Swords From the West Read Online Free Page B
Author: Harold Lamb
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, Suspense, Historical, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Short Stories, Adventure fiction, Crusades
caught her by the waist and lifted her into the saddle of her mare. For an instant he glanced at the approaching horsemen. Then he reached up and pulled the hood over her head, drawing it close to hide her face.
"Tatars!" shouted one of the guides.
Some of the servitors began to run away, casting down the spears that they had caught up at first; others cried out in fright, and when Sir Bruce mounted his gray Arab and took Marie's rein, leading her mare toward the pavilion slowly, they clustered around him in fear.
The tide of riders swept toward the pavilion and divided into groups that galloped around the camp. Here and there a curved steel blade was drawn and flourished, flashing in the level sunlight. Lances were tossed up and caught again, and the drumming of hoofs grew to a roar, while dust eddied about the pavilion and the Christians in the center of the wild horsemen. The Greeks who had fled were headed off and herded back again like stray cattle.
Sir Bruce had drawn his sword, but made no other move. "'Tis part of Tamerlane's horde," he said to the girl. "Faith, they greet us well, after their manner."
The Tatars had not fallen upon the pavilion to plunder, nor had they snatched the weapons from the trembling Greeks.
"They are on the march," Marie whispered, with a sigh of relief; "they will do us no harm."
But Sir Bruce knew by the actions of the first riders that the Tatars had expected to find people at this spot, and that command had been given them not to seize what they found. Still the dark tide, brightened by crimson shields, moved past. A burst of plaintive music came from it-the shrilling of pipes and clash of brass plates and the roar of kettledrums.
Nodding heads of laden camels came into view about the horses, but before the camel train moved a standard, a pole bearing a gold crescent and swinging horsetails. And with the standard came a cavalcade of Tatar princes helmed or turbaned, with gilded armor and reins and saddles gleaming with silver. One who carried in his hand an ivory staff galloped forward, and thrust down his baton.
"Choupek gasaur!" he growled. "Down, infidel dogs."
The Greeks flung themselves on their faces, but Sir Bruce and Marie sat as they were, erect in the saddle. The mirza of the baton reined close to them and snarled, "Bend the forehead to Subai Ghazi, Emir of emirs."
A deeper voice resounded harshly, and the mirza drew aside. A white horse paced forward slowly. From thigh to chin its rider was wrapped in pliant Persian mail, a khalat of red satin thrown over his shoulders, massive as a bear's. He rode with short stirrup leathers, so that he seemed to crouch in the saddle. One hand, veined and scarred, rested on the worn hilt of a heavy, curved saber-a hand that could move as swiftly as a leopard's paw, that had earned for Subai Ghazi the surname of Sword Slayer.
"Ahai!" he exclaimed, seeing the slight form of the girl. His green eyes gleamed under a jutting brow and shifted to the tall figure of the knight. He waited for Sir Bruce to dismount or to salaam before him, and the Scot did neither. "Eh," grunted Subai Ghazi, "there is a stubborn devil in this one. Bid him uncover the face of the khanim."
Khanim meant "princess" in the Turco-Tatar dialect, and Sir Bruce, who had heard this speech for years, understood the words. He raised his left hand weaponless, and shook his head slowly. "Yok! Nay, it is not permitted."
Subai Ghazi's broad shoulders lifted in sheer astonishment-that he should have been answered and answered thus. The Tatars attending him reined their horses close about the warrior and the girl. The officer with the baton was the first to speak:
"Subai Ghazi, the Emir of emirs gave the command. Is his word smoke, 0 dog of a Nazarene?"
Again Sir Bruce shook his head, while his thoughts raced. Surely the Tatars had expected to find a woman here-Subai Ghazi had expected it. No one had touched them or questioned them until his coming. He had called Marie a
"Tatars!" shouted one of the guides.
Some of the servitors began to run away, casting down the spears that they had caught up at first; others cried out in fright, and when Sir Bruce mounted his gray Arab and took Marie's rein, leading her mare toward the pavilion slowly, they clustered around him in fear.
The tide of riders swept toward the pavilion and divided into groups that galloped around the camp. Here and there a curved steel blade was drawn and flourished, flashing in the level sunlight. Lances were tossed up and caught again, and the drumming of hoofs grew to a roar, while dust eddied about the pavilion and the Christians in the center of the wild horsemen. The Greeks who had fled were headed off and herded back again like stray cattle.
Sir Bruce had drawn his sword, but made no other move. "'Tis part of Tamerlane's horde," he said to the girl. "Faith, they greet us well, after their manner."
The Tatars had not fallen upon the pavilion to plunder, nor had they snatched the weapons from the trembling Greeks.
"They are on the march," Marie whispered, with a sigh of relief; "they will do us no harm."
But Sir Bruce knew by the actions of the first riders that the Tatars had expected to find people at this spot, and that command had been given them not to seize what they found. Still the dark tide, brightened by crimson shields, moved past. A burst of plaintive music came from it-the shrilling of pipes and clash of brass plates and the roar of kettledrums.
Nodding heads of laden camels came into view about the horses, but before the camel train moved a standard, a pole bearing a gold crescent and swinging horsetails. And with the standard came a cavalcade of Tatar princes helmed or turbaned, with gilded armor and reins and saddles gleaming with silver. One who carried in his hand an ivory staff galloped forward, and thrust down his baton.
"Choupek gasaur!" he growled. "Down, infidel dogs."
The Greeks flung themselves on their faces, but Sir Bruce and Marie sat as they were, erect in the saddle. The mirza of the baton reined close to them and snarled, "Bend the forehead to Subai Ghazi, Emir of emirs."
A deeper voice resounded harshly, and the mirza drew aside. A white horse paced forward slowly. From thigh to chin its rider was wrapped in pliant Persian mail, a khalat of red satin thrown over his shoulders, massive as a bear's. He rode with short stirrup leathers, so that he seemed to crouch in the saddle. One hand, veined and scarred, rested on the worn hilt of a heavy, curved saber-a hand that could move as swiftly as a leopard's paw, that had earned for Subai Ghazi the surname of Sword Slayer.
"Ahai!" he exclaimed, seeing the slight form of the girl. His green eyes gleamed under a jutting brow and shifted to the tall figure of the knight. He waited for Sir Bruce to dismount or to salaam before him, and the Scot did neither. "Eh," grunted Subai Ghazi, "there is a stubborn devil in this one. Bid him uncover the face of the khanim."
Khanim meant "princess" in the Turco-Tatar dialect, and Sir Bruce, who had heard this speech for years, understood the words. He raised his left hand weaponless, and shook his head slowly. "Yok! Nay, it is not permitted."
Subai Ghazi's broad shoulders lifted in sheer astonishment-that he should have been answered and answered thus. The Tatars attending him reined their horses close about the warrior and the girl. The officer with the baton was the first to speak:
"Subai Ghazi, the Emir of emirs gave the command. Is his word smoke, 0 dog of a Nazarene?"
Again Sir Bruce shook his head, while his thoughts raced. Surely the Tatars had expected to find a woman here-Subai Ghazi had expected it. No one had touched them or questioned them until his coming. He had called Marie a
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