Swords From the East (21 page)

Mingan was accustomed to use his ears as well as his eyes, and was gifted with a sense of undying curiosity. He made a point of going about in the crowds that looked on at the games, and so became aware of a whisper.

It was no more than a whisper, although its purport was plain enough.

"The Mongols are no longer heroes, their leaders are unskilled boys who are mock-heroes; they cannot prevail in the test of the strength of men."

The source of the rumor was not to be traced, but Mingan suspected that warriors were passing through the ranks of the Horde, scattering the words as they might live coals in the dry grass of the prairies, hoping to fan into being a devastating fire.

But this did not alter the fact that honors in the games went to tribes of the Horde other than the khan-tribe, the Mongols. The Merkets, a branch of the Tatars now aloof from the Horde, won the javelin cast; the Jelairs-fine riders, they-were first in the arrow test; the men of old Mukuli overcame the others in wrestling.

Temujin, if he could have competed, would have been unmatched in archery or wrestling; but the khan could not take part in the sports of the warriors, custom decreed.

Mingan, while a skilled bowman, found the test too severe for him-to ride at the full gallop of a horse, discharge three arrows from the right side, unstring his bow, use it as a whip, and, stringing it again, shoot three more shafts from the left side. This he could manage, but the winning Jelair planted five out of six arrows in a mark placed on a stake as he galloped past; Mingan scored but three hits. Nor could he wheel, on a pony, around a great tree, lopped of its branches, and hit, with three shafts out of three, a large crane tied to the summit of the tree.

As for Chepe Noyon, he earned not a single hit, being careless of bow work, loving best his swordplay. Temujin knew that he was a skilled swordsman, but Podu, master of the sports, had forbidden contests with bare steel, knowing that they would lead to a killing and fan the old feuds into life.

"Temujin no longer is the victor at the tests," the whisper went on. "He fears to compete now as he did aforetime. His heroes are dead, or have left him. Nothing is left him but his shadow."

The fiery Tiger heard the whisper and lifted his voice in prompt rebuttal. Hands were put to sword hilts, and it needed all Mingan's diplomacy to prevent bloodshed. He sent a warrior with word to Temujin, but the man returned saying that the Master of the Horde was drinking heavily in his tent and would not come forth. By this Mingan knew that one of his black moods was on the Khan, and that he strove to hold his temper in leash. The whisper had come to Temujin's ears.

"Go among our men," he murmured to the Tiger, "and warn them to say no angry word or to draw weapon. The one who is our enemy is starting this talk, to breed trouble. Temujin knows that he must not show his anger."

"Temujin broods because the Mongol wrestlers have been vanquished, with aching limbs and broken ribs. Go among the men yourself, minstrel, and prate of gentleness. I came not here to anoint wounds but to open them up."

Chepe Noyon checked his words, and pointed to where a crowd gathered about the empty wrestling mats: "Now here is a moil to my mind."

Unwillingly, Mingan followed the youth, and the two orkhons shoved through the spectators until they paused in surprise.

In the center of a ring of warriors stood a strange figure-a man as tall as Mingan, who stood well over six feet, but as broad across the shoulders as Temujin, and as heavy as the two combined, almost. His body was bare save for a white reindeer skin that served as a cloak; his naked arms were scratched and scarred-massive as a bear's; the low boots were tipped at the heel with a deer's hoof; his long, fiery-red hair was plaited instead of falling back, Mongol-fashion, in a scalp lock. Gray eyes, greenish-tinted, gazed at the crowd with no more expression than an animal.

"It is a khan of the reindeer folk," said a Mongol captain of ten to Mingan, after saluting. "He left his beasts and came hither on a camel to attend the feast from afar, and because of the sun of the Gobi he has ripped off his garments."

The man bore no weapon of any kind. Seeing this, some of the Gipsies were plaguing him.

"He will not wrestle or hurl a spear. He is afraid," they said.

As the stolid visitor from the frozen tundras of the north made no objection to this statement, the warriors grew bolder. A Tatar champion, almost of a size with the giant, challenged him to a bout at grappling, but the reindeer man shook his head.

"Ahai," growled the Tatar, "he is subotai, the buffalo. He stands his ground and lowers his head, yet will not fight."

In derision he pointed out the small pair of antlers that formed the crest of the hood the man wore. "Subotai!" the others chuckled.

Mingan would have passed on, but just then he saw Mukuli approach with Temujin and lingered. The old Tatar khan was looking about for trouble, having looked well on the wine cup, and pushed forward, perceiving the towering body of the Tungusi, the reindeer tribesman. He knocked off the cape the other wore, and pointed to his hair, gleaming red in the sunlight.

"Mao tze! A red man. Ho, cousin of the tundras, why will you not wrestle my champion, hey?"

"I fear," said Subotai earnestly.

At this a sudden silence fell on the watching throng. For a man in the Horde to confess to cowardice was an unheard-of thing; to plead with Mukuli was madness. Yet the red-haired man had acted like a fearridden clown-and assuredly he was not mad. Mukuli swept away with his arms those nearest him and strode to a great fire close at hand over which boiled and sizzled in a cauldron the sliced flesh of a horse, cooking against the feast of the evening an hour hence.

Jerking the pot from its supporting stakes, the Tatar wheeled and in the one motion cast it-meat, water, and cauldron-at the giant. It struck full against Subotai's chest, and he roared with pain, while the skin of his body turned red with the sting of the scalding water. Pawing at his face, he staggered, shook his head.

"A little sting makes the Buffalo bellow," chuckled Mukuli, and the crowd shouted approval of his words.

Even as he spoke, the Tatar chewed at his mustache, and with all haste drew his sword-a wide-bladed affair a hundred pounds in weight.

Subotai's eyes had turned red. He snatched at the weapon nearest him, which happened to be the scimitar of Chepe Noyon. Yet, measuring the slender length of blue steel in his fist, Subotai cast it down on the sand and probed the throng with gleaming eyes until he spied a Mongol gur-khan leaning on the handle of a battle-ax as massive as Mukuli's sword.

Striding forward, Subotai put his hand on the ax, and, although the surprised captain clung to it with both fists, drew it free of the other's grasp as easily as he might have pulled a knife from a piece of meat.

At this the crowd gave back discreetly with huge relish and Mukuli's eyes gleamed with pleasure. It looked as if there was fight in the Buffalo after all. Instead of swinging the ax over his head in both hands, he gripped it halfway up the handle with his right and extended his left in front of him, meanwhile striding toward the Tatar.

Mukuli waited until one of Subotai's feet was midway in a step, and-sure that the giant could not sidestep or leap away-whirled his sword up and down at the outstretched arm. The blow would have sliced Subotai's limb from the shoulder, even as it would have shorn through the back of an ox. It would have done so, that is, if the Buffalo had not checked his stride and let his arm fall to his side.

The sword of Mukuli whistled through the air, grazing his chest, and the blade was buried deep in the sand a yard in front of the man of the reindeer folk. Seeing this, Subotai completed his step forward, but placed his booted foot on the sword of his adversary and gripped Mukuli's right wrist with his left hand. Instinctively, the Tatar tried to pull free.

While he tugged, Subotai's ax chopped down sharply. Mukuli thrust his head forward and the blade of the ax rang on his bronze cap, glanced down, sliced a segment of the rawhide armor off his shoulder, along with a goodly bit of skin.

"Hey," chuckled Chepe Noyon, "the Buffalo can gore."

It was Mukuli's turn to roar with anger, and, dropping his sword hilt, to spring at his foe. Subotai let fall the ax and planted his legs firmly in the sand, meeting the rush of his foe with the weight of his body. The two warriors grappled, and the gray eyes of the Buffalo glinted with pleasure.

He let the veteran maul him for a moment, while he worked his arms free and encircled the other's body. His arms tightened and presently Mukuli's writhing ceased. A bone in the Tatar's body cracked.

And then Temujin put an end to the fight. He had gone to the fire and pulled out the blazing branch of a tree. With this he smote the taller man over the eyes, knocking his head back and searing his flesh.

Subotai slid to the sand, and Mukuli, dazed by the blow on his helmet, got back his breath with difficulty, investigating the while the damage done to his ribs. Then he recovered his sword, wincing at the motion, and surveyed Subotai in mild amazement.

"If you have let out his life, it was ill-done, Temujin," he observed sullenly. "Another moment and I would have strangled him."

"Another moment, Mukuli, and you would have been quaffing the cup of greeting with your ancestors in the sky-world."

Temujin ordered his gur-khan to see that the unconscious fighter was brought to his tent on a litter and set down by the fire.

When the man recovered consciousness, the Mongol khan, the Tiger, and Mingan were sitting beside him.

"What brings you from the snow circle, 0 head of fire?" Temujin asked.

"Enough of fire," smiled Chepe Noyon, "has he had on his head to suffice for the rest of his life, which will be short if Mukuli gets a second chance at him."

Subotai, however, seemed to take all that happened as a matter of course.

"I know not the customs of your Horde, 0 Khan!" he vouchsafed. "If you feed a guest with the pot itself, and put him to sleep with the fire, it is all one to me. But if I ask for a drink and you ram the cup down my throat, I will not stay any longer."

Chepe Noyon chuckled, but Temujin scanned the injured man seriously. He watched Subotai shake his head, brush the ashes out of his eyelids, and empty the goblet of wine Mingan gave him.

"Another," instructed Temujin.

But as Mingan was about to refill the goblet, Subotai climbed to his feet, apparently little the worse for his harsh treatment.

"If you are giving me wine, do not trouble yourself with that child's cup. I will take the cask."

"Give him the cask," nodded Temujin.

It was a gift of Podu, half-empty, true enough, but when Subotai had taken it up and poured liberal libations to the four quarters of the sky, there still remained enough to fill a half-dozen goblets. However, the big man raised the edge of it to his lips and began to tip it higher.

Chepe Noyon listened to his swallows.

"He drinks like a captain-like a colonel of a thousand-nay, like a hero. By the hide of Afrasiab, the keg is empty! We must go to Podu's tent or eat with dry gullets this night."

"Good!" said Subotai with a hearty sigh. "Let us go to the tent of this Podu."

"Only the khans sit at the feast," remarked Mingan, "and you have neither rank, nor weapon, nor horse, nor standing in any tribe here."

"I came, 0 Khan-" the Buffalo bethought him of Temujin's question"from the reindeer country because word came to me that riders who left the tracks of our boot were in the southland and I meant to herd them back, because we are at peace with your Horde, which is well for you."

"Have you found your riders?"

"Not a hair of their hide, 0 Khan. I turned my steps to this place, but no men of mine are here."

There was no doubting the truth of the man's statement, voiced slowly as if he thought over every word. Mingan reflected that others than the reindeer people had left the tracks of hoofs in the snow when the Mongol ponies were stolen.

"What rank have you with your own people?" demanded Temujin.

"A smith, 0 my host, and the son of a smith. I can beat out on the anvil and weld the strongest axes."

"Yet you do not carry one."

"I feared to do that, coming into the Horde."

"And you feared to wrestle," assented Temujin, puzzled. "Why? You were not afraid of Mukuli, whom no man of the throng-save myself-would have faced when he was minded to kill, as then."

Subotai cracked his thumbs uneasily.

"0 Khan, my nature is weak. It is my nature when a warrior wrestles with me or we play with swords to grow angry. Then the red comes into my eyes, and I kill the other. I cannot take part in the games of the khans; it is better to make weapons."

After pondering this, Temujin looked up.

"If I name you, 0 Buffalo, my sword-bearer, and give you a weapon like Mukuli's brand, will you serve me in all things and be faithful? Mine is no easy service, and there will be more blows than gold pieces."

"I see that." Subotai, in his turn, thought the matter over. "The wine is good, the meat is plentiful. Your men obey when you speak. All that is as it should be. I will take you for my khan. But I do not want a sword. Give me the ax I took up and I am your man."

"Granted, and the big piebald horse shall be yours-Mingan, see to it this hour. We will need horses before this moon is older. Chepe Noyon, and you, Subotai, come with me to Podu's feasting pavilion."

Subotai grunted with pleasure. Although they had not seen him before that hour, the Mongols felt that, his assurance given, Subotai would be faithful to Temujin. Mingan, knowing the khan's ability to judge men and attach them to him, suspected shrewdly that Temujin meant to form an alliance with the reindeer folk through Subotai. He was only sorry that they would attend the feast that night. Temujin, however, had not seen Burta in the camp for the last two days, and Mingan knew that although he did not speak of it, the girl's absence troubled his master.

The moonlight cut clearly through the dry air of the desert, and a warm breeze stirred the tent sides as Mingan left Subotai's new horse at the entrance of a small yurt between his own tent and Temujin's, and turned his steps toward the high pavilion where the warriors were feasting on this the last night of the concourse.