Sinbad and The Eye of the Tiger Read Online Free
Author: John Ryder Hall
erotically.
Across the tent from the sailors the sly-eyed young man caught Sinbad’s look. He raised his cup, saluting the three sailors, and Sinbad, who had only been meagerly sipping the sweet wine, returned the salute. The still thirsty Aboo-seer drained his cup in a swallow, laughed heartily, then choked as a surprised expression struck his face.
The big sailor’s cup spilled from his hand, falling soundlessly to the thick rug as Aboo-seer gasped, clutching at his throat with a harsh cry. He fell sideways, his face contorted in pain and his knees rising as he rolled into a choking ball.
Sinbad’s foot struck out, knocking the cup from the lips of a startled Hassan. He came lithely to his feet, tossing his own cup into the fire, where it flared and sent steam into the close, smoky air. Sinbad’s sword hissed from its scabbard and the dancers screamed, running from the tent with their hands protectively around their heads. Sinbad, eyes blazing, whirled on the shrinking host of these ill-begotten revels. There was hate in the young man’s eyes, but he was wary of Sinbad’s sword.
The adventurer shouted over the scramble of musicians and dancing girls to get out under the edges of the black felt tent. “Hassan! Help Aboo-seer back to the ship! Then cast off!”
Hassan, tugging the still-writhing Aboo-seer to his feet, looked with a stricken face at his captain. “But you, Captain . . . !”
“To the ship, I said!” Sinbad cried out, his sword swinging before him. “And cast off at once! Go!”
The sly young man was circling, stepping over mashed pillows, his own sword coming into his hand from a secret cache like a snake emerging from its hole. His eyes locked with Sinbad’s as he unfastened his cloak and let it drop among the spilled wine and discarded goblets. Hassan gave the youth a hard look, then swept a flask of wine into his hand and splashed it into Aboo-seer’s face.
“Sober up!” he whispered fiercely.
“Can’t . . .” gasped the stricken man. “Not drunk . . . poisoned!”
Hassan swore and started pulling Aboo-seer to his feet. The drummers made a rush, daggers and swords swinging, and Sinbad drove them back in a flurry of thrusts, giving Hassan time to get Aboo-seer to his feet. The sly host kicked a pillow at Sinbad, letting the cushion cover his movement as he rushed at Hassan and Aboo-seer.
Sinbad leapt the fire and dodged the pillow, striking down the lean young man’s sword. Another rush from the drummers diverted Sinbad and he sent them back with bleeding wounds. The traitorous host thrust his sword once again at Sinbad, but the sea captain swept it aside with a cry. The traitor jumped back a step, looked quickly around him, then his slippered foot kicked at the fire. The burning brands flew toward Sinbad, who managed to dodge most of them and brushed the others from his clothes with the flat of his sword. The pillows started to smolder and burn and in moments the tent was filled with smoke from several small fires.
Sinbad leaped suddenly across the intervening space, crowding his former host, who had only time to get his blade up, stopping but not repelling Sinbad. The tall sailor thrust and parried until his swinging blade cut into the arm of the sly young man, who cried out in pain as his sword fell with a clatter. He moaned in anguish and clutched at his arm, the blood oozing from between his stiffened fingers. He looked at Sinbad with great round eyes full of sudden fear. He twisted and started to run, but fell over a thick pillow and thudded to the blood-stained carpet with a cry.
Sinbad glared at the drummers, now uncertain, who looked at their fallen leader with apprehension. Hassan and Aboo-seer were on their feet and Sinbad turned his attention to the wounded man on the floor of the smoky tent. He was holding his bleeding arm, his spread fingers begging mercy as his soundless mouth moved. The wretch obviously expected a killing blow from the tall sailor, the sort of
Across the tent from the sailors the sly-eyed young man caught Sinbad’s look. He raised his cup, saluting the three sailors, and Sinbad, who had only been meagerly sipping the sweet wine, returned the salute. The still thirsty Aboo-seer drained his cup in a swallow, laughed heartily, then choked as a surprised expression struck his face.
The big sailor’s cup spilled from his hand, falling soundlessly to the thick rug as Aboo-seer gasped, clutching at his throat with a harsh cry. He fell sideways, his face contorted in pain and his knees rising as he rolled into a choking ball.
Sinbad’s foot struck out, knocking the cup from the lips of a startled Hassan. He came lithely to his feet, tossing his own cup into the fire, where it flared and sent steam into the close, smoky air. Sinbad’s sword hissed from its scabbard and the dancers screamed, running from the tent with their hands protectively around their heads. Sinbad, eyes blazing, whirled on the shrinking host of these ill-begotten revels. There was hate in the young man’s eyes, but he was wary of Sinbad’s sword.
The adventurer shouted over the scramble of musicians and dancing girls to get out under the edges of the black felt tent. “Hassan! Help Aboo-seer back to the ship! Then cast off!”
Hassan, tugging the still-writhing Aboo-seer to his feet, looked with a stricken face at his captain. “But you, Captain . . . !”
“To the ship, I said!” Sinbad cried out, his sword swinging before him. “And cast off at once! Go!”
The sly young man was circling, stepping over mashed pillows, his own sword coming into his hand from a secret cache like a snake emerging from its hole. His eyes locked with Sinbad’s as he unfastened his cloak and let it drop among the spilled wine and discarded goblets. Hassan gave the youth a hard look, then swept a flask of wine into his hand and splashed it into Aboo-seer’s face.
“Sober up!” he whispered fiercely.
“Can’t . . .” gasped the stricken man. “Not drunk . . . poisoned!”
Hassan swore and started pulling Aboo-seer to his feet. The drummers made a rush, daggers and swords swinging, and Sinbad drove them back in a flurry of thrusts, giving Hassan time to get Aboo-seer to his feet. The sly host kicked a pillow at Sinbad, letting the cushion cover his movement as he rushed at Hassan and Aboo-seer.
Sinbad leapt the fire and dodged the pillow, striking down the lean young man’s sword. Another rush from the drummers diverted Sinbad and he sent them back with bleeding wounds. The traitorous host thrust his sword once again at Sinbad, but the sea captain swept it aside with a cry. The traitor jumped back a step, looked quickly around him, then his slippered foot kicked at the fire. The burning brands flew toward Sinbad, who managed to dodge most of them and brushed the others from his clothes with the flat of his sword. The pillows started to smolder and burn and in moments the tent was filled with smoke from several small fires.
Sinbad leaped suddenly across the intervening space, crowding his former host, who had only time to get his blade up, stopping but not repelling Sinbad. The tall sailor thrust and parried until his swinging blade cut into the arm of the sly young man, who cried out in pain as his sword fell with a clatter. He moaned in anguish and clutched at his arm, the blood oozing from between his stiffened fingers. He looked at Sinbad with great round eyes full of sudden fear. He twisted and started to run, but fell over a thick pillow and thudded to the blood-stained carpet with a cry.
Sinbad glared at the drummers, now uncertain, who looked at their fallen leader with apprehension. Hassan and Aboo-seer were on their feet and Sinbad turned his attention to the wounded man on the floor of the smoky tent. He was holding his bleeding arm, his spread fingers begging mercy as his soundless mouth moved. The wretch obviously expected a killing blow from the tall sailor, the sort of
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