by Harold Lamb
The two listeners looked at each other and the Moghuli eyed them with satisfaction. His tale was worth hearing.
“The trooper swore,” he went on, “that it was the voice of Chutter that cried out. He asked that the bottom of the pool be dragged and the body of Chutter found, to bear out his tale. But why should the ameer pay coolies to search for the body of a slave such as Chutter? Doubtless, he had died—after the manner described by the trooper. The man who lay in the road in a fit had been a trick. After the soul of Chutter had gone to join his fathers, whoever they be, it was hard to get a rider to seek Ghar on the mission. All said that death lay in wait under the cypress trees of the pass.”
“Why did not you go, Mustafa Mirza?” asked one of his companions.
“I?” The Muslim stared and shrugged his shoulders. “Allah! This is a good land, full of jewels and slim women. I prefer them to the houris of paradise. Besides, my master, the liberal and gracious ameer, asked it not. Instead he purchased with gold mo-hars the services of one Jhat—a Sikh who was fresh come from Peshawar, a cousin by marriage of Chutter. The Sikh, who bore himself like a warrior, said that he had no fear. He swore that no evil demons or wayside thieves would keep him from gaining Ghar Tower on the mission.
“Jhat Singh traveled by night only. During the day he slept. He thus went far up the Ghar Pass, along the river Jumna. For a time we thought that he had reached the tower, and my master and I were glad. Yet his fate was otherwise. We learned it from a fisherman of the upper Jumna.
“This man was lying in his boat, having spread his nets. The sun was very hot and he was half-asleep when he saw Jhat Singh— he described the clothing and weapons of the Sikh and we knew it was the truth—he saw Jhat Singh pass along the trail by the river where the men walk who pull the ropes of the boats, going upstream. With the warrior were about a dozen other men who the fishermen said were boatmen. Yet they had no boat.”
Mustafa Mirza nodded, pleased with his own acumen. “The Sikh was a fool, or overbold—perchance both. At this place, so said the man, the trail entered a thicket. He saw Jhat Singh and the others go into the thicket. One remained behind, looking at the fisherman who rowed over, hoping to sell some of his catch. The man on the bank bought some fish.
“ 'Perhaps,' said the fisher, 'if I go into the thicket after the others, they also will buy.'
“He was eager because a good price had been paid. The other man smiled. 'If they buy,' he said, 'another than you will spend the money.' Whereupon the fisherman rowed away after he had looked attentively upon the watcher. When he glanced back over his shoulder the man had gone.”
“Why,” asked one of the men who sat beside the mirza, “did this fellow row away?”
Mustafa Mirza smiled, baring his red tooth.
“Ai—he was wise. He recognized the watcher as one of a band of slayers. As he had thought, the party emerged from the farther side of the thicket, but Jhat Singh was not with them. The fisherman waited until near twilight. Then he crept into the thicket. He searched some time before he came upon the body of the Sikh. There was no mark or wound upon it. But it had been stripped of its weapons. Then the fisherman ran away hastily, for that was an evil place.”
“He was a coward!” said the questioner gruffly.
“Nay,” objected Mustafa Mirza, “he was wise. He had fished long in the waters of the Jumna and knew that there were those who slay men for spoil, so skilled that none ever see the manner of the slaying. He named them by some strange word, such as tag. I remember not. But the breath of Jhat Singh was no longer in his body, and a new man was needed for the mission of my master.”
Yawning, the officer of the ameer lay back on the cushions and surveyed his two companions. There was curiosity in the glance of his quick, dark eyes—curiosity and cold appraisal.
“Thus, as I have said,” he concluded, “the three who were sent on the mission to the tower of Ghar died. The generous ameer has offered you much gold to follow after them.” Mustafa Mirza corrected himself hastily. “To go into Ghar Pass, I mean. For we desire not your death. Rather must the mission succeed. For it is time my master should have that which is in Ghar.”
He offered his betel to the others, who refused.
“They died,” nodded the mirza. “It was their fate—dogs of Gentus. But you, Abdul Dost, are a follower of the Prophet and a noted swordsman. And you, Khlit, surnamed the Curved Saber, are one who has grown gray in the path of battles.”
Leaning forward, he placed a hand on the knee of each. Khlit, wise in the ways of men, had no doubt of his earnestness.
“I have a thought,” said Mustafa Mirza. “You twain may win to Ghar. For Khlit is a Ferang1 and the slayers of the pass seldom lift hand against a Ferang.”
Khlit looked up from under shaggy brows. He did not like others to touch him. “The ameer pays well,” he grunted. “What manner of men are these slayers?”
“Who knows?” Mustafa Mirza stretched forth both hands, palms up. “My master and I have heard but a word here, a whisper there. Bands of the slayers go throughout Pawundur province; aye, and Hindustan. By no mark are they known. Often they have the appearance of merchants. It is not well to ask too closely. They are powerful.”
“You have a fear of them in your heart,” grumbled Khlit. “Does the governor of Pawundur, this ameer, allow murderers to walk the roads of his province?”
The other shook his head helplessly.
“By the beard of my grandsire! How can we do otherwise? The Mogul asks only that the tribute gleaned from Pawundur be given promptly to his vizier. And the slayers have harmed none of our household. Yet they have girded Ghar about like waiting snakes. Perhaps they have a smell of what is within the tower.”
Abdul Dost swore impatiently.
“Bismillah! Give us spare horses and we will ride through the nest of scorpions like wind through the jungle!”
“Horses!” The mirza, sighed, then assented eagerly. “Aye, you shall have two—the best. Think you, then, you will go to Ghar?” Khlit made a warning sign to Abdul Dost who was ever impatient of precautions. Not so the Cossack. He had lived too long and seen too many men die at his side to be reckless of safeguards. “Is there not another way to Ghar?” he asked thoughtfully. “Nay—from here. The tower is at the summit of the pass. Hills, and below them blind forest mesh and swamps, make the Jumna trail the only road. It would be the ride of a month to gain the other side—the East. And there the paths are ill. You must go and return within the month. Has not my master promised as much gold as you can hold in two hands?”
“Aye,” said Khlit dryly. “Have you seen these slayers?”
“Not I. It is said they live in the villages, like the usual Gentu farmers and drivers of bullock carts. Only when they wander in bands do they slay. Perhaps they are magicians, for they are never seen to slay nor is blood-guilt ever fastened upon them. It is said they have a strange god. I know not. I have spoken thus fully, for it is my wish that you return unharmed. Will you accept the mission?”
“We will talk together,” said Khlit, “and in the morning we will come to the ameer with our answer.”
“So be it,” assented Mustafa Mirza. “Perchance, if your decision is as I expect, my master, who is the soul of generosity, will give the two good horses in addition to the gold.”
With that Khlit and Abdul Dost rose and left the shadow of the well. They went to their tent, pitched in a corner of the village caravansary—an open space within a tumble-down wall by the high road, littered with dust and the droppings of beasts who had been there with former caravans. While Khlit boiled rice over his fire in silence and set out the melons and grapes they had purchased with their last silver in the bazaar, Abdul Dost talked.
“What are these slayers,” he questioned idly, “but some bands of coolies? Aie—would they attack two riders such as you and I? We who have earned a name for our swords in Kukushetra?”
The two wanderers had aided the young Rawul of Thaneswar, nearby, and
the fame of their exploit had preceded them—reach-ing, probably, the ears of the ameer, and arousing his interest in them as warriors useful for his own ends.
“The ameer promises reward to the value of a half dozen fine horses, and you and I have not a dinar in our girdles to buy a new saddle or a bracelet.”
“Promises cost little to the speaker.”
“Aye, but the need of the ameer is great.”
This was true, as Khlit knew. Within a month the vizier would come from the court at Delhi for the annual payment of the tax of Rawundur—of the jagir sold to Ameer Taleb Khan.
It was customary in the empire for the Mogul to lease the various provinces to his officials, who would pay him a settled price for the privilege of squeezing all possible tribute from the people of the district—the Hindu farmers, priests and landholders.
The ameer had already begged off his first year's payment, on plea that Rawundur was rebellious. He had actually been engaged in putting down the gathering of certain hill clans. During his efforts he had deposited the accumulation of his treasury in a safe spot.
This had been the tower of Ghar, where a watchman had been posted. Khlit wondered why one man should be entrusted with so much wealth—pearls, diamonds, Venetian ducats, with various assortments of gold and silver trinkets.
The treasure, explained the ameer, was safe for two reasons. No one outside Mustafa Mirza and the watchman knew of its location in the tower. And the watchman was well able to protect his charge. Taleb Khan had smiled across the whole of his broad, good-natured face when he said this.
But now the disaffection was put down and the vizier was coming. Taleb Khan had no valid excuse to refuse payment of his two years' tax this time. He had gleaned much wealth by crushing the district. He must pay the tax or satisfy the vizier. So he dispatched three trusted men to Ghar Tower, bearing missives written by him and signed with his signet. All three had been slain.
This was unfortunate. Although he did not admit as much, Khlit gathered that the ameer was afraid to go himself, and the mirza likewise.
He dared not send a party of soldiers, so great was the wealth of the treasury. He had, he said, heard of Khlit and Abdul Dost. Sufficiently he trusted them to send them on the mission. They would be rewarded well.
The slayers, he thought, would not molest a Ferang. Nor did they ever rob where they did not first slay their victim.
Somewhat Khlit wondered at this. Who were these bands that went unarmed? How was it they had killed unmolested? How had Jhond, the carrier of money, been spirited off the face of the Earth? Or Jhat Singh slain without leaving a trace upon his body? Khlit had reason to know that the Sikhs were excellent fighters and well able to take care of themselves.
“Why,” he observed to Abdul Dost, “will this ameer entrust us with the carrying of his treasure?”
The Muslim was partaking of the rice and bread cakes. He had a ready answer, although it came from a full mouth.
“Why does a dog trust a man with his bone when the dog is chained? Our worthy ameer has no other staff to lean upon. The chains that bind him are fear—of the slaying bands and the coming of the vizier. He has no other riders to send save you and I.”
He swallowed the rice and muttered a brief phrase of thanksgiving to Allah. Abdul Dost was a devout man, of the finer type of Muslim.
“Likewise,” he reasoned shrewdly, “the ameer knows to a grain the sum of his treasure. He will satisfy himself that we render it in full. If we chanced to flee—and I would not scorn to take his wealth from yonder stout official—his outposts in the district would catch up with us.”
Khlit looked up curiously. The speech of Abdul Dost had struck deeper than the Afghan knew.
“Why barter further?” grumbled Abdul Dost. “The ameer needs his gold, and we also have need of the reward. Have you a fear of the thieves?”
Khlit grunted. The Muslim was well aware of the Cossack's bravery. But Khlit was in the habit of pondering a venture well. He, contrary to Abdul Dost, was in a strange country. His sagacity had kept him alive and had served his companion well.
“What think you, mansabdar?” he asked, wiping his hands on his sheepskin coat. Khlit would not abandon his heavy attire for the lighter garb of the country.
“With two good horses, and a remount each, you and I will ride to Ghar. Eh—if the low-born thieves come against us on the way, we will swing our scimitars and their blood will moisten the dust. But Taleb Khan must pay us the price of ten Kabul stallions for this deed.”
Khlit did not answer at once. He was wondering what the tower of Ghar would be like. Why had the wealthy ameer selected it as a treasure house? He rose and went into the tent, stretching his tall bulk on the cotton cloths that the cleanly Abdul Dost provided for their sleeping.
“Tomorrow we will seek this ameer,” he said.
The broad face of Taleb Khan lighted at sight of the two warriors. He was relieved that they had come. They were hardy men, he thought, and hardier riders. If any could win through to Ghar, these two could. Had they not withstood many times their number of foes, fighting without reward, when they had been guests at Thaneswar?
Ameer Taleb Khan reasoned that they would serve him as faithfully since he was paying a reward. He reckoned the value of men in mohars. He had calculated to a nicety the sum of gold that could be drained from the province. He knew to an ounce of silver the treasure now lying in Ghar. Aye, the two warriors would fetch back the gold and silver and jewels. And after they had left the dangerous pass of Ghar—
Smilingly Taleb Khan bent his head, although neither Khlit nor Abdul Dost had made the customary salaam. He wanted to show them he was in a gracious mood. He had dire need of their services. But this he did not care to reveal to them.
His small, womanish features puckered pleasantly. An olive hand stroked the gold chain at his throat. He lifted his face to feel the refreshing draft from the peacock fan that a woman slave moved over his head. She was a fair woman. Taleb Khan had an eye for such. He had sought out among the villages the comeliest maidens who were not yet given in marriage. In this Mustafa Mirza had been no mean agent.
For his good offices the ameer had allowed his favorite official to keep certain of the women for himself. True, the villagers murmured. But what were they save low-born? The Hindu nobles had become restive. Yet what availed their frowns and hard words when the power of the Mogul rested like a drawn scimitar behind the plump, silk-turbaned head of the ameer?
Still, unless the money was forthcoming to be given into the hand of the approaching vizier, displeasure of the Mogul would fall like a blight upon Taleb Khan.
The ameer sighed. He liked well the feel of gold coins and the luxury of Chinese silk, of perfume of attar, of the delight of opium and bhang, the light of great diamonds, the solace of boat festivals upon the lakes of Pawundur.
But greater than his lust for treasure was his fear of his imperial master. Somehow, the vizier must be appeased.
“You will undertake the mission?” he asked, not quite concealing his anxiety, as Abdul Dost noted.
An Afghan, whether warrior or merchant, is a born barterer. Not so Khlit.
“Three men have died upon the journey,” parried Abdul Dost. “We ask a price of five fine horses each—of Kabul stallions, flawless, of straight breeding.”
The plump lips of Taleb Khan drew down. He motioned to the slave to dry the perspiration on his cheeks with a cloth scented with musk.
“It is too high a price,” he objected. “All that I have I must render to the Mogul. Would you rob the Lord of Lords?”
“Liar!” thought Abdul Dost. Aloud he said: “The slaying thieves beset the forests of Ghar. I am mansabdar, not a common soldier to be bought and sold. Ten horses or their price—”
“Agreed,” said the ameer hastily. “But the treasure must be intact.”
Abdul Dost frowned. “Am I a bazaar thief, O man of the Mogul? The treasure will be given to your hands.”
“I mean
t but that none should be taken from you. Is the thing then agreed?”
“Aye,” said Khlit impatiently. “Give to us the money and an extra pony apiece. We shall ride hard.”
“Verily,” assented the ameer, smiling again. “You are brave men.” He drew a rolled sheet of parchment from the breast of his tunic and glanced at the seal which had been affixed with his ring.
Abdul Dost started. The letter, if it was such, was blank. Seeing his surprise Taleb Khan nodded reassuringly.
“My watchman is not a scholar. He cannot read. But the seal and the message—that Taleb Khan waits at Pawundur for the wealth that is his—will be sufficient. Eh, if a letter were stolen from you, and the thieves could read, would they not then proceed to Ghar and despoil the tower?”
He spoke idly and Khlit wondered how much of truth was in the words. Evidently the ameer had little fear that his treasure would be wrested by other hands from its abiding place.
“These thieves,” he said gruffly, “the dogs know of the treasure. Or they would not have slain the other messengers.” “They suspect,” admitted Taleb Khan. “But they know not. Likewise, they have a fear of the watchman of Ghar. But you will be safe.” There was unmistakable earnestness now in his
modulated voice. “Ride swiftly, as you plan,” he added. “Mingle not with others, no matter who.”
Abdul Dost nodded, taking the missive and securing it in his girdle.
“Take the trail by the Jumna, on the return journey. It is best, if you can, to hire a boat on the river. But make sure that no others are on the boat. Going up the valley you must ride, but when you turn your faces hither the current of the river will bear your boat.”
When they had gone he leaned back upon the cushions, frowning in thought. Once he made as if to call them back; then he changed his mind, snuggling his plump shoulders among the cushions after the manner of a cat. But clearly Taleb Khan was not altogether at ease.
