{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_73791/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_73791","id":"gutenberg_73791","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/73791","summary":null,"tags":["Adventure stories","Category: Adventure","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Fantasy fiction","Swordsmen -- Fiction"],"text":"Thirsty Blades\n\n                        By OTIS ADELBERT KLINE\n                         and E HOFFMANN PRICE\n\n           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from\n                      Weird Tales February 1930.\n         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that\n         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]\n\n\n[Illustration: \"Then something cast its shadow over him.\"]\n\n\nThe side entrance to the _caravanserai_ was closed. Well then, back\ndown the alley, and around the corner to the main gate. But when Rankin\nturned to retrace his steps, he saw that it might be a long way from\nthere to any other place. For to his right and left were blank walls;\nat his back, a closed gate; and in front, a crescent of drawn blades\nwas closing in on him.\n\nBehind the six advancing swordsmen rode their commander. He reined in\nhis Barbary stallion, stroked his beard--henna red, as Rankin could see\nplainly in the white moonlight--and settled back to enjoy the spectacle.\n\n\"Click-click-click!\" mocked the hammer of Rankin's .45 as it fell on a\nsuccession of empty chambers.\n\nThe red-bearded chief smiled. And Rankin knew that more than his own\ncarelessness was responsible for the unloading of that revolver.\nSomeone had worked fast and skilfully as Rankin reclined in the _souk_\nthat afternoon, smoking a _narghileh_, sipping bitter Abyssinian\ncoffee, and pondering on how to extricate the lady Azizah from the\nperil that was descending from the mountains of Kurdistan.\n\nShoulder to shoulder the assailants advanced. Their steps were\ndeliberate, now that they were certain rather than hopeful that the\n.45 had not been reloaded. Six lean swordsmen from the desert, grim\nphantoms whose curved blades gleamed frostily in the moonlight; curved\nscimitars whose drawing cut shears from shoulder to hip with one swift\nstroke.\n\nRankin drew his scimitar, cursed the disguise that had forbidden his\nfavorite saber, and came on guard. The six paused a moment in their\nadvance. _One_ of them, they knew, must close with their prey, while\nthe other five hacked him to pieces. And the sentence of that _one_ was\nwritten; for their victim's frenzy would not be tempered with any hope\nof escape. _One_ of them was even now a dead man....\n\nOne ... two ... three paces....\n\nRankin dropped his point and laughed.\n\nThe line wavered. It takes courage to assault a madman.\n\nA long, fierce lunge, and a deadly swift flicker of steel; and Rankin\nwithdrew from the m\u00eal\u00e9e, on guard again. That sudden assault from\nbeyond probable striking-distance had caught them off balance; _one_ of\nthem was even now a dead man, shorn half asunder.\n\nThen they closed in. Rankin's footwork saved him, and during that\ninstant of grace, his blade again hit deep as he evaded the charge.\n\n_\"Mashallah!\"_ gasped the red-bearded chief as he spurred his horse a\npace forward.\n\nThere were only four to continue the attack, but their assault would be\na reckless whirlwind of steel. No more sidestepping or retreating for\nRankin.\n\n\"----hacked to pieces in some side street of Tekrit----\" flashed\nthrough his mind. Ismeddin the Darvish was right.\n\nAnd then he saw the chief draw his blade.\n\n\"Horse and foot! Christ, if I could only get _him_!\" prayed Rankin.\n\nTime had ceased. He remembered how very slowly a swift blade approaches\nwhen one is in the last extremity. He could parry, cut, retreat, parry\nagain, cut--and then the chief on horse would cut him down. But there\nwas plenty of time....\n\nThen something on the wall behind Rankin cast its shadow over him:\nattack from the rear.\n\n\"They are thorough in Tekrit!\" flashed through his mind as the very end\nof that interminable instant came in an irresistibly flailing mill of\nblades.\n\nClack-clack-click! And a silent stroke that bit flesh. Clack-clack----\n\n\"Halt!\" roared the chief from his Barbary horse.\n\nHis upraised blade swept down. In response to his signal, something\nsoft and clinging dropped from the wall and enveloped Rankin. Snared in\na net!\n\nThe three surviving footmen sheathed their blades, seized Rankin, now\nfirmly enmeshed in the silken net, shouldered him, and followed their\nchief.\n\n\"Well,\" reflected Rankin, as he resigned himself to captivity, \"if I'm\nhacked to pieces at all, it probably won't be in a side street.... I\nwonder if Ismeddin foresaw _this_?\n\n\"And this only the 11th of Nisan ... two more like this, and I'll be in\ngood training for that black swordsman in the vault....\n\n\"They expected me--just staring at that girl had nothing to do with\nit,\" Rankin assured himself by way of minimizing the folly of having\nstared too intently into the eyes of the veiled woman who had that\nafternoon appraised him from the height of her glittering litter.\n\nBut Rankin knew that there was a direct connection between the\nsanguinary combat of a few moments ago, and the exchange of glances\nbetween him and the veiled girl whose gorgeously adorned litter had\nfollowed the red-bearded dignitary through the _souk_. There was but\none conclusion: the girl had called the redbeard's attention to Rankin.\n\nWell, and so be it then! For those were the eyes of Azizah who so often\nhad accompanied Suleiman Baalshem in that haunting, recurring dream\nthat for twenty years had driven Rankin the length and breadth of Asia,\nand across all the lands of Islam. He was attaining his goal, even if\nonly to meet the thirsty blades whereof Ismeddin had spoken.\n\nThe chief of his assailants, then, must be the Shareef, Sayyid Yussuf,\nthe girl's uncle and guardian. In which case, all the better: at least\nRankin was not in the hands of the devil-worshipers who had been\nfiltering out of Kurdistan to celebrate their dreadful _sabbat_ in\nthat ravine two days' ride from Tekrit ... and thus and thus Rankin\nspeculated ... with never a passer-by to intrude on the unreality of it\nall.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe chief at last drew up before a massive, iron-studded gate that was\nfirmly hinged to the heavy masonry jamb and wall. He thumped the brazen\nlock-plate with the pommel of his scimitar. The door opened without a\nchallenge from the porter within. The redbeard dismounted and signaled\nhis men-at-arms to release Rankin from his silken web.\n\nAt the end of a long, narrow passage, they turned into a courtyard\nwhere fountains sprayed mistily in the moonlight. Rankin's captors\nreleased their grip on his arms; and one of them presented Rankin's\nscimitar, hilt foremost.\n\nRankin accepted the blade and glanced sharply about him. More combat?\n\nThe chief smiled. \"You are among friends, Saidi Rankin.\"\n\n\"Your playmates didn't look so friendly,\" retorted Rankin.\n\n\"I am Abs\u00e1l, the son of our lord the Shareef,\" continued the redbeard,\n\"and my six playmates were only to assure me of your identity. There\nare others on the same mission that leads you to Tekrit. Anyway, before\nI could signal Silat up there on the wall with his net, three of my men\nwere out of action.\"\n\n\"One should,\" agreed Rankin, \"always be sure of a stranger's identity.\nBut what if they had cut me into many small pieces?\"\n\nAbs\u00e1l shrugged. \"_Wallah!_ That would have been deplorable, of course.\nBut it would have proved to my entire satisfaction that you are not the\nman for the venture I have in mind. As it is----\"\n\n\"As it is, saidi,\" interrupted Rankin, \"you think that perhaps I may be\nfit to meet the Black Presence in the vault on the night of the 14th of\nNisan?\"\n\n\"_Inshallah!_\" evaded Abs\u00e1l. \"If it please God. And our lord the\nShareef has a good deal to say about that.\"\n\nA gong clanged. The heavy drapes that masked the horseshoe arch in the\nleft wall of the courtyard parted, revealing a long, narrow room at\nwhose farther end was a dais on which sat a white-bearded, hook-nosed\nman: Abs\u00e1l's father, the Shareef.\n\nThey paused in the archway to bow, and offer the peace.\n\n\"_Wa'salaam aleikum!_\" responded the Shareef. And then, after\nscrutinizing Rankin with his hard, piercing eyes: \"So this is the stout\nswordsman of the tradition?\"\n\n\"Even so, father,\" replied Abs\u00e1l.\n\nThe old man twice clapped his hands. There was a rustling behind\nthe curtains at the Shareef's right, and the tinkle of anklets. The\ncurtains parted slightly, and Rankin again looked into the smoldering,\nSaracenic eyes of the veiled lady of the market-place.\n\n\"Is this the man?\" queried the Shareef, half turning to catch the eye\nof the girl in the doorway.\n\n\"This is indeed the man, uncle.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he acknowledged. And then, to Rankin: \"If you are the man,\nwhat is your hidden name?\"\n\n\"Abdemon.\"\n\n\"Again, very well,\" agreed the Shareef. \"Now tell me, Abdemon, how it\nwas that Suleiman Baalshem could not keep his promise to you; and why,\nthrough all these dusty centuries, the word of Suleiman has been in\nthe power of Shaitan the Damned.\"\n\n\"A neighboring king,\" began Rankin, \"proposed a riddle that Suleiman\ncould not solve. Therefore he swore by his beard that if I, Abdemon,\na captain of his guard, would solve the riddle, he would give me his\ndaughter, who was the granddaughter of the sultan of Egypt. Suleiman,\nthe Lord of the Name, swore by his beard and by his right hand, but he\nfailed to add, '_Inshallah!_ If it so please God.' And Allah punished\nSuleiman for his impiety by giving Iblis, prince of djinn, full power\nover the promise of Suleiman for a whole day. And during that day of\npower, Iblis abducted my bride-to-be, so that Suleiman could not keep\nthe oath he had sworn. Yet in the end Allah relented, and granted that\nafter the march of centuries Suleiman would finally be able to keep his\npromise: provided that Abdemon in one of his incarnations would meet\nIblis, sword to sword, and defeat him. And thus, bound by my oath to\nSuleiman, and bound by my love for this girl who was almost mine, I\nhave marched across the centuries, from one failure to another, to meet\nIblis, the Dark Presence, in the vault, on the night of the 14th of\nNisan: the first full moon of spring.\n\n\"In those days they called her Neferte, but now she is called Azizah,\"\ncontinued Rankin. \"And on nights of the full moon she lies as one dead;\nher heartbeat is stopped, and her breath is imperceptible.\"\n\n\"Well said,\" agreed the Shareef. \"Now for the final proof: give me the\nseal.\"\n\n\"What seal?\" countered Rankin.\n\n\"The leaden seal from the shattered urn.\"\n\nRankin started at this glib mention of the seal his father had given\nhim nearly twenty years ago, and wondered how the Shareef could know of\nthe incident.\n\n\"That I can not do,\" declared Rankin. \"It is the leaden impression of\nthe seal of Suleiman Baalshem, who commanded that no hands other than\nmy own should touch it.\"\n\nThe old man nodded and smiled.\n\n\"I was aware also of that. So hold it in your own hands that I may\nexamine it.\"\n\nRankin produced a small leather bag suspended from a chain passed\naround his neck. Opening the bag, he took therefrom a small disk of\nlead, and held it up for the Shareef to examine.\n\nThe Shareef and his son bowed low.\n\n\"_Bismillahi rahmani raheem!_\" they exclaimed. \"Praise to God, Lord of\nthe Worlds! It is truly the seal of Suleiman Baalshem.\"\n\n\"But tell me,\" continued the Shareef, \"who told you that you would find\nyour destiny in Tekrit?\"\n\n\"Ismeddin the Darvish interpreted the dreams which have haunted me\nsince I was a boy, and told me how I could release your brother's\ndaughter from the blackness that clouds her senses on nights of the\nfull moon, when the power of Iblis the Damned is at its height,\"\nreplied Rankin.\n\nThe Shareef frowned at the mention of Ismeddin.\n\n\"So that old ruffian and heretic sent you to Tekrit? Did he by any\nchance speak of the dooms that overtake meddlers who roam about here in\nsearch of adventure?\"\n\n\"At great length, _saidi_,\" responded Rankin, \"even as he explained\nthat due to various misunderstandings you two have had regarding some\nhorses, he could scarcely appear in person to present me to you. But I\ncame, nevertheless. Is it not written,\" quoted Rankin, \"_There is no\nshield to turn aside the spear cast of Destiny: gold, glory, silver,\neach avail not?_\"\n\n\"Spoken like a true believer,\" agreed the Shareef. And then, sharply,\n\"Testify!\"\n\n\"_La illaha illa allah_----\" began Rankin, and paused.\n\nThe sequence was familiar as his own name, but Rankin was not truly a\nMoslem, and one can not testify falsely when the word of Suleiman and\nits fulfilment lie in one's hands.\n\n\"_Wa Muhammad er-rasul allahi!_\" recited the red-bearded chief. \"I\nhave testified in his place. And let us consider that this infidel has\ntestified that Muhammad is the prophet of God as well as that there\nis no God but Allah. For if he can wear the seal of Suleiman Baalshem\nwithout harm, it makes little difference what he testifies. For Allah\nis wise, all-knowing,\" concluded Sayyid Abs\u00e1l sonorously.\n\n\"There is something in what you say,\" conceded the Shareef. \"Still, am\nI to entrust the welfare of my brother's daughter to the hands of an\ninfidel? And an infidel sent by that bandit of an Ismeddin!\"\n\n\"But,\" protested the redbeard, \"didn't he prove himself? He is the\nstout swordsman of the tradition, Abdemon whose skill was the delight\nof Suleiman, ages ago, and whose sword must give the word of Suleiman\nits only chance of fulfilment. And he has the seal----\"\n\n\"Mummeries to fool true believers!\" growled the Shareef. \"Tonight is\nbut the 11th of Nisan. I will look into this fellow's story, and on the\n12th I will either let him carry out his plan, or else----\"\n\nThe old man nodded significantly at the stalwart African at his left,\nwho was toying with the hilt of a ponderous two-handed sword.\n\nThe Shareef clapped his hands. \"Show this unbeliever every\nconsideration,\" he directed, as two slaves approached at his signal.\n\"But on your lives, keep him locked up.\"\n\n\"The swords,\" thought Rankin, as his escort led him to a cell, \"may\nquench their thirst unless Ismeddin is closer than he seems.\"\n\nJust before he passed out of ear-shot, he caught the faint tinkle of\nanklets, but he dared not turn back for even a glance at Azizah, who\nonce had almost been his.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nZantut, servant of Iblis and high priest of the devil-worshipers who\nhad come down from the mountains of Kurdistan, sat in an upper room\nof the _caravanserai_ just across the street from that selected by\nRankin the day before. Two lamps flared ruddily at each side of the\nMaster, casting a flickering light on the parchment scroll he studied.\nZantut muttered to himself as he spelled out, line by line, the fine,\nintricate characters of the manuscript.\n\nAt times he would raise his eyes from his work, glance sharply to\neither side, and at the door of the room, which he was facing. At last\nhe addressed the adept who squatted, cross-legged, in a shadowy corner\nwhere he fed grains of sandalwood to a censer that fumed before the\nsilver image of a peacock.\n\n\"Humayd, what time is it?\"\n\n\"Well past midnight, _saidi_. The sentries have been changed three\ntimes since sunset.\"\n\n\"And still no report!\" muttered Zantut as he stroked his black beard.\nThen, to Humayd: \"Sound recall.\"\n\nThe adept drew from behind the pedestal of the silver peacock a small\ndrum, carefully tuned it, and with knuckles and the heel of his hand\nbeat a curious, broken rhythm. The drum emitted a surprizing volume of\nsound for its size; yet so low-pitched was its hollow chug-chug-thump\nthat it barely disturbed the silence of that late hour.\n\nScarcely had Humayd set aside the drum when there came at the door a\ntapping that mimicked the cadence of the recall.\n\n\"Enter!\" commanded Zantut. And then, recognizing the newcomer, \"What\nluck, Saoud?\"\n\n\"Less than none, _saidi_. I waited at the entrance of the\n_caravanserai_ across the street until my legs were knotted with\ncramps. And this\"--he flashed from beneath his _djellab_ a keen, curved\nblade--\"is all too clean.\"\n\nZantut scrutinized him gravely.\n\n\"You slept!\" snapped the Master.\n\n\"Not in that corner of perdition, _saidi_. And I reported while that\ndrum was still warm.\"\n\n\"Granted!\" admitted Zantut.\n\nAnd then came another sequence of taps at the door.\n\n\"Enter and report!\" commanded Zantut.\n\n\"Weariness and waste of time, _saidi_,\" announced the latest arrival.\n\"As you ordered, I had a word with the guards posted at the city gates.\nMy purse is somewhat lighter, but to no purpose.\"\n\nAnd the purport of each of the succeeding scouts was similar. Rankin\nhad evaded them all. Then, after an interval, came the last scout.\n\n\"I saw a man on horse, followed by three on foot, _saidi_,\" he began.\n\"They carried a burden that might very well have been a man. The\nhorseman halted at the house of the Shareef Yussuf, where he and his\nfollowers entered.\"\n\n\"Ah! ... could it have been the Shareef's son, Abs\u00e1l?\"\n\n\"It could. He had a red beard, and was very tall and lean.\"\n\n\"Sayyid Abs\u00e1l himself! Then what, Ismail?\"\n\n\"Someone of the party had been wounded. I followed blood splashes on\nthe paving until I came to a side street close to the _caravanserai_\nof this madman we are seeking. In a blind street I saw three men lying\nwhere they had fallen. They had no further use for the swords they\nstill clutched. But before I could investigate, a party of armed men\napproached to pick up the dead.\"\n\n\"Then what?\" demanded Zantut.\n\n\"I gathered from their remarks that an additional corpse would be\neasily enough handled. And I didn't wish to arouse suspicion by\nloitering.\"\n\n\"Very good, Ismail,\" replied Zantut. \"It seems that our enemy is in\ngood hands: either dead or imprisoned. That saves us considerable\nannoyance. Being strangers, we could not handle an assassination as\nsafely or effectively as the son of our Lord the Shareef.\"\n\n\"But why,\" queried one of the adepts, \"should Sayyid Abs\u00e1l have killed\nor captured this madman, Rankin?\"\n\n\"Iblis alone can say. Power and praise to Thousand-Eyed Malik Ta\u00fbs!\"\n\n\"Praise and power to him!\" intoned the assembled adepts in unison as\nthey made with their left hands a curious fleeting gesture.\n\n\"It may be,\" continued Zantut, \"that the Shareef or Sayyid Abs\u00e1l\ndoubted that Rankin is indeed the Elect, the reincarnated Abdemon who\nalone can thwart Iblis on the 14th of Nisan. Which is all the better;\nfor then one of us can very easily approach the Shareef claiming to be\nthe Elect, get possession of the lady Azizah on the pretext of breaking\nthe spell that clouds her senses on nights of the full moon, and then\nseek the hidden vault. But it is late. Humayd, stand guard while we\nsleep.\"\n\nHumayd took his post, scimitar in hand.\n\nZantut set aside his scrolls and stretched out on his divan. The adepts\nextinguished the flaring lamps and lay down on the thick rug at the\nfoot of the Master's couch.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Well,\" thought Rankin, as he surveyed his cell by the light of the\njailer's torch as the barred door clanged shut, \"I've been in worse\nholes than this.\"\n\nOdors were present, and vermin also; but by no means as plentiful or\nas unbearable as, for instance, they had been in the dungeons of the\nEmir's palace in Boukhara. And the air was almost fresh. In the course\nof a few years of adventure, one at times sleeps on a worse bed than\nthe stone bench that ran along the wall of the cell.\n\n\"And Ismeddin,\" reflected Rankin, \"is doubtless on the job. All the\nworse for Iblis and his friends!\"\n\nThe very absence of any sign of Ismeddin seemed to Rankin to be\ncertain proof that the wily old darvish was busily at work against\nthe followers of Iblis, who was worshiped in Kurdistan as Malik Ta\u00fbs,\nthe Lord Peacock. Rankin had heard tales the length and breadth of\nKurdistan, telling of the outrageous feats and resourcefulness of that\nunusual hermit who divided his time between the walls of his cavern and\nthe palaces of princes: that is, when not engaged in the single-handed\nlooting of caravans.\n\nThen, like any seasoned campaigner, Rankin sought and found the soft\nspots of the stone bench, and stretched out for as much sleep as the\nnight afforded. But that sleep was to have its interruption.\n\nA pebble clicked against the wall at Rankin's side; and then another.\n\n\"Ismeddin, by God!\" was Rankin's first thought as he raised himself\non his elbow and looked up at the tiny, barred window through which\nfiltered the moon's dazzling whiteness.\n\nThen, lest a repetition of the signal attract the attention of the\nsentry posted somewhere in the hall leading to the door of the cell,\nRankin intoned the sonorous first lines of the Sura of the Brightness,\nas any piously inclined prisoner might do in resigning himself to\ncaptivity:\n\n    \"_By the noonday brightness, and by the night when it darkeneth!\n    Thy Lord hath not forsaken thee, neither hath he been\n      displeased._\"\n\nThe pebbles ceased.\n\nBut the hand thrust in between the bars of the window was certainly not\nthe grimy talon of Ismeddin. The slender white fingers released a scrap\nof paper that fluttered a moment in the moonlight, then, passing out of\nthe beam, settled to the floor where in the darkness Rankin could just\ndistinguish it.\n\n\"_Truly the future shall be better for thee than the Past_,\" concluded\nRankin. \"_And thy Lord shall be gracious, and thou satisfied._\"\n\nThe jeweled fingers gestured ever so slightly, paused a moment, and\ndisappeared.\n\nRankin curbed his impatience and contented himself with staring at the\nscarcely perceptible blotch that was the note from his unknown friend.\n\nVery faintly from the hall came the snore of the sentry.\n\n\"My devoutness was wasted,\" thought Rankin, as he arose to get the\nnote. \"Still, a bit of piety is never out of order.\"\n\nRankin struck a match. One sufficed, for the note was brief:\n\n    _Bismillahi!_ Neferte to Abdemon, greeting! The darvish, Ismeddin,\n    will spring the bars of your cell and release you on the night of\n    the 12th of Nisan. Ride and overtake us at the oasis of al Akra.\n\nThe night of the twelfth ... two days of hard riding ... well, that\nwould not be so bad ... so let Ismeddin do the worrying for the next\nfew hours....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn the evening of the 12th, the porter admitted seven darvishes seeking\naudience of the Shareef shortly before the sunset prayer.\n\n\"Prayer and the Peace upon you, Cousin of the Prophet,\" saluted Zantut\nas he bowed low before the white-bearded Shareef. \"My companions and I\nhave ridden day and night from the north of Kurdistan in our haste to\nfulfil an ancient prophecy. It is written----\"\n\nZantut paused and turned to the adept at his left: \"Humayd, tell the\nCousin of the Prophet, our Lord the Shareef, of your vision.\"\n\n\"Three nights ago,\" began Humayd, after receiving the Shareef's\npermission to speak, \"I was sitting in contemplation of holy things,\nwhen suddenly a great light appeared in my cave. A tall stranger whose\nface and garments shone like the noonday sun stood there before me.\n\n\"'Rise at once, Abdemon,' he said, 'and with your pious companions seek\nthe house of the Shareef, Sayyid Yussuf----'\n\n\"'A thousand pardons,' I replied, 'but I am Humayd, a darvish, and not\nAbdemon.'\n\n\"'You are wrong,' said the glittering stranger; 'not Humayd, but\nAbdemon, who in a former life were favored by our lord, Suleiman\nBaalshem, who promised you his daughter, Neferte. But that promise,\nas you know, Suleiman could not keep, on account of Allah's wrath at\nhis impiety. But Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate, has relented;\nand on the 14th of Nisan, the first full moon of spring, you must take\nNeferte, who in this life is the lady Azizah, the niece of our lord the\nShareef, to the Valley of Djinn, and there perform the ritual which\nwill lift the curse from her life. And then Suleiman's promise to you\nin an earlier life can be fulfilled. Finally, there is a great treasure\nwhich Suleiman left awaiting this day; one third of it is yours, and\nthe rest is for the pious Shareef.'\n\n\"Then there came an intolerable brightness which blinded me; and when I\ncould again see, the Presence had vanished. I sought my instructor the\nholy Zantut; and behold, we are here,\" concluded Humayd.\n\n\"So there is also a treasure?\" queried the Shareef.\n\n\"Even so, _saidi_. Just as Humayd has said.\"\n\n\"What of the seal?\" asked the Shareef.\n\nHumayd drew from a small pouch suspended at his throat a leaden seal.\n\n\"The seal of Suleiman Baalshem,\" admitted the Shareef. \"And then,\nIshtitad!\" he commanded. \"Testify!\"\n\n\"_La illaha illa allah_,\" intoned Humayd. \"_Wa Muhammad er-rasul\nallahi._\"\n\n\"At least we have a true believer this time,\" reflected the Shareef.\nThen, to his son: \"Was I not right in imprisoning the infidel you\nbrought before me?\"\n\n\"Not entirely,\" protested Sayyid Abs\u00e1l. \"The _kaffir_ is a great\nswordsman, even as the prophecy said. And one of these men is a liar,\nfor one of the leaden seals must be false.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" interposed Zantut, \"is it not more likely that a true\nbeliever should have the seal of Suleiman Baalshem than an unbeliever?\"\n\n\"That goes without saying,\" agreed the Shareef.\n\n\"But,\" protested Sayyid Abs\u00e1l, \"who are we to know what is acceptable\nto Allah, and to whom he would entrust the seal of Suleiman? Is this\nfellow Humayd a fighting man? Let him meet my six best retainers in a\nside street,\" challenged Sayyid Abs\u00e1l, \"and if he can prove himself in\nthat way, I will agree.\"\n\n\"Son,\" reproved the Shareef, \"it seems to me that you have no more to\nagree than to disagree.\"\n\n\"Well,\" retorted Sayyid Abs\u00e1l, \"and has this pious Zantut by any chance\ndazzled you with his tale of great treasure? The tradition speaks of\nthe promise of Suleiman, and the health of our cousin, Azizah, and not\nof chests of treasure.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" interrupted Zantut, \"is it not also possible that this\ninfidel impostor said nothing about the treasure so that he could keep\nit all for himself?\"\n\n\"Even so,\" assented the Shareef.\n\n\"Now by Allah and by my beard!\" thundered Sayyid Abs\u00e1l. \"The issue is\nevaded! What of the stout swordsman of the tradition?\"\n\n\"Humayd,\" replied Zantut, \"is a great swordsman, even if he has not\ndistinguished himself in street brawling in Tekrit.\"\n\n\"Then if he is such a swordsman, let him meet this _kaffir_ in single\ncombat, and may Allah judge between them!\" demanded Sayyid Abs\u00e1l.\n\n\"That,\" conceded the Shareef, \"would be fair.\"\n\nHumayd's confusion did not escape Sayyid Abs\u00e1l. But the triumph was\nfleeting.\n\n\"My lord,\" protested Zantut, \"need we put a revelation from Allah to\nthe trial of combat? Would that be an auspicious beginning, making the\nfavored of Allah prove himself against an infidel?\"\n\n\"Assuredly not,\" agreed the Shareef.\n\n\"Allah, and again, by Allah!\" stormed Sayyid Abs\u00e1l. \"My uncle's\ndaughter identified this unbeliever as the stout swordsman of her\nvisions. Let her at least identify this holy darvish.\"\n\n\"That also would be well,\" admitted Zantut. \"But my lord knows as well\nas I do what value to set on the fancy of a woman. She saw him sitting\nin the _souk_, smoking, and he pleased her. Is that to be taken against\nthe revelations of an angel to a devout and holy man?\"\n\nZantut paused, stroked his beard, and continued: \"Cousin of the\nProphet, I am a peacemaker. I would not for the very treasure of\nSuleiman cause contention between you and your son. My disciple may\nhave been deceived; or what he saw might have been a snare of Iblis.\nAnd lest injustice be done, let this _kaffir_ accompany us; and if\nHumayd fails in the ritual, then let the _kaffir_ prove himself. Thus\nwe will have twice the chance of dissolving the curse that clouds the\nlife of your brother's daughter.\"\n\n\"Done, by Allah and by my beard!\" exclaimed the Shareef. \"Wise and holy\nman, none but Suleiman himself has equal wisdom.\"\n\nThe Shareef twice clapped his hands.\n\n\"Fresh camels for Zantut and his followers,\" he commanded. \"A litter\nfor the lady Azizah. Then get the infidel swordsman, well bound, and\nput him in a litter.\"\n\nWith a lordly gesture, the Shareef dismissed Zantut and his companions.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAn hour after sunset, ten swift _meharis_ filed past the sentries at\nthe Isfayan Gate. Two of them bore between them a richly adorned _takht\nrawan_; and a third carried a litter of ordinary design. The other\nseven camels were ridden by the darvishes who but a short while before\nhad been dismissed by the Shareef.\n\nA one-eyed hunch-backed beggar squatted at the gate, whining to Allah\nand all passers-by for alms.\n\n\"The Lord will provide,\" growled Zantut from the height of his _mehari_.\n\n\"Son of a flat-nosed mother,\" muttered the beggar as he adjusted the\npatch over his right eye, \"you would be amazed if you knew what the\nLord will provide for you!\"\n\nHe stroked his long beard, and grinned evilly.\n\n\"Alms, in the name of Allah, alms!\" he whined, the stout savagery\nof his expression changing swiftly to one more in keeping with his\nposition as he noted the approach of a tall slave in a striped _kaft\u00e1n_.\n\nThe slave tossed him a coin, glanced quickly about him, then stooped\nand muttered in the mendicant's ear.\n\n\"What's this?\" demanded the beggar. \"Released? How, and by whom?\"\n\n\"My lord the Shareef ordered it. Both the infidel and the lady Azizah\nleft just a short while ago.\"\n\n\"Left?\"\n\n\"Yes. With the darvish Zantut and his pious companions.\"\n\n\"Father of seven hundred pigs!\" stormed the beggar. \"Son of calamity!\nWhere is the Shareef?\"\n\n\"In his reception hall, _saidi_,\" replied the slave respectfully.\n\n\"Alms, for the love of Allah!\" whined the beggar for the benefit of a\npasser-by. And then to the slave, in an undertone: \"Very well, Musa. I\nshall remember this.\"\n\nAnd with a surprizingly jaunty gait, the hunchback strode down the main\nstreet of Tekrit, and then, turning down a side alley, bore directly\ntoward the great house of the Shareef. But instead of waiting to be\nannounced, the beggar thrust the porter aside, stalked down the hall,\nacross the courtyard, and into the Shareef's presence.\n\n\"Old man,\" demanded the Shareef, \"who admitted you?\"\n\n\"I admitted myself, _saidi_,\" replied the beggar. \"And as soon as your\nmen withdraw,\" he continued, indicating the porter and two slaves who\nwere advancing to seize him, \"I will say more.\"\n\nThe Shareef gasped, turned the color of an old saddle; then, meeting\nfor a moment the grimy wanderer's fierce eye, relented. The man was\nobviously mad, reflected the Shareef; some saint or holy man whose wits\nwere in Allah's keeping.\n\n\"I will see him, Kasim,\" he said, dismissing with a gesture the\nastonished porter and his companions.\n\n\"Now, old man, what is it?\"\n\n\"Prayer, and the Peace, Cousin of the Prophet!\" began the hunchback, \"I\nhave come to make a wager.\"\n\n\"And what would you wager, holy man?\"\n\nThe Shareef was now quite convinced, from the intruder's wild manner,\nunkempt beard, and one glittering eye, that this was indeed a wandering\nsaint.\n\n\"My head against your two best horses, _saidi_. Have them saddled,\n_saidi_, and when we are well beyond the city walls, I will propose the\nwager.\"\n\n\"By Allah,\" muttered the Shareef, \"but he is mad!\"\n\n\"My lord,\" resumed the beggar, \"I am unarmed, and an old man. I repeat\nmy wager: my head against two good horses.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" agreed the Shareef, as he clapped his hands. \"Horses and\narms at once, Kasim!\"\n\n\"Allah upon you, my lord, but you wish to win this very good head of\nmine?\"\n\n\"Holy stranger,\" replied the Shareef, \"leave your prayer with this\nhouse; and if you lose your wager, you may keep your head.\"\n\n\"Of what use are my prayers, _saidi_, seeing that the servant of Satan\nthe Damned this very day beguiled you? Where is the daughter of your\nbrother, on whom be peace?\"\n\n\"On the way to the Valley of Djinn, with Zantut the darvish and his\npious companions.\"\n\n\"And what of the infidel, Rankin?\" next demanded the beggar.\n\n\"The _kaffir_ rides with them. But who are you, reverend saint?\"\nwondered the Shareef; for there was something strangely familiar about\nthis madman.\n\n\"I am as much a saint as Zantut is a darvish. It is you who are stark\nmad, and not I,\" declared the beggar.\n\n\"Even so,\" agreed the Shareef. \"But what do you mean?\"\n\n\"Wait until we are well without the city walls, and in the desert which\nhas seen all things. Wait until we have seen what we are to see----\"\n\nKasim entered and bowed to the Shareef.\n\n\"In readiness, _saidi_,\" he announced.\n\nThe beggar followed the Shareef to the main entrance, where a groom\nwith two mares, saddled and richly caparisoned, awaited them.\n\n\"_Wallah!_\" ejaculated the beggar, \"but my lord wagers heavily against\none cracked head. Each a Saklawiyah-Jidraniyah----\"\n\nHe bowed low as he pronounced the race and strain of the matchless\nbeasts; and then, \"To horse, _saidi_!\"\n\n\"You are strangely familiar with noble horses,\" observed the Shareef.\n\nThe grimy hunchback smiled crookedly.\n\n\"To the Isfayan Gate, _saidi_,\" he suggested, as the Shareef took the\nlead.\n\nAt the gate the sentries challenged them, but recognizing Sayyid\nYussuf, permitted them to pass.\n\nThe beggar muttered a few words to the sentry.\n\n\"I have kept it safely, _saidi_,\" replied the sentry, as he unbuckled\nfrom his waist a belt and scimitar which he handed the beggar.\n\n\"I ride unarmed. Sayyid Yussuf, be kind enough to carry my sword.\"\n\n\"Allah, and again, by Allah!\" marveled the Shareef as he accepted the\nblade, and noted the sentry's respectful address. \"Saint or beggar, or\nboth ... but who are you, old man?\"\n\n\"You would be amazed, my lord,\" was the evasive reply. \"Ride on yet a\nway. Let me lead.\"\n\nThis time the Shareef followed in the wanderer's trace. And as he rode,\nhe fingered the hilt of the beggar's scimitar, and wondered at the\ncool, unblinking sapphires that adorned the pommel, and the cunning\nworkmanship of the embroidered belt.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Let us halt here, _saidi_,\" requested the beggar after half an hour's\nbrisk ride.\n\nThey dismounted beside a low, half-crumbled, white-washed cupola that\nloomed spectrally in the moonlight: the ruined tomb of a forgotten\nsaint. They made their salaam to the unknown occupant of the holy place.\n\n\"For a beggar,\" began the Shareef, \"you are armed like a prince. And I\nwonder whether you are mad as you pretend to be.\"\n\n\"And for a cousin of the Prophet,\" replied the beggar, \"I wonder if you\nare as wise as you ought to be.\"\n\nThe moon was masked by a thin wisp of cloud. A cool, chilling breeze\ncrept across the desert.\n\n\"Kneel here, three paces before me, _saidi_,\" murmured the beggar.\n\"Kneel facing me, with this ghost of a wind at your left ... and let\nthis ghost of a moon bear witness to the truth that lies hidden in\nthese sands.... Let it bear witness to my wager: my head against those\ntwo _asil_ mares.... With my own sword strike off my head, _saidi_,\"\ncrooned the beggar, \"if what you see be not the truth as Allah, the\nMerciful, the Compassionate, sees it ... and the truth, my lord, is\nthat Iblis the Damned has beguiled you....\n\n\"Look, _saidi_,\" chanted the beggar, as he gathered handfuls of sand\nand let it trickle between his fingers. \"Look at this sand which is the\ndust of unremembered kings and the dust of forgotten slaves ... look at\nthis sand over which kings and slaves have marched, endless procession,\nages without end....\"\n\nThe beggar's gesture of scooping sand lengthened until his hands swept\nin an arc from the ground to the full extent of his arm. The cool\nbreeze caught the fine dust, blowing it into little clouds that whisked\nand whirled uncannily.\n\n\"And that moon, _saidi_, that pale moon who hides her face behind a\nveil, _saidi_ ... let her bear witness, for she has seen all things and\nknows all things....\"\n\nAs the beggar chanted, the breeze centered in a vortex between him and\nthe Shareef.\n\n\"Look closely, _saidi_ ... these sands bear witness, and this dust\nbears witness ... and this moon also, who knows all things....\"\n\nFaster and yet faster the old man flung sand before him; yet slower and\nstill more slowly he chanted in murmuring monotone, like the maddening\npulse of a necromancer's drum.\n\nSayyid Yussuf stared fixedly into the veil of ever moving, ever\npresent, living dust ... for the dust lived, and danced in tiny\nfigures before him.... He shuddered....\n\n\"And now you see that which there is to see,\" chanted the beggar.\n\"Now you see the peril into which you sent Azizah ... they file into\nthe black pit of the Lord of the Black Hands ... and Abdemon whom you\ndenied is bound, and can not save her ... it is written in this dust,\nsaidi ... it is written on these sands ... and this moon bears witness,\nthis moon who knows all that is to be ... for that which is to be is\none with that which has been, O cousin of the Prophet....\"\n\nThe beggar abruptly ceased chanting, and clapped his hands sharply.\n\n\"_Wallah!_\" gasped the Shareef, blinking. \"By my beard!\"\n\nHe trembled violently at that which had left the beggar's swiftly\nweaving hands to dance in the tiny whirlwinds before him.\n\n\"That sign with the left hand, old man----\"\n\n\"Just as I said. But it has not yet happened----\"\n\n\"Not yet?\"\n\nThe Shareef vaulted to the saddle.\n\n\"No. But wait a moment. We have time. Your horses are fast.\"\n\nThe beggar drew from somewhere in the ragged folds of his dirty\n_djellab_ a slender tube the length of his forearm.\n\n\"Strike light, _saidi_!\" he commanded.\n\nThe Shareef fumbled with flint and steel.\n\n\"The fire of your pistol will do!\" snapped the beggar. The Shareef\nfired. Then the sputtering of a fuse, and a shower of sparks, and three\nred stars hung high above them, flamed ruddily for half a minute, and\nvanished.\n\n\"The _Feringhi_ troops used them to signal,\" explained the beggar. \"I\nstole a box of them at Beirut.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" And the Shareef frowned.\n\n\"Old man, whom are you signaling? On your head----\"\n\nHe leveled his pistol.\n\n\"Peace upon you, my lord,\" grinned the beggar. \"I am signaling a\ndetachment of the guard to follow us as fast as their horses can\ntravel.\"\n\n\"_You_, signal the guard? Now, by Allah, but this is too much! Who are\nyou?\" demanded the Shareef.\n\nThe beggar readjusted his turban; reached with his right hand into\nhis _djellab_ and over his left shoulder, dragging forth a large\nleather pouch; jerked the patch from his right eye; stretched himself,\nclutching skyward with his grimy talons; and then stood before the\nastonished Shareef, straight as a lance, fierce-eyed as a bird of prey.\n\n\"I am Ismeddin! Whose head you swore you would have. As it is, I keep\nmy head, and, _inshallah_, those two _asil_ mares,\" exulted the darvish.\n\n\"By Allah and by Abaddon!\" gasped Sayyid Yussuf. \"Old thief, you dared\nventure into Tekrit at the risk of your head?\"\n\n\"Even so, my lord. For the promise of Suleiman has waited all these\ncenturies for fulfilment. And the infidel Rankin, who was once Abdemon,\ncould not have accomplished his mission single-handed. But now, to\nhorse! Those sons of Iblis the Damned are mounted on your swiftest\n_meharis_.\"\n\nThe Shareef snorted.\n\n\"Follow me!\"\n\nTheir mounts stretched out in an extended gallop.\n\n\"_Wallah!_\" exulted Ismeddin, as he drew up beside the Shareef's mare.\n\"She flies! And to think that I overlooked her when I raided your camp\nat Deir el Zor ... had your men but snored a moment longer ... but give\nme my sword, _saidi_ ... we have hot work ahead of us....\"\n\nIsmeddin leaned forward in the saddle, caught the scimitar the Shareef\ntossed him, and buckled the belt about his waist.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBiban ul Djinni they called that desolate, narrow valley: the Valley\nof the Djinn. But these bearded strangers out of northern Kurdistan\neagerly sought that avoided citadel where their dark monarch sat\ndreaming of ancient days before Suleiman learned the Word of Power; for\nthis was the eve of the 14th of Nisan, when they could make secure for\ntheir lord forever after the triumph of that one day wherein he held\nabsolute power over the word of Suleiman.\n\nTen _meharis_ filed down an avenue dimly outlined by the stumps of\nshattered columns. They picked their way slowly, for the full moon had\nnot yet risen to illuminate the desolation. Finally, at the end of the\navenue, they halted. The seven _soi-disant_ darvishes dismounted and\ngathered about the kneeling _meharis_ that bore the rich _takht rawan_.\nZantut parted the curtains and by the light of a torch looked in.\n\n\"As I expected,\" he announced, \"she is in a trance. Ibrahaim, stand\nguard,\" he commanded. \"And keep an eye on the infidel, Rankin. The rest\nof you, follow me.\"\n\nZantut, followed by his adepts, turned toward the black-tiled circular\ncourt at the extremity of the avenue up which they had ridden.\n\n\"Look, master! There it is, just as it was written!\" exclaimed one of\nthe adepts as he pointed out to Zantut a copper image that gleamed\ndully on its basalt pedestal.\n\n\"There is where Iblis sits dreaming of those broad, rich days before\nSuleiman--may wild hogs defile his grave!--learned the Word of Power.\nStand by, brethren!\" commanded Zantut.\n\nThey formed in a crescent before the image.\n\nZantut advanced, bearing in each hand a torch which he planted at\neither side of the image. Then, taking from his belt a small copper\nmallet, he tapped the image in various spots, each tap sounding a\ndifferent note; and as he tapped, he listened carefully. Over and over\nhe tapped, here and there; then finally announced, \"The third arm; the\nsecond hand; the fourth head.\"\n\nThree stepped forward, each grasping one of the members named by Zantut.\n\n\"Ready?\" demanded Zantut.\n\n\"Ready, master,\" they replied.\n\n\"Now!\" exclaimed the master.\n\nAnd as each adept twisted the member he grasped, the copper image,\npedestal and all, swung noiselessly aside.\n\n\"Follow me!\" directed Zantut.\n\nThe dark-robed devotees of Iblis, torch in hand, filed after the\nmaster, stepping in unison down the smooth, black stairs.\n\n\"The Sura of the Darkness!\" commanded Zantut. \"One.... Two.... Three!\"\n\nIn deep, resonant tones they chanted as they advanced into the abysmal\nblacknesses of the vault, swaying their torches in cadence:\n\n    \"Lord of many brazen hells,\n    Lord of the Painted Fan,\n    Prince of the Outer Marches,\n    Prince of the Borderland,\n    Iblis, 'tis Thee that we adore,\n    Just and logical God!\"\n\nFlight after flight they marched, chanting as they descended into the\ndepths, until finally, arriving at the foot of the winding stairs, they\nhalted at the entrance of a great hall whose floor was paved with tiles\nof lapis lazuli.\n\nThe master halted and lifted his left arm. His followers ceased\nchanting and, following Zantut's example, removed their shoes before\nentering the sanctuary of Iblis.\n\n\"Lord and Master,\" intoned Zantut as he made a swift gesture with his\nleft hand, \"we Thy faithful servants bring Thee reverence and worship.\"\n\nThen, with heads bowed and arms crossed, Zantut and his followers\nadvanced across the blue tiles toward the Presence that sat\ncross-legged on a lofty dais at the farther end of the hall. When\nwithin five paces of the dais, all except Zantut halted, and kneeling,\nformed a semicircle.\n\nZantut advanced to the first step, knelt, and carefully scrutinized\nthe approach to the high place. With his finger tips he caressed the\npolished stones.\n\n\"The holy place has not been defiled,\" he announced. \"The dust of the\nweary centuries has not been disturbed. The Master sits dreaming of the\nNight of Power; and his sleep has not been broken.\"\n\nThen, raising his head and lifting up his arms, Zantut gazed full at\nthe Presence.\n\n\"Hail, Iblis, Lord of the Outer Darkness, Malik Ta\u00fbs, Prince of the\nPainted Fan!\" he saluted, and bowed his head once more to the paving.\n\n\"Servants of Iblis,\" he announced, \"you may lift up your eyes and gaze\nat your Prince.\"\n\nThey contemplated their Prince, stared in wonder at the onyx blackness\nof his lean, aquiline features: the predatory nose and hard mouth of\none whose iron soul has experienced everything save submission. But the\neyes were sightless and blank.\n\n\"He breathes,\" murmured an adept.\n\n\"That is but the final trace of life the conqueror could not quite\nextinguish,\" explained Zantut. \"And it is that trace which we must fan\ninto full flame tonight. At each former meeting, Abdemon has failed;\nand this is his last chance. And we know best what this last chance is\nworth!\n\n\"Talaat! Saoud! Ismail! Go up and get the girl, and Abdemon also. And\ntell Ibrahaim that when the comrades from Azerbaijan arrive, they are\nto descend at once. The hour is close at hand.\"\n\n\"Harkening and obedience, _saidi_,\" replied Talaat, bowing first to\nthe Dark Presence on the throne, and then to Zantut.\n\nFrom the dim shadows of the hall, Zantut and the two remaining adepts\ndragged forth a great block of chiseled porphyry, which they slid\nreadily enough across the polished tiles to a position exactly in\nfront of the throne. Zantut then plucked from five of the tiles the\npentagonal silver plates with which they were inlaid, uncovering\norifices that led to unplumbed depths beneath that subterranean hall.\nAn adept, standing by, presented with ceremonious gestures a small\nglazed flask which Zantut with gestures equally formal accepted. As he\nunstoppered the flask, acrid, resinous, violet-colored fumes rose from\nits mouth. The adepts knelt as Zantut paced about the ominous block of\nporphyry, pausing at each of the five holes in the floor to pour into\nthe depths a portion of the fuming contents of the flask.\n\nThen a faint humming was heard, which in a few moments became a steady\nthrobbing as of a slowly beaten drum: and tall, slender threads of\nviolet flame rose from the openings in the floor.\n\nAt Zantut's signal, the torches were extinguished.\n\n\"They are here, Master,\" whispered the adept at the right of the altar.\n\nZantut turned to face the entrance of the hall.\n\nThe acolytes were bringing in the veiled Azizah, and Rankin, securely\nbound.\n\n\"Lay them on the altar,\" commanded Zantut.\n\nThe deep resonance of a brazen gong rang down the succession of winding\nstairways, and rolled and thundered in the vaulted holy of holies.\n\n\"The hour is at hand,\" proclaimed Zantut solemnly. And then, to those\nwho had carried Azizah and Rankin into the sanctuary: \"The brethren\nfrom Azerbaijan are late. Did you see any signs of them?\"\n\n\"Yes, _saidi_. And Ibrahaim up there is watching the star of our Lord\nvery closely so as to withhold the final signal until the very last\nmoment. He will strike two warning taps. And then the third, to let you\nknow that the moment has arrived. But they heard the first stroke, and\nare riding hard to get here in time.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" acknowledged Zantut, as he stripped from Azizah the silken\ngauze that enfolded her. \"This time our Lord will not be bothered with\nbungling swordsmen.... Unbeliever, would it not have been better to\nhave stayed in _Feringhistan_ where you belong?\"\n\nTo which Rankin, bound and gagged, could reply with neither word nor\ngesture.\n\n\"Ismeddin,\" thought Rankin, as he saw an acolyte kneel at Zantut's feet\nand present a long knife and a whetstone, \"for once was wrong.... That\nbutcher's tool is no thirsty sword....\"\n\nAgain the solemn, brazen resonance of the gong rolled and surged\nthrough the vaulted sanctuary.\n\n\"Number two,\" reflected Rankin. \"Thank God she's unconscious....\"\n\nAs the note of the gong died, there came from above the clank of\narms and the tinkle of accouterments, and the measured tread of feet\ndescending the winding stairways.\n\n\"Ismeddin and the guard!\" exulted Rankin.\n\nAnd then he heard the measured cadence of voices chanting in an unknown\ntongue.\n\n\"The brethren from Azerbaijan!\" shouted the assembled adepts.\n\nAnd Zantut, with statuesquely formal gestures, stroked the blade of his\nlong knife against the whetstone, with each steely caress pausing to\nintone a sentence in a language that was forgotten when the last stone\nof that sanctuary of devil-worship was laid and awfully cemented into\nplace.\n\nThe brethren from Azerbaijan, still chanting, were filing into the\nhall, and grouping themselves in a crescent about the sacrificial stone.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThrough the coolness of the desert's windswept night and through the\nsultry flame of its day rode Ismeddin and the Shareef, with but an\noccasional rest to share with their horses a handful of parched corn.\nBut as the sun set on the eve of the 14th of Nisan, Ismeddin reined in\nthe _asil_ mare.\n\n\"Slowly, uncle. We must let those sons of confusion get into their\nunderground rendezvous with Satan. They are eight ... eight at\nleast----\"\n\n\"And doubtless, Hajj Ismeddin,\" laughed the Shareef, \"you are an old\nman----\"\n\n\"Praise be to Allah,\" agreed the darvish, \"my days have been many----\"\n\n\"And pious also,\" scoffed the Shareef. \"But what is your plan, _Hajji_?\"\n\n\"The sentry at the entrance must be silenced without disturbance. As\nfor the rest ... six or seven to one is not so bad.... _Inshallah!_ but\nI have a surprize for them. Hot fires for Satan's wings, _saidi_!\n\n\"To our left front, an hour's easy ride from here, is Biban ul Djinni,\nin which the home of Malik Ta\u00fbs is buried,\" continued Ismeddin as he\nscanned the horizon.\n\nDusk came swiftly on the heels of sunset. The Shareef followed the\ndirty white blotch that was Ismeddin's _djellab_, and wondered what\nstrange device the darvish had in mind. For while Ismeddin had signaled\nthe captain of the guard, he had not given him a chance, even with the\nhardest riding, to overtake them. The encounter would surely be against\nodds.\n\nFrom afar they heard the sonorous clang of a gong. The lower edge of\nthe first full moon of spring had just cleared the horizon. Filing\ndown Biban ul Djinni was a caravan of camels and horses, bearing at a\nsteady gait toward a cluster of shattered columns whose stumps towered\nskyward. As the light of the rising moon grew stronger, they could\npick out the figure of a warder on guard in the center of a circular\ncourtyard.\n\n\"Worse and worse yet!\" exclaimed Ismeddin, as the Shareef drew up\nbeside him. \"Though I more than half expected as much. About forty\nof those sons of Satan.... You and I might have taken those seven by\nsurprize----\"\n\n\"Well, why not wait for the guard, _Hajji_?\" demanded the Shareef.\n\n\"Too late!\" snapped Ismeddin. \"You heard that gong? A warning signal.\nThat caravan arrived just in time for the sacrifice. You and I must\nstop it.\"\n\n\"_Wallah!_ But the odds are great.... Still----\"\n\nThe Shareef drew his scimitar.\n\n\"After my own heart, _saidi_!\" exclaimed the darvish. \"But rash. Let\nthem first get under ground----\"\n\n\"But how about the sentry?\" demanded the Shareef. \"He'll give the\nalarm.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, uncle. Look!\"\n\nIsmeddin produced from his capacious wallet a small, glittering\nobject: the effigy of a peacock carved of silver.\n\n\"Malik Ta\u00fbs! The damnation of Allah upon him!\" exclaimed the Shareef as\nhe recognized the symbol of the devil-worshipers.\n\n\"Follow me!\" commanded Ismeddin, as he spurred his weary horse down the\nsteep side of the valley.\n\nThey rode boldly now, making no attempt at concealment. The warder\nstanding watch in the center of the ruined courtyard was taking an\nobservation with his astrolabe, following the course of a star that\nflamed bloodily overhead. Then he set aside his instrument and smote\na brazen gong whose golden sheen they could plainly see in the white\nmoonlight. The solemn, vibrant note rolled dreadfully across the\nvalley. The tall figure of doom once more turned his astrolabe on the\nstar whose altitude he was reading.\n\nIsmeddin leaned forward in the saddle, chirping and muttering to his\nexhausted beast.\n\n\"Allah, what a horseman!\" gasped the Shareef as he saw the _asil_ mare,\ntrue to her breeding, stretch out again at a full gallop.\n\nThey clattered up the broad avenue, clearing fragments of monstrous\ncolumns at a bound, Ismeddin shouting in a language unknown to the\nShareef.\n\nThe warder started, and turned to face them.\n\n\"Hurry, _saidi_! The moment is almost here.\" And then: \"The sign and\nthe symbol!\"\n\nIsmeddin extended the silver image of the peacock, and in response to\nthe warder's muttered formula, replied in that same obscure tongue.\n\nThe warder bowed, gestured toward the cavernous entrance to the vault,\nand turned to resume his observations....\n\nThe Shareef's blade flickered in the moonlight.\n\nIsmeddin seized one of the torches that flared smokily at each side of\nthe copper image, and plunged into the depths, three steps at a time.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Snick-snick-snick!\" whispered the slender knife as Zantut continued\nthe ceremonial whetting.\n\n\"Christ on the mountain tops!\" despaired Rankin. \"Sharpen that knife\nand be done with it!\"\n\nRankin sighed, and relaxed as the diabolical whisper of steel against\nstone ceased, and Zantut, pacing about the altar, passed his hands and\nknife through each of the five streamers of violet flame. The Dark\nPrince would this time be victorious without even stepping from his\nthrone. And this was the last chance....\n\nFrom the depths came the ever-increasing volume of a beaten drum.\n\n\"Abaddon in the darkness beats his black drum triumphantly!\" intoned\nZantut. And then he uttered a word of command, at which the assembled\ndevil-worshipers knelt about the altar.\n\nZantut, knife in hand, stepped forward.\n\n\"Malik Ta\u00fbs, Lord and Master, accept the sacrifice that Thy servants\noffer!\" he intoned, timing his words so that the last syllable would be\ncoincident with the final stroke of the gong. \"Malik Ta\u00fbs, the Night of\nPower is at hand. Malik Ta\u00fbs, the broad moon rises----\"\n\n\"Halt!\" commanded a voice that rang like sword against sword.\n\nZantut whirled about, knife in hand.\n\nThe adepts leaped to their feet.\n\nIsmeddin, sword in one hand, torch in the other, stood in the entrance.\nFollowing him came the Shareef.\n\n\"Holy darvish! Oh, son of many pigs!\" roared the Shareef, and opened\nfire with his pistol. But the old man's rage was too much for his aim.\n\n\"Steady, uncle!\" snapped Ismeddin. \"You'll hit the girl!\"\n\nZantut and his followers charged, swords drawn.\n\nIsmeddin dashed his blade to the floor, drew from his _djellab_ a slim\ntube the length of his forearm, and touched it with his torch.\n\nThe fuse sputtered ... and then a cascade of sparks and flame.\n\n\"There is neither might nor majesty save in Allah, the Merciful, the\nCompassionate!\" thundered Ismeddin. \"Out, sons of calamity!\"\n\nAnd as he sprayed the devil-worshipers with his torrent of flame, he\nside-stepped to his right, flanking the howling, smoking, milling\ncompany of adepts, driving them toward the entrance of the vault.\n\nThe devil-worshipers bolted, Zantut leading.\n\nThe Shareef opened fire with his pistol.\n\nIsmeddin tossed aside the dead signal rocket and retrieved his blade.\n\n\"_Allah Akbar!_\" roared the Shareef as he dropped his emptied pistol,\ndrew his sword, and carved his way into the fugitives, cutting them\ndown as they fought their way up the stairs.\n\nAbove the confusion and uproar of the slaughter, Ismeddin heard the\nclank of arms and the clatter of hoofs in the courtyard, far above them.\n\n\"If that's the guard,\" observed Ismeddin, as he paused to wipe on his\n_djellab_ the blood-drenched grip of his scimitar, \"all is well. But\nif it's reinforcements for these sons of flat-nosed mothers, they'll\nregain their wits.... Drive hard, uncle!\"\n\nAnd the two graybeards resumed the pursuit, slashing and hacking as\nthey took the steps three at a leap.\n\n\"_Bismillahi!_\" exclaimed the Shareef, as he paused for breath. And\nthen, listening to the increasing uproar from the courtyard: \"Mamoun\nand the guard are at it!\"\n\n\"_Wallah!_ But he made good time,\" agreed Ismeddin. \"Do you blame me\nfor stealing a few horses like those, Cousin of the Prophet?\"\n\n\"Not after a night like this,\" panted the Shareef.\n\n\"And now,\" resumed Ismeddin, \"let us attend to our work downstairs.\nMuch is to be done, and there is little time.\"\n\nThey retraced their steps, picking their way among the devil-worshipers\nthat lay on the slippery stairs.\n\n\"Seven ... eight,\" counted Ismeddin as he led the way, \"nine ... son of\na disease, how did I miss you?\"\n\nThe old man's blade drove home.\n\n\"Nine ... ten ... eleven,\" continued the darvish. \"And now, when we\nrelease Saidi Rankin, we will see some fighting. The Father of Lies\nmust step from his black throne and meet Abdemon, sword to sword. And\nif Abdemon defeats him, the promise of Suleiman will at last be kept.\"\n\n\"But he is a _kaffir_!\" protested the Shareef. \"And my brother's\ndaughter----\"\n\n\"Be that as it may. If Saidi Rankin wins, it will only be because it\nso pleases Allah. Would you rather leave her spirit in the hands of\nShaitan the Damned? Give me a hand, here,\" directed Ismeddin, as they\nhalted at the black altar on which the prisoners lay bound.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTogether they pushed the massive block a dozen paces from the throne,\nthen cut the cords that bound Rankin, and removed from between his\nteeth the piece of wood with which he had been gagged.\n\n\"Ismeddin!\" gasped Rankin as he stretched his numbed limbs. \"How much\nof this did you foresee?\"\n\n\"All of it, _saidi_,\" smiled the darvish. \"Except the final outcome.\nAnd that, _inshallah_, depends on your sword.\"\n\nRankin leaped to the tiled floor and flexed his cramped legs. He stared\nin wonder at the unveiled features of Azizah.\n\n\"Allah, and again, by Allah! Neferte ... after all these centuries....\nThen give me a sword!\"\n\n\"Presently, my lord, presently.\" And then, to the Shareef: \"_Kaffir_\nor true believer, she is his ... for even Satan's fortune can not last\nforever.\"\n\nWhereupon Ismeddin with a piece of chalk traced on the floor a circle\nsome ten paces in diameter; and at three of the four cardinal points of\nthe compass he inscribed a curious symbol, and several characters in\nthe ancient Kufic script. Then from his knapsack he took a small box\nwhose contents, a fine, reddish powder, he poured evenly in a circle\nthat inclosed the first circle drawn in chalk, except for a yard-long\ngap precisely in front of the dark stranger's throne.\n\n\"Saidi Rankin--Abdemon, as tonight you are--take your post,\" commanded\nthe darvish. \"Just a pace from the inner circumference, and facing that\ndark mocker on his lofty throne. Will you use my sword, or that of our\nlord, the Shareef?\"\n\n\"Yours will bring me luck, Hajj Ismeddin,\" replied Rankin. \"Though all\nswords are alike tonight,\" he concluded, as with a final glance at the\nsleeping loveliness on the porphyry block, he turned to belt Ismeddin's\nscimitar to his waist.\n\n\"No scabbards tonight,\" directed the darvish. \"Take only the blade.\"\n\nAs Rankin took his post, Ismeddin advanced to the foot of the dais.\nExtending his arms, Ismeddin began his invocation:\n\n\"Father of Mockeries, Master of Deceptions,\" he intoned, \"the dusty\ncenturies are weary of your dominion. The word of Suleiman seeks its\nfulfilment, and the servant of Suleiman awaits your awakening. Dark\nPrince, Black Lord, the circle of your destiny has been drawn, and a\ndoom awaits you with a sword.\"\n\nThe darvish advanced a step of the ascent to the dais.\n\n\"I know your hidden name, and I can speak it to your ruin,\" continued\nthe darvish; and thus, step by step, he ascended. But on the last step,\ninstead of speaking aloud, he leaned forward and whispered in the ear\nof the Dark Prince.\n\n\"Harkening and obedience,\" growled the Presence. And like a doom that\nmarches down the corridors of the world, he strode down the steps of\nhis dais and entered the circle, facing Rankin.\n\nAs he crossed the inner circumference, Ismeddin drew at the fourth\ncardinal point characters and symbols resembling those at the other\nthree; and with a remnant of the red powder, he completed the outer\ncircle. And all the while the Dark Presence stared at Rankin and beyond\nhim cool and unconcerned, scorning even to smile his scorn.\n\nIsmeddin then struck light to the circle of powder. A tall, unwavering\ngreen flame crept along the circumference, until Rankin and his\nopponent were inclosed in a waist-high wall of fire: and this\nincredible flame emitted an overpowering sweetness that made Rankin's\nsenses reel.\n\nHe saw nebulous forms gathering behind the Dark Prince, and crowding\nagainst the wall of flame. They muttered to each other, and with their\nleft hands made curious signs. Then, from a great distance, Rankin\nheard the thump-thump of a drum, and the solemn voice of Ismeddin:\n\n\"Abdemon, friend of Suleiman; and you, Iblis, bound to human form,\nstand in this circle which is neither earth nor high heaven, nor the\nhouse of everlasting fire: and this circle but one of you may leave.\"\n\nA pause; and then Ismeddin's command: \"Strike!\"\n\nThe drum resumed its savage muttering; and the opponents, swords\nadvanced, circled warily, each seeking an opening in the other's guard.\nThen swift as thought came a relentless whirlwind of steel that bore\nRankin back, step by step. The green flames singed his _kaft\u00e1n_. Rankin\nhalted, flat-footed, parrying and returning, cut for cut. And from\nwithout the circle of quivering, leaping flame the little drum muttered\nfiercely the song of doom which old Ismeddin's knuckles and finger\ntips coaxed from its head of serpent hide.\n\n\"In four lives you have failed!\" taunted the Dark Prince as he paused\nin his attack, and relaxed, point lowered.\n\nRankin's blade wavered--groped--then sheared swiftly down and back in a\ndrawing cut to the adversary's forearm.\n\n\"You improve with practise!\" mocked the Dark Prince as Rankin's blade\ncut only the poison sweetness of the heavy air. \"If you only had\nanother life----\"\n\nThen he fell back before Rankin's renewed attack.\n\nClack-clack-click! Blade against blade, whirling, circling, yielding\na step, gaining a step, traversing, dodging: parry, return, and cut\nagain--an endless, deadly mill. The Dark Prince ceased smiling, and his\nbreath came too fast for mockery. But Rankin's tough arm ached to the\nvery shoulder from the merciless, biting assault of steel upon steel.\nAnd his head whirled from the everlasting mutter of the snakeskin\ndrum....\n\nThe figures crowding against the wall of green flame became more\ndistinct. Their mumbled words became more plain. At times Rankin caught\na word, and was glad that he could not understand all....\n\nSteel against steel ... strength against strength ... but ages of\ncunning against the wits of one short life: for only the body of that\nterrific adversary was human.\n\nThe tall flames were diminishing. With them would perish the last\nchance. Those who had crossed the Border to aid their Prince crowded\nagainst the barrier that would soon give way. Rankin wondered if\nSuleiman's shadowy presence was behind him; but he dared not glance\nback for even an instant.\n\nThe Dark Prince stood fast in the center of the circle, secure in his\nfaultless defense. Rankin knew that when he had exhausted himself\nagainst that flashing barrier of steel, the enemy would resume his\ndeadly assault. Six to one in a side street ... that was easy ... but\nthis thirsty blade would soon drink deep.... Rankin's arm was numb,\nand his parry against those biting swift returns was ragged. Just one\nslip--and that would be any moment now....\n\nThe enemy's eye shifted ever so slightly. He measured the height of the\ndiminishing green flame, and smiled again.\n\nThen Rankin cut to the head. The adversary parried, and the hungry\nblade flamed swiftly in return----\n\nRankin could not parry. But stretched out in a full lunge, he passed\nbeneath the shearing steel, and drove home with his point----\n\nThe green flame flickered and died.\n\nRankin, still clutching his blade, lurched forward on his face as the\nDark Prince crumpled in a heap on the tiles. But before the blackness\ndescended, Rankin caught a glimpse of the shadowy figure of a bearded\nking who bowed and extended his arm in salutation. And this time the\nsmiling loveliness of the girl at his side was not obscured by any\nveil....\n\nA strong hand gripped Rankin's shoulder, pulled him back to his knees,\nand lifted him to his feet.\n\n\"_Wallah!_\" marveled the Shareef. \"_Kaffir_ or not, he is the father of\nall swordsmen! I knew that his head would be clipped off. And then he\nstretched out and impaled that son of confusion.... Look! That stroke\nsheared off a bit of his turban. Allah, and again, by Allah!\"\n\n\"Then give him his prize, _saidi_,\" replied Ismeddin. And to Azizah,\nwho sat upright and wondering on the polished black sacrificial stone:\n\"You need no veil, _ya bint_! After all these dusty centuries, you are\nhis.\"\n\nIsmeddin turned to the Shareef: \"As for me, _saidi_, I will be content\nwith but one of those _asil_ mares you wagered against my cracked head.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" laughed the Shareef, as he led the way up the\nblood-drenched stairs. \"Though doubtless you will steal the other in\ndue course!\"","title":"Thirsty blades","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":11005}