Warriors of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  Complaining querulously, Pir Kasim halted the caravan and ordered one of the caravaneers to climb down a cleft in the cliff—a perilous path—and recover the gems the woman wore.

  Nasir Beg protested, but the merchant did not cease to wail about his loss.

  “Oh, evil hour!” he cried, twisting his beard. “Oh, verily the dust of ill fortune strews my path! A horse! One of the fairest of the women!

  “And then, by the beard of the Prophet—the gems. Such gems! Gifts from the dead monarch himself. A fool of fools was I to let her keep them when she begged that they should rest on her limbs—”

  “Verily,” swore Nasir Beg loudly, “you are witless to linger here when riders follow along the path. If it be the Muslim—” “Peace!” Pir Kasim glanced sharply from the Arab to Khlit. Then more calmly: “The lawless ones will not attack where the path admits of but one man.”

  He left Nasir Beg to watch the trail with Khlit while he peered eagerly down the cleft, marking the difficult progress of the man he had sent after the jewels.

  It was long before the caravaneer returned to the ledge. Pir Kasim seized the jewels avidly and examined them, mourning when he saw a dent or break in the gold made by the fall.

  “Wretch! Scorpion!” he cried. “All are not here. There was a diamond—a blue diamond set in jade that she wore about her throat. Faithless dog—”

  “Nay, master,” said the man stoutly. “Even as I took them from the body they are here.”

  The merchant counted over the bloodied trinkets and insisted that the diamond brooch was missing. But the caravaneer obstinately denied having it. Khlit, who was watching keenly, saw Nasir Beg's hand go to his throat and fumble at the opening of his cloak, then steal to his girdle. The Arab had taken something from his neck and placed it in a pouch at his waist.

  And Khlit knew that the caravaneer had not found the brooch upon the body of the woman.

  The dispute delayed them, and it was late afternoon before they reached a plateau where the trail widened to a ledge, upon which certain caverns faced, spacious enough to shelter the party.

  So great was the cold that night that Nasir Beg was obliged to keep the fire going in spite of the scarcity of fuel, which they had been forced to bring on the donkeys.

  Khlit had taken the first watch, and sat slightly down the cliff path between two rocks where he was in shadow.

  He had seen no more of the three who followed in the path of the caravan. Perhaps they had turned aside. Yet, he thought, there was no other trail.

  Unless they had turned back, the horsemen were still close in their rear. Khlit did not doubt that they sought the caravan. Otherwise they would hardly have taken the hazardous way around the Zodjila Pass, which Nasir Beg had contemptuously dubbed a “goat path.”

  Moreover, if their purpose had been friendly the three would have ridden up to the caravan when it halted. Khlit wondered briefly whether they had paused to go down the cleft to examine the body of the woman.

  He wondered who the three were. Surely they were bold, for they were but three and there were six armed men—not counting Mustafa—in the caravan.

  He sat up alertly at a slight sound—a light footstep. It came slowly over the rocks, from what quarter he could not decide. He half-drew his sword, then slipped it back into its scabbard with a grunt. He saw the slim figure of the Mohammedan girl—she who had been tentmate with the Hindu—standing before him in the glow from the firelight.

  Her veil was back and she seemed to peer eagerly into the darkness down the trail. She looked back over her shoulder at the fire, and Khlit saw that horror was mirrored in her tense face—the face of an anxious girl, fearful and yet wistful.

  She crouched as if afraid of being seen and began to move slowly past him. Khlit could hear her quick breathing.

  She did not see him, as he was in deep shadow. But she seemed to be looking anxiously to mark his position. Evidently she was aware that a guard was posted near her but did not know the spot.

  Then at the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps she sank to the ground. Mustafa appeared, framed against the firelight, staring out along the trail.

  It was some time before he saw the girl; then he gave a shrill exclamation of pleasure.

  “Evil wench! Wanton!” cried Mustafa. “So you would steal off as if on indoor slippers like a slave sneaking away to henna-nights! So you would leave me—Mustafa.”

  The sound of a blow accompanied the name. The girl did not cry out.

  “Eh—ungrateful one! You had a thought to follow your mate. Darisi bashine—may her millet fall on thy head. Have a care lest her fate is yours—Bismillah!”

  He cringed and stared as Khlit's tall form loomed over him. Then, seeing who it was, he made as if to strike the girl again. But this time under his nose was the glint of steel, and he felt a keen blade touch his throat.

  “Enough, Mustafa!” growled the Cossack.

  The eunuch peered at him angrily. “Will you come between me and my duty? Am I a slave to be commanded by such as you— a hired swordsman—”

  “Yet a swordsman, Mustafa, and not a beater of women. Is it enough, or will you prove my words?”

  At this the eunuch retreated backward and sought the fire. Yasmi did not follow. She took Khlit's hand in both hers.

  “Aie, baba-ji—father-lord! I have a fear. It is a great fear. Nasir Beg has looked upon me with an evil light in his eyes.

  “Last night he came to our tent, and this day Rani Kayastha is dead. Now his glance follows me.

  “Aie—he took a jewel from Rani Kayastha, who was the wife of a king. But I have no jewels—”

  Silently Khlit returned to his nook and sat upon his stone. Yasmi crept after and curled at his feet, much like a dog who fears to be spurned. Khlit rather expected that Mustafa would return with Pir Kasim to claim the girl. But though he glimpsed a shadow moving near him and suspected that someone kept watch upon them, he was not molested.

  “Yasmi,” he said slowly, “what manner of women are the wives of nobles, yet the property of such as Pir Kasim?” “Baba-ji,” she responded softly, “they are the dead.”

  For an instant Khlit was disturbed, thinking of the wan face and the dark eyes that had looked into his for an instant before Rani Kayastha died. Then he laughed. “Nay, you know not what you say, little sparrow. For you are one of them, and you are— living.”

  But Yasmi did not laugh.

  “It is true,” she whispered, “that my lot is not quite so evil as theirs. For I am not of their faith and I have not—as they have— broken the law that they must not break.

  “But they are truly the dead; and I am like to them. We cannot look into the face of the people of Hindustan; where we go we are stoned. The village dogs are higher caste than we. The souls of those—” she pointed back to the camp—“are shriveled. They cannot live. They are the dead.”

  Khlit recollected the stones that had been cast at them when passing through the Kashmiri village, and the strange conduct of the two riders, and grunted.

  “Yasmi,” he observed presently, “I have a thought that you know those who follow. You are a Muslim, and Nasir Beg named them Muslims. Likewise you crept down the path tonight seeking someone. Is not this the truth?”

  The girl would not answer. And after a time Khlit saw that she was shivering with cold. Whereupon he threw his khalat over her as she sat by his feet.

  Yasmi slept, but Khlit did not close his eyes. The girl's words had stirred his curiosity, and after his fashion he pondered them.

  The next day, and the next, Yasmi kept close to Khlit. His rough touch of kindness—giving her his khalat—had been the first she had received for many months and Yasmi was grateful. She kept her pony at the side of the black horse where the narrow track permitted, and at other times in front of Khlit.

  On the second day at the noon halt Mustafa approached the two and with him Pir Kasim. Khlit, according to his custom, was preparing his own food, which Yasmi chose to share. Po
or as the Cossack's fare was, the caravan fare was worse, now that the mutton was about gone.

  Khlit did not look up when the shadows of the two men fell across his feet. He felt the girl draw closer to him.

  “Ho, Khlit,” began the merchant in a friendly tone, “we make good progress, and by the will of Allah tomorrow will see us through the Darband Pass, and out on the open ground leading to Yarkand. It is well, therefore, that the women be kept together lest one escape.”

  Khlit continued to toast the strips of meat in the flames without response.

  “Mustafa waxes anxious for the girl Yasmi,” continued Pir Kasim. “He fears she may fall from the trail.”

  “Nay,” protested the girl, “my pony does not stumble.”

  Pir Kasim scowled at her.

  “Nevertheless, you shall stay under the eye of Mustafa.”

  “I will not!”

  The merchant, angered, caught her arm. She struggled, striking at his face, until Mustafa came to his aid. Then she ceased her efforts, glancing imploringly at Khlit.

  The Cossack regarded a portion of meat with a favorable eye and proceeded to eat. Seeing this, Mustafa ventured a furtive blow upon the girl's back.

  The eunuch had been reared to safeguard women for his master. It was his one duty, and after his kind he was faithful to it. But he also had the cruelty that was part of his office.

  “Pir Kasim,” observed Khlit thoughtfully, “would you lay hand on the blue diamond that Rani Kayastha wore?”

  The merchant stiffened as a hunting dog at scent of game. His black eyes snapped, and he stepped closer to the sitting man, fairly quivering with eagerness.

  “The blue diamond? Aye, the one that was set in rare jade. 'Tis said the maharaja paid for it the price of twenty fine horses.” He stared at Khlit uncertainly, yet covetously. “Then it was not lost with the woman—may her soul never see paradise? Aye, it was a fine stone. You have seen it, Khlit?”

  The Cossack chewed slowly on his meat, wiping his beard with his sleeve.

  “Perchance you hold it, Khlit?” Pir Kasim affected a friendly laugh. “Nay, 'tis well. You thought to keep the stone safe for me. By the beard of the Prophet, I bear no ill will. Eh—but it would be safer in my hands.”

  Khlit nodded. Pir Kasim stretched out a claw that trembled with eagerness. He had completely forgotten the girl.

  “Ask Nasir Beg for it,” said Khlit.

  Pir Kasim blinked. Then with an angry cry he hurried off to seek the Arab. Khlit looked up at Mustafa under shaggy brows, and the eunuch made as if to haul Yasmi away.

  “Mustafa!” said Khlit. “Look behind you.”

  The eunuch glanced over his shoulder hastily.

  “What see you?” asked Khlit, reaching for more meat.

  “Naught. Save the precipice.”

  “Nay. Your eyes are dull. I have seen two things in the gorge below.”

  Mustafa glanced at the Cossack dubiously. Then, still holding Yasmi, he stepped nearer the edge to peer down. The invisible pursuers who had been barely noticed during the last two days had got upon the nerves of the men of the caravan.

  “Nay, there is naught,” he snarled. “I see only rocks.”

  “And the kites,” amended Khlit. “The rocks and kites—there are the two things of which I thought. It is dark down in the yar, perhaps the bones of dead horses lie among the rocks, and the place is a feasting-place for the kites.”

  Mustafa drew back from the cliffside with some alacrity.

  “Look, Mustafa, upon your hand!”

  The eunuch did so uncertainly. He had a plump hand, generously adorned with rings. After considering this member of his person, he glared at Khlit.

  “Your tongue jests,” he cried shrilly.

  “Nay, Mustafa, when did you know me to jest?” Whereupon Khlit took his sword from scabbard and laid it across his knees, stroking the blade meditatively against one leather boot.

  “Harken, O Purified One,” continued Khlit, addressing the eunuch by his actual name. “Consider those three things—and a fourth. Consider the rocks a bow-shot beneath, the kites and the tenderness of your skin. Mark it well.”

  Mustafa still glared but was silent. Yasmi laughed softly.

  “And then the fourth thing, Mustafa. You said that I jest. It is a lie.”

  The eunuch loosed his hold upon Yasmi abruptly. Whereupon she slipped to Khlit's side, her dark eyes dancing at the discomfiture of her guardian. Mustafa would have left them to go after Pir Kasim, but a glance from Khlit staved him.

  “Kukuria—little dog,” the Cossack growled, “you would like to run whining to your master—”

  “Pir Kasim will see that you suffer—”

  “Nay, Mustafa. Consider yet another thing. Tomorrow Pir Kasim plans to attack those who follow us. I am—as you once said—a swordsman, and valuable to him. You are a servant.”

  The eunuch bit his thumb and scowled.

  “Then, Mustafa, meditate upon these four—these five— things. But chiefly upon the rocks and the kites and your—hide, Mustafa.”

  Khlit rose, towering over the stout Ethiopian.

  “A fitting place to meditate, O Purified One, is the precipice edge. Seek it!”

  Not until Mustafa was enthroned upon the brink of the cliff, his legs hanging over the edge—to the wonder of the caravaneers —did Khlit leave him and return to his interrupted repast.

  Yasmi's merriment at the plight of her master vanished swiftly, and she gazed moodily into the flames, chin upon her hand. Khlit also was silent.

  He had felt when he first saw the women in the caravan that they would breed trouble. Now it was coming to pass even as he had foreseen. But the hardships inflicted on Yasmi stirred his anger.

  Khlit glanced around. The others were resting on their robes, wearied by the hard marches and the poor food. Pir Kasim and Nasir Beg were not to be seen, although their angry voices echoed somewhere behind the rocks where the Arab was on watch. Mustafa, although eyeing them, was beyond hearing.

  “My heart is heavy, baba-ji,” mused Yasmi. “I have a foreboding. Last night the jackals howled in the gorge, and the kites screamed at dawn, and the sky was red as blood.

  “Smoke came from the arrow Nasir Beg shot fruitlessly at a mountain goat. I dreamed that headless men walked toward us from the hill passes.”

  She sighed, twisting her fingers in the mass of her black hair. And she glanced involuntarily back along the cliff—a look which Khlit did not fail to notice. He put his gnarled hand on her slim one.

  “Yasmi,” he growled, “you are a sparrow, nay, a singing bird. Aye, the talons of the hawks are near to you. Speak, then, before it is too late.

  “There is one thing I would know. Who are they that follow us?”

  The girl searched Khlit's lined face with a woman's intentness. What she saw must have satisfied her, for she told him what had passed at the tavern in Srinaggar.

  Khlit listened closely.

  “Say you this Afghan warrior paid Nasir Beg the price he asked?”

  “Nasir Beg made an excuse and did not take the gold.”

  “What did the Afghan?”

  “The mask of anger fell upon his face, baba-ji, but then Nasir Beg thrust the lamp to the floor, and Mustafa, reaching from behind the curtains, seized me. I kicked and bit his arm.

  “Yet he stifled me with a cloth, and bore me down into the cellar. Whereupon Nasir Beg kicked the women and bade them prepare to leave the cellar. He rowed us away in the boat. I looked back and saw the Afghan running from the door, and his sword was drawn.”

  She sighed, looking up at Khlit. “I think it is he who follows. He was very angry, and—he liked my song. He was a tall man—as tall as you—and his armor was very costly.”

  “Aye. He was a Muslim?”

  “Even so, my lord. Methinks he was faithful to the law of Mohammed, as was father.”

  “These women—” Khlit nodded toward the group—“what is their faith?”

  “Th
ey are unbelievers, who bow down before Vishnu and Shiva. Yet they are not godless. Their sorrow is great. The heat of the flames affrighted them, baba-ji, and they drew back from death—and so fell into the hand of the hallal khors.”

  “They do not wish to be sold at Yarkand?”

  “Nay, my lord. They are of high caste, and their grief is like a cloud over the sun. But how could they escape Pir Kasim? Even like to theirs will my fate be.”

  Khlit did not answer. Presently, seeing the bustle of the caravan men, he arose and went to the eunuch, telling him that he had meditated sufficiently for the nonce.

  Mustafa made off promptly, muttering.

  Khlit smiled grimly when Pir Kasim directed the order of march and placed him with Yasmi in the center of the line, giving the rear to Nasir Beg. He noticed also that the servants kept watch on him.

  Pir Kasim, however, made a great show of cordiality toward the Cossack. He rode at the warrior's side, explaining that he had recovered the gem from Nasir Beg—at a price.

  “Tomorrow, Khlit,” he vouchsafed, “will the path widen into the plateau of the Darband. 'Tis a wide, level expanse of stone, open to the eye. At the farther end, however, a swift stream rushes. Beyond the stream are many great rocks of sandstone.”

  He smiled, combing his beard.

  “In those rocks we will lie in wait—you and I and Nasir Beg with the caravaneers. Only at one point—where the trail crosses—can the stream be forded. When the three unbelievers appear, we will see, and when they urge their horses into the current we will let fly arrows and pistol balls, aimed at the horses.

  “Then—may Allah will it so—we shall ride forth and smite down those who live. Thus we shall be free of the robbers. It is a good plan.”

  The project was well-conceived, as Khlit saw. But his voice was gruff as he answered the merchant, “Have you seen those who follow us—near at hand?”

  “Nay. You know they have kept shrewdly beyond view.”

  “How know you then they are—robbers?”

  Pir Kasim stared, then laughed. “What else should they be, Cossack? Were they honest folk they would not lurk behind the rocks.”

  Khlit did not laugh. He pointed to the women who followed them, hunched miserably in their saddles.