Swords From the Desert (21 page)

"God is one," I said to myself. "It will be over in a little time."

For the sipahis were no merchant-folk or peasantry to be charged and scattered. Full armed, alert and angered, they grasped at sword-hilt and ax-shaft, and Mirakhon Pasha reached back his right hand swiftly. The attendant behind him thrust a javelin into his fingers.

Without an instant's hesitation-without gathering up his reins or stiffening his seat in the saddle-the pasha launched his weapon, his heavy body swinging forward, grunting with the effort. He struck thus, as a panther leaps, with the release of mighty muscles, swift as instinct.

Clear in the candlelight I saw him cast at his mark, the young khan wheeling toward him ten paces distant.

No rider could dodge a javelin so thrown at such a little distance. Indeed, I did not see the shaft fly. But I saw it strike-against the far wall of the courtyard.

Mirakhon Pasha had missed his cast. Perhaps the flickering candles beside him had drawn his eye from the slim white figure wavering in the moonlight; perhaps anger had clouded his sight. I do not know.

But when the javelin shattered itself against the bricks of the wall, the pasha cried out as if in pain. The young Rajput, the two-edged sword swinging at his knee, spurred at him. The pasha also drove home his spurs, wrenching out his scimitar as the dun mare plunged.

The Rajput came in like flame out of darkness, laughing, leaning in toward his foe. The broad body of the pasha stiffened. The swords clashed once.

I saw it-the shining blade of the Rajput beat aside the lighter scimitar and seemed to stroke the pasha's breast in passing.

The pasha rose in his stirrups and cried out twice. Then the dun mare, rearing in frantic excitement, cast him from the saddle and he lay prone on his face, as a heavy sack, cast from a height, remains motionless.

"Guard thy lord!" shouted Farash Agha, who had seen from the center of the courtyard the fall of his master.

"Ho, my Agha!" cried the Rajput chieftain. "Where now is thy lance?"

He had recovered, reined back the black charger scattering dust and gravel, and wheeled toward the officer of the sipahis. I did not see their meeting. Steel clanged all about me, and the shouts of the Red Hats mingled with the battle cry of the men of Karadak. The dun mare, riderless, swerved within reach of Iny hand.

It was no place to remain afoot. Nay, an aged and feeble man would not long have survived in that place of death. I grasped the mare's rein, steadied her, and climbed into the saddle. In other years I would have leaped without touching horn or stirrup. I drew my sword, because in a mad fight such as this within walls, a gray beard is no shield, and every soul must guard himself.

I looked at the leaders. Wallahi, they were slashing like fiends-Farash Agha with his brow and cheek laid open, the Rajput scattering blood when he swung his right arm. The horses were turning swiftly on their haunches, and the grinding of the steel blades did not cease. A sipahi, his lance poised, stood beside them.

"Allah!" shrieked Farash Agha.

The Rajput's two-edged khanda passed into his body under the heartyea, the half of the blade. And that moment, seeing his chance, the Irani warrior on foot thrust his spear into the Rajput's back.

How could I sit, mounted and idle, and watch a boy struck down in this manner? I kneed the mare forward and slashed at the sipahi's neck above the mail. The edge of my scimitar ground against bone and I had to pull to clear it. The sipahi fell where he stood. It was not a bad blow.

Farash Agha slid from his saddle, but the young khan kept his seat and called out to me above the tumult.

"I have seen, 0 Arab. Ask thy reward in another day."

He was able to walk his horse toward the castle door where Radha stood by the candles, her faces bloodless in its cloud of dark hair. But he was too badly hurt to do more than cry encouragement to his men. I glanced about the courtyard. Never had I seen such play of weapons.

The Rajputs, without shield or mail, cast themselves upon their foes with nothing but the sword. Death struck them and laid them low in an instant, or the sipahis fell under their feet. The youths and old men of Karadak acted as if reckless of life. Indeed, they had but one thought-to spread swiftly the carpet of the slain before other enemies could come up from the camp.

And they bore themselves with the skill of warriors reared to weapons. By swift swordplay they slashed through the guard of saber and shield, and leaped forward. And, lo, the fight was now an equal thing. The fury of the Rajputs matched well the sullen anger of the sipahis. But I knew that if the young hero of Karadak had not overthrown the pasha and Farash Agha in as many minutes, the Rajputs would have been doomed before now.

Leaderless, the sipahis began to think of themselves, to gather in groups. The sentry, who all this time had remained amazed and motionless, so sudden had been the onset, instead of running in, began to beat on his shield and shout in a high voice to the watchers in the camp below.

"Hai-hai! Aid, Kasim ad-Din! Ho, Sharm Be-! Aid-give aid!"

Who can tell the happenings of a hand-to-hand affray? Nay, the man who tells much lies greatly! I saw one of the mountebanks still hugging his guitar, dancing in fear from the swords; I heard a boy shriek for his father-and a man staggering along the wall, curse the name of God. The candles had gone out, and a haze of dust rose against the moonlight.

I rode down one warrior, who tried to guard himself with his shield as if the rush of a horse were the flight of an arrow; I followed another horseman through the murk, rose in my stirrups to slash at his head, and saw that it was Byrarn Khan who had got himself a horse in some fashion known only to God.

A face peered up at me out of darkness, and I thought it was one of the Irani nobles. He was laughing-

"Ho-aho-ho!" Thus, on his knees, both hands clutched in his girdle, he was laughing, and it sounded strangely.

Two of the pasha's minstrels, with flying mantles, elbowed and jostled to be first out of the gate, though five horsemen abreast could have passed through without touching stirrup. I thought then that the halfdozen creatures of the pasha would not stand and fight like the sipahis. Then I could see nothing at all for the dust, and drew rein.

A voice behind me called out-

"Close the gate!"

The two, who hurried forward and swung shut the wide portals of teakwood and iron, were men of Karadak, servants who had taken no part in the affray. They turned the massive iron key in the lock and lugged the lance-long bars into place. And the one who had given the order walked up to see that all had been well done. It was Byram Khan.

The fighting had ended. When the dust settled down I looked about the courtyard. Three other Rajputs were on their feet, and none beside the three.

Truly the Rajput swordsmen had spread that night the carpet of the slain.

Nine sipahis and Irani nobles were already dead or soon to await their shrouds. Four, slashed and pierced in the bodies and heads, cursed and moaned for water. Four defenders of Karadak lay lifeless, and three little better. All the pasha's mountebanks and the remaining three of his men must have fled through the gate. Well for us that gate had been open! Cornered men will fight with fury.

Indeed, the desperation of the Rajputs, who had been resolved to prevail or perish together, had turned the tide of victory toward them.

Byram Khan peered at me, his eyes clouded and his breath coming in long gasps.

"Ho, Arab!" He gripped my arm. "How many swords will come against us from the camp below?"

I counted over in my mind the number of the caravan folk.

"Two hundred-nay, two hundred and twenty and eight, and perhaps they who escaped from here."

"What manner of men?"

"Sipahis and Kurdish cavalry."

Byraln Khan looked at his three Rajputs, and at the long stretch of the courtyard wall. He looked at me and said, "God is one!" and walked away. His meaning was that what might happen hereafter would be in the hands of God, not in his.

I dismounted and went to the form of the pasha, thinking that if life remained in him we might hold him as a hostage against attack. Gripping his shoulder I turned him over, with an effort, for he was heavy. His pallid face was smirched with dirt; his lips, drawn back from his teeth, seemed bloodless, and his body below the ribs had been cut through to the backbone. His eyes stared unwinking into the moonlit sky.

Farash Agha I did not look at, knowing well his case; but Fazl Ali lay among the wounded and cursed me.

"The sword prevailed," he grinned. "But ye will never see the dawn."

From him I went to look at the wound of the Rajput chieftain. He sat upon a tiger skin, Radha kneeling and supporting his head. She held a turban cloth tight against his back under the shoulder blade where the lance point had bitten. They were talking low-voiced, for he could do little more than whisper. What they said, I know not, yet she seemed to be sorrowing and he heartening her.

"My lord," I broke in upon them. "Bid thy men carry thee to a couch and I will probe the wound."

"0 hakim," he responded. "Until the issue is at an end I will not leave the courtyard, and thou art too precious a swordsman to be taken from the wall. Get thee to Byram Khan."

Nevertheless, he called me back and bade me do what I could for the other wounded while we waited, and this I made shift to do while the shadow of the castle crept across the courtyard as the moon sank behind the hills and a throng of warriors came up with torches from the camp.

This might have been the ninth hour of the night. Well for us that the wall was in shadow! Byram Khan ordered his three followers and four servants to move about and rattle shield and arrow case. The pasha's men halted beyond arrow shot and argued among themselves. Kasim ad-Din, the pock-marked chieftain of the Kurds, and Sharm Beg did most of the talking.

First they demanded the surrender of the castle, bidding us throw our arms over the wall.

"Come ye and make proof of our weapons!" responded the old Rajput.

When it was clear to them that the castle would not be yielded, there was more talk among them. Perhaps they suspected Radha of casting a spell upon their dead lord, for the wild Kurds are fearful of such things; or the few who escaped told them lies about our numbers, to justify themselves.

"Is Mirakhon Pasha truly dead?" they asked.

"As Farash Agha is," Byram Khan assured them.

Then they withdrew a little and sat down to consult among themselves. When the torches went out, they began to drift back to their camp. This seemed a trick and we watched until the dawn spread in our faces, revealing the tents and the groups of warriors among them. The villagers, fearful of the battle in the morning, had fled during the night, driving off most of their animals. The Kurds and sipahis had other things to think about.

Byram Khan said they would make the attack now when they could see what little was before them. But I began to meditate. The sun was spear high, and smoke rose from the fires of the camp. Nay, that day passed, without so much as an arrow shot against the wall. And I felt assured of what would happen.

The men of the caravan never attacked the castle.

Perhaps the sipahis would have done so, to avenge Farash Agha and gut the castle. But there was the treasure in the camel bales-the forty loads of gifts for the emperor of Ind, worth many times the looting of a small hill tower such as this. The sipahis did not attack because they were afraid to leave the Kurds in charge of this treasure and very likely afraid that if they were cut up by our weapons, the Kurds would fall upon them.

With such unexpected riches under their hands, and with Mirakhon Pasha gone from them, the Kurds thought of nothing but those bales.

Yea, in the end they all went away together, after supplying themselves with water and grain and meat. They went down to seek the road from which Mirakhon Pasha had led them. I have often wondered what befell thereafter in the desert, and what finally became of the treasure bales.

Those bales never reached the emperor. Yet a little of the treasure did go to Ind. In the next year, by the river road of Lahore, I saw some of it. A wealthy tribesman rode past, his saddlecloth silk of Cathay sewn with pearls, his scimitar blazing with sapphires and silverwork. Behind him came five camels bearing women, hidden from sight by rich carpets. Thus I saw Sharm Beg again.

On the third day I took my leave of the Rajputs, having seen that it was not ordained that the young lord should die. The spear had pierced upward under the shoulder blade and no arteries were severed. Indeed, he had upon his body the scars of five other wounds, each as bad as this. Though I had bidden him keep to his bed for the rest of that moon, I found him outstretched upon a mattress, clad in a fresh white tunic of brocade, his small turban wound with a string of pearls. And four men-servants of Karadak were bearing the mattress and the wounded youth toward the river garden where Radha sat.

"Nay," he smiled at my protest. "Thou hast said it was ordained that I should live. Who would deny his eyes the sight of such beauty in a maiden?"

Indeed, though veiled, Radha's face held the pride and gladness of one released from torment. She rose to greet the hero when his mattress was laid at her feet.

"From my lips, my lord," she said in the Irani speech. "Thou must accept the gratitude of Kukri."

"For a word from thee, I would have passed through the swords of Kukri," he responded.

In another man this would have sounded like boasting, but this youth was full of unexpected happenings. Surely, for cousins, they made much of ceremony. But I did not yet know the ways of the Rajputs. Radha, wrapped in her white garments of mourning, sat quiet in the ferns by the bank of the stream-aye, like a lily rising from the ferns, so straight was she, so slender and fair to behold. The eyes of the young lord took fire.

Thirty years ago, I would not have left Karadak thus-not without measuring my sword against his, and taking the maiden upon my saddle, if I lived. Thirty years!