Swords From the Desert (22 page)

"Grant me," I asked of him, "thy leave to depart."

"Not without a gift," cried Radha swiftly. "He will give thee, 0 shaikh, that which thou desirest in Karadak."

"Nay," I denied. "I have beheld the beauty of Radha of Kukri, and what gift is to be measured against that sight?"

"Well said! " cried the Rajput. "But thou hast lost a camel in this fighting, Daril." He turned and spoke to one of the servants who bowed and made off toward the castle. "Byram Khan will choose for thee a good horse, saddled and equipped." Suddenly he smiled merrily. "Thou art a strange physician, not to claim a reward. But I say thou art a better swordsman than physician, and wilt ever be!"

Thus he gave me leave to go. At the stables I met Byram Khan, mounted, with one follower also in the saddle. Presently a groom let out my mount, and to-it was the dun mare of the dead pasha!

"Awa Khan hath a generous hand!" I cried.

Byram Khan gathered up his reins and rode forward, musing.

"That is true," he growled, "as I the captain of his swordsmen know well. But this mare is the gift of the guest of Karadak."

I thought of one person and then another.

"The Rajput maiden, then?"

"By her wish, aye, but she had naught to give."

"Then it was surely Awa Khan."

The old warrior shook his head, and let his charger trot through the village street, saying that he had orders to escort me forth upon a trail that led north to the caravan route to Ind.

"Awa Khan is not here," he said, "being in the army of his lord the Raja of Bikanir with seventy men from Karadak. He left me here to keep the castle with nine men."

Then I remembered that the young Rajput, the rider of the black charger-he who had overthrown Mirakhon Pasha-had never spoken his name. I had thought that he was the kinsman of Radha.

"Who is the swordsman?" I asked.

Byram Khan looked at me in surprise.

"Ask in Chitore-aye, or Ind. He is Kurran, a stripling of the royal house of Chitore, son of the ruler of Rajasthan. He is too young to be sagacious, but he can handle a sword."

"Then he is no kinsman of Radha of Kukri?"

The old retainer of Awa Khan passed his fingers through his beard and grunted. "Nay, Chitore and Bikanir have been at war for long years. They are still at war. Once, in the gorge of Anavalli, this youth Kurran and Sidri Singh fought hand to hand."

I thought then of the feuds of my clans in the Nejd. It was clear to me now that Awa Khan and Sidri Singh had been opposed to Kurran's clan in this feud of the Rajputs.

"Yet Kurran was the guest of Karadak," I said.

"Aye, he was riding from the mountains of Iran, with two followers, to join his father's army. He turned aside to rest at Karadak. Was the hospitality of Awa Khan to be denied the noblest blood of Ind? Being Kurran, we served him, and when this pasha came, though a dog-born dog, it was the duty of Kurran to offer hospitality."

W'allahi, they knew the duty of the salt, these Rajputs! Desert men, like the chieftains of my sahra. Within the tents, the feud is forgotten.

"Though no kinsman of Radha, this stripling prince drew the sword for her," I mused aloud.

"If he had not done so," Byram Khan said grimly, "the honor of Awa Khan would have been lost indeed. Being the guest of Karadak, Kurran took thought for the honor of Awa Khan." He meditated a moment, easing forward in the saddle. "And Awa Khan will be well satisfied when I tell him what was done, and how."

Thus we parted, he turning back to Karadak, I trotting forward along the mountain trail. I wondered whether Kurran would ride forth on this road with a bride. Byram Khan had not bothered his head about this. In deed, it was hard to say what that young Kurran would not do. Thirty years-yea, and eight-I had carried such a maiden off in spite of the watching of her clan.

But one thing was certain. When I looked down at the smooth mane and the twitching ears of the fine mare, I thought of Mirakhon Pasha. Surely he had dug his own grave, being blinded by pride and lust.

It is written: Thy wealth will not save thee, if thy deeds destroy thee.

And I have seen a man who had a great store of gold under his hand, yet he was slain by his own deeds. It was in the year one thousand and twenty and nine,*
when I was journeying to the land of Ind-I, Daril, the Arab of the sahra, the desert land.

I was then beyond the middle of life and I had sheathed the sword to follow the path of a physician, thirsting to see new lands. I had agreed to pay a camelman of Isfahan ten silver pieces to bring me safely to the frontier of Ind. He was called Sher Jan, and he was a rogue.

Yea, a man of loud oaths and many weapons-three knives of different shapes and a rusty tulwar. At times he would draw this sword and flourish it, but I never saw him clean it. In his girdle besides the knives he carried a beard comb and opium and flint and a pouch filled with powder, though he had never owned a musket. Sher Jan, with his forked beard and his deep voice, had the mien of a lion and the heart of a hare. He called me his lord and his friend, and one evening he spoke very boldly, asking if I carried much money.

This was the evening when we climbed out of the plain and entered the foothills where Iran ends and Ind begins. We followed a shallow valley that became narrower as we advanced, until the ridges of red rock loomed above us like walls. Yellow dust hung around the camels in clouds, until the air in this hour of sunset became a golden haze. The baked earth still gave off the heat of the sun, and the river of the gully was no more than brackish pools. By one of these Sher Jan halted, looking about on all sides and sniffing like a dog. Satisfied, he set his helper to work pulling tam arisk bushes and picking up dead roots, while he loosed the bales from the kneeling camels.

"What place is this?" I asked.

"The Kaizak-davan-the Valley of Thieves." He wiped his long nose with his sleeve and looked at me sidewise. "It is well named. If thou hast much money, 0 my lord, give it to my keeping for the night."

"Nay," I assured him, "our bargain was that thou shouldst protect my possessions from theft and tribute on the road."

"God knows," he muttered, "I deny it not. Yet consider, 0 favored one, if thy purse and gear be stolen from thee while I sleep, how am I responsible? While if I have them in charge, I must answer for them."

"Answer for thyself!" I cried at him.

Truly the camel driver had sworn to me by the triple oath that he was the master of a large caravan with many armed followers and that he made the journey from Iran*
to Ind several times in the year and had bought immunity from the chieftains who might otherwise plunder caravans along the way. And it turned out that he had no more than eight camels, laden with red leather and honey and sweet oil, and no more than one sorry servant whose only weapon was a cudgel to beat off dogs.

"Upon thy head be it," he said calmly, meaning that if anything happened to me it would be of my doing, not his.

So I spoke no more, and went and sat, to meditate and enjoy the one good hour of these days when the sun was at the rim of the desert below us. In my belt I had no more than forty silver coins, of which I had agreed to pay Sher Jan ten. But I needed little.

I was alone. My horse, a swift-paced dun mare; my sword, a plain Damascus blade with a horn hilt. All other belongings I had given away when I set forth upon my wandering. Yea, wanderers are we, we Arabs of the sahra, the desert land.

It is better to be thus free than to be chained; better to ride with few possessions than with many, and far better to journey thus, toward a strange land than to abide in one place, bowed down by goods and debts and increasing cares. In my youth it would have been misery to be thus bare of gear and goods, and apart from the eyes of fair young women and the raids of the clans. Now, though I wore still the sword, I sought peace; men called me Shaikh and hakim-elder and physician.

And yet I was not quite alone. The mare, coming close to my shoulder, stretched down her head, rattling the bit. In my argument with Sher Jan I had forgotten her. I rose, loosed the saddle and lifted it down. I rubbed the slender limbs with a handful of dry grass and freed her from bit and headband, slipping on halter and rope. Then I let her drink at the pool, and gave her a measure of barley and salt. As I was leaving her, she lifted her head and neighed.

In our small caravan we had no other horses. Sher Jan and his follower rode between the camel packs. I looked at Sher Jan and found him heaping more tamarisk upon the pile, already smoking and blazing.

"0 one of little wit!" I cried. "If this be truly a place of thieves, why light such a beacon to guide them?"

"In this gully the fire will not be seen," he answered, throwing roots on the fire to show that he cared not for my reproach.

"Nay, look at the smoke."

Down by the pool, hemmed in by ridges of rock, the dusk had deepened, but the sky overhead still glowed, changing from shimmering blue to dull purple. From the heights before us the twisting smoke would be clearly seen against the last of the sunset. Sher Jan squinted up and wiped his eyes with his greasy sleeve.

"True, 0 shaikh," he made response, "but we must eat."

"On thy head be it then."

I went and sat by the fire, while he put water and salt and rice and strips of mutton into the pot. The air had become cold of a sudden, and the wind was chill from the snow far above us. It was then the beginning of winter, and Sher Jan said the snow lay in the passes ahead of us, in these mountains that he cursed, calling them the mountains of the Pathans. Yet he said that the city we would reach the next day was a veritable paradise, a garden spot within the barrens.

This city he swore to be the gateway of the empire of Ind-the end of his road, to which he had made covenant to guide me. And he called it Kandahar, rolling the word upon his tongue as if he loved well the sound of it.

"Verily," he often said, "that is a place good for wine and for profit."

But that evening, although he had set the stew boiling, we ate from a cold pot and at a late hour. Before the last light had left the sky the thieves came.

First my mare neighed again, then I heard hoofs striking upon loose stones. Sher Jan sprang to his feet, but when a dozen riders clattered down into the gully he made no move to draw weapon or to fly. He might have fled, because the horsemen all came along one path and at a hand pace, without attempting to rush us. I thought that one of them had been watching us for some time and that Sher Jan's fire would bring no good.

When the horsemen moved into the firelight I saw they were warriors of a kind strange to me, mounted on scrawny hill ponies. They were armed with light lances, with hair tufts under the points. Over their mail and leather shirts they wore immense gray-wool and sheepskin coats, while their reins were heavy with silver; and their leader sat upon a saddlecloth of embroidered damask.

To Sher Jan he spoke in a language I knew not, and my valiant camel driver with his helper made haste to open up his loads, the leader of the band riding from one bale to the next.

No more than one load of the eight did he order taken-bales of red leather-and divided up into four packs, which his men strapped upon led ponies. Then he of the damask cloth walked his horse over to me and asked a question. When I shook my head, he called out a name.

"Shamil!"

A rider who had kept far from the fire advanced at the summons-a drowsy man, finely clad in a green and white striped khalat edged with soft brown fur. He swayed in the saddle, and his eyes, touched up with dark powder, did not open at all. His lips and thin beard were stained bright red, and he acted as if he had been chewing too much opium.

"0 brother of the Arabs," he greeted me in a droning voice, "pay down the road tax to this man."

"Who asks it?" I demanded.

His eyelids flickered as if this surprised him.

"I am Shamil, the treasurer of the Hazara band. Who art thou, and whence?"

"Daril of Athir, of the Nejd Arabs," I answered truthfully, "a physician upon the road to the empire of Ind."

"To serve whom?"

"If God wills it, the emperor, the Mogul of Ind." For I had been told that he was the most powerful of rulers, the most fortunate of living men, and I had journeyed from afar to visit his court. "Art thou a servant of the Mogul?"

Shamil laughed, gently.

"Nay, we are kites swooping down from the mountain. Pay us gold!"

I pointed at the shawl that held no more than a headkerchief, my lancet and such things.

"As thou seest" -for the man called Shamil seemed to watch me from under heavy lashes, and when I turned away If elt his eyes upon me-"I am no merchant, nor have I goods with me. What talk is this of gold?"

Then the leader of the band pushed forward, scowling at me and gesturing. He had noticed the dun mare picketed just beyond the firelight.

"We will take the mare," said Shamil, "and require no more of thee, 0 Arab."

Stepping between them, I laid my hand on my sword hilt. W'allahi, a man of peace am I, seeking no quarrel! But to take a man's horse in the barrens, without authority, to set him afoot in such a place was the deed of a dog-horn dog. Sher Jan edged nearer, plucking at my sleeve and whispering to me to show no anger.