Adventure Magazine Cover — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

THE WOLF MASTER CHAPTER XV Let your swiftness be that of the wind, your steadiness that of the forest. In raiding and plundering, be like fire, in immovability like a mountain. Above all, let your plans be dark and im- penetrable as night, and when you move, strike like a thunderbolt. MAXIMS OF SUN TZU mae) 1H the determination of a weasel, WA | Al-Tabir sought through the Ta- A P| tar lines the next night for Kirdy. gaf%s} During the day Tevakel Khan had moved up with his clans to a ridge over- looking a long, shallow valley. On the opposite rise Ilbars Sultan was encamped, and Al-Tabir felt uneasy. To interpret dreams, to make verses at the courts of kings—that was his work. He was convinced that a prophet had no honor, outside his own country. Because, at every fire he approached, the broad, dark faces of the wild Tatars peered at him suspiciously, and swords and javelins were flourished at his stocky legs. He blundered into a herd of restless cattle and fled to escape the prod- ding of the long horns. Dogs barked at sight of his kaftan and turban. So Al-Tabir was profoundly grateful when he saw one of the Cossack’s kabardas, saddled by a fire where an ugly warrior in rusty chain-mail squatted, working with whetstone and cloth upon the shining steel head of a battle-ax. This, Al-Tabir knew, was the man who had taken prisoner the first Turkoman. But Al-Tabir saw no pris- oner, and the skin of his back prickled un- comfortably when he looked at the ax head. This was a fellow of violence, a dealer of blows—an unlearned soul, no fit compan- ion for Jahria ibn Muhammad Al Nisapur, who had written down six hundred true dreams in a book. When the Tatar—Arslan by name— merely lifted the corner of a thin lip at sight of the Persian, Al-Tabir decided it would be safe for him to stay by the fire. When Kirdy strode up Arslan raised a knotted hand to his forehead and lips, but Al-Tabir gave tongue joyously. ‘‘Ai-ee, young hero—prince of swordsmen —my deliverer! Let us sit upon the carpet of counsel and take thought for the mor- row.” “How, take thought?” demanded Kirdy, whose mind was on other matters. “Where shall I place myself in order—in order to see all that passes without molesta- 61 tion? I will makea song of thy deeds. But, to see everything clearly I should be as a disembodied spirit, remote from these sav- ages. When I seek the outer lines these un- clean dogs drive me back. When the bat- tle begins shall I go to the standard?” ‘“‘Aye—a good place. The sword strokes will fall heavily there!’’ Al-Tabir squirmed, and caressed his am- ple girdle. “That is not what I want. To see the battle as a whole, perhaps the horse lines would be the best.” “Nay,” Kirdy pointed out indifferently. ‘The herds are behind the ridge. Besides, the Turkomans usually sweep around an enemy—you would be trampled.” “Ah, the Turkomans. They be worse than these snouted pagans, because they cut innocent people open, just to see them quiver. O the sons of nameless fathers! O that I were again in the hill gardens of Rud- bar, where men have ears to listen and hearts to feel!”’ But Kirdy was listening to guttural mono- syllables from Arslan, and now he sprang to his feet and seized the rein of the kabarda. ‘“‘Eh—what has come to pass? Whither goest thou? We have made no plans—’’ Al-Tabir was alarmed by this activity. “The Turkomans have thrown a head into our lines. It was the head of Sorgai, a grandson of the khan, who rode out reck- lessly beyond his men, before our coming. Now Tevakel Khan is raging like a devil.” ‘ “Let him rage. Why should we go near in" But Kirdy was in the saddle, and Al-T4- bir, intent on keeping his only friend within call, clung to the stirrup, heedless of the kabarda’s snorting as he trotted through the groups of warriors up to the mound where the patriarch sat surrounded by his officers. The mound was in darkness because Te- vakel Khan did not wish his foes to see his anger. A musket-shot away the camp of the raiders was in plain sight, for the Turko- mans were enjoying themselves after their fashion. They had set up lofty stakes to the top of which they hung captives—women as well as men by the feet. Warriors with torches were lighting the heads of the unfortunates. Archers were shooting shafts into the strug- ling and smoking bodies and the hoarse shouting of the wild tribesmen could be COMICOookSs C©