the other, red with rage, strove to draw sword—“this Frank is to be spared for the fate that awaits his kind.” Perceiving the attention of the throng on him for a second, the warrior of the khalat made a mock salaam before Michael. “‘T pray your honor’s honor to ascend the throne prepared for you. Ho, Moslems, give heed to this dog-coronation!”’ A ripple of mirth passed over the sav- age faces, and merciless eyes fastened on the prisoner. Pleased with his own wit, the mameluke leaned forward to pull the stubble of beard that had grown on Michael’s chin. “Will you go forward to the stake, or shall I bid the palace wenches mitnen to whip you on?” For a second the thought of angering the soldier—provoking him to use his swerd— came to Michael. But then he was aware that by going to the stake he might speak to Demid, who had recognized him before now. Michael crossed himself, and, followed closely by a janizary and the mameluke, walked up to the stake. Now he saw that ‘Demid’s face was tense, and that the Cos- Adventure. sack’s eyes were smoldering even while he stood with folded arms, A high-pitched voice, rife with amuse- ment, floated from -one of the palace windows. “Where are the kazaks, Sidi Ahmad asked. Michael halted and from very weariness leaned on the stake, while the slaves pulled forward the ropes attached to the horses. “Here 1s a Cossack!”’ It was thus that Demid spoke for all to hear, and answered the question of Sidi Ahmad. And before his lips closed on the words, his two swords were out of their sheaths. blades were drawn so swiftly, because he did not see Demid’s left hand drop to the hilt of the simitar on his right side, and the other hand to the sword of honor, on his left hip. Nor did Michael see which blade it was O Nazarene?” - that struck off the head of the mameluke, sending it rolling over the grass. But he did notice that one of the simitars struck down the weapon the janizary drew, and then passed across the-silk vest of the Mos- lem warrior. The curved blades seemed only to stroke the man, but its razor edge severed the abdominal muscles and left the janizary dying on his feet, still staring in ‘blank amazement. Demid whirled on the slaves and struck one down; the remaming Moslem took to his heels, but tripped and fell, such was his dread of the steel that had taken the lives from three in thrice as many seconds. “Two swords—one man,” Michael mut- tered, still in a half stupor. For a brief moment the Cossack and the cavalier stood alone by the stake, but already men were recovering from their amazement and rising to their feet under the trees. Sidi Ahmad, the clever, had indulged his whim to test Demid a trifle too far, and the Cossack knew how to use the minute of time that was worth more than the treasure of Sidi Ahmad to him. “Can you stick to a horse’s back?” he cried at Michael who was stumbling toward him. “Grapple the mane, but stick!’’. With that he gave his comrade a hoist up, to the nearest pony. The other horse had shied at the smell of blood, but Demid ran to him, caught the dangling bridle, and glanced over his shoulder. “On your faces, dogs,’’ he roared at the oO MICLOO® © Michael never knew how the Sj (©