The Earth Is the Lord's

by Caldwell, Taylor;

  The utmost confusion immediately prevailed. The camp was thrown into panic. Warriors rushed about, as though blind, snatching at the panic-stricken horses that lunged past them. The woman gathered together, and filled the night with their screams and lamentations. Men and beasts plunged through the campfires, scattering red sparks and blazing embers. The officers tried to restore order, to bring the ranks together, buckling on the belts they had loosened at the feast, and kicking savagely about them at the distraught warriors. In the meantime, Temujin’s khans ran among them, taking advantage of the noise and disorder to use their swords deftly, darting away, from one murder to another. Some of them, however, actually paused to snatch up a silver plate or a cup, and conceal it skillfully under their clothes. Horses, riderless, flung themselves up against the moon, careering around in circles, while their owners impotently snatched at the bridles.

  Toghrul Khan, overcome with terror, rushed into his luxurious yurt, and tried to burrow under the bodies of two girls who had taken refuge there. And thus, Temujin was to find him within a few moments.

  In the meantime, the Karait, disordered and dispersed though they were, were brave and resolute. The Mongols roared into the camp like an irresistible wave, slashing about them indiscriminately with their curved sabers, racing about through the aisles of the yurts on their fleet and dexterous horses, avenging shadows with the terrible faces of exalted madmen. They left behind them paths strewn with dead. Unprepared, the Karait tried to hold them back, without avail. The groans and shrieks of the wounded and dying added to the indescribable confusion. Men huddled over their bleeding vitals, trying to stem the blood. The moon looked down at the black and writhing disorder, at the flight and the panic, at the slaughtering Mongols racing back and forth on their horses. Some of the Karait tried to escape, struggling to climb up the slope of land. But every man was pursued and cut down ruthlessly, his sword flung from his hand.

  In an incredibly short space of time the Karait were completely demoralized. But still the slaughter went on until every man was dead, and the broad white plain was strewn with the heaps of the dead, including men and horses.

  Temujin finally sprang down from his horse. His khans gathered about him, laughing and blood-covered. He congratulated them, slapping them on their backs and shoulders. In the meantime, the wailing and weeping of the terrified girls filled the air.

  “Ye have done well,” said Temujin, his green eyes and wolfish teeth flashing in the moonlight. “I have lost barely one quarter of my warriors. But I could not have done this without your help.”

  Subodai rode up, with Chepe Noyon, and informed Temujin that the Karait had been completely annihilated. Temujin nodded; he wiped his blood-wet sword on the side of his boots. Then he frowned.

  “Silence those women,” he ordered. He glanced about him. “But where is my foster father, and his son?”

  Every one clamored that the old Karait had disappeared, and that his son was dead. Temujin stamped his foot savagely.

  “I must have him. I must deal with him myself. If any of ye have killed him, I shall inflict the direst punishment upon him. For I have ordered before that none must have him but myself.”

  They began to search among the dead, flinging aside arms and cloaks, to stare at the white fixed faces. Then Temujin’s eye fell on the tent hung with cloth-of-gold, and he strode towards it. He thrust his head through the flap.

  He saw a most ludicrous sight. Three girls were sitting on the prone body of the old prince, striving to hide him with their legs and their hair. They looked at Temujin with the wild distended eyes of hunted animals, and kept up a constant thin moaning, wringing their hands, and loudly bewailing the death of their lord.

  Temujin burst into loud laughter, and the others came running, their hands full of loot. Temujin pointed at the girls, not able to speak for laughter. Then he flung them aside as though they were dogs, and kicked them in the rumps as they fell, sprawling. He seized Toghrul Khan by the nape of the neck, and dragged him out into the moonlight.

  The old man was beside himself with terror. He fell on his knees and clasped Temujin about the knees.

  “I abjure thee to spare thine old father, my son!” he wailed. “I abjure thee to remember thine oath of fealty! Do not kill me. I am old, and my years are many. The days before me are few, and my sorrows are as thick as flies. If ever thou didst love me, spare me, and send me hence.”

  Temujin looked about him at his officers and men, and grinned.

  “Listen closely to the bleatings of this old goat! Yesterday, he trumpeted in triumph, and was full of boastfulness and threats against me! Today he doth grovel at my feet, imploring me to spare his goathood, and to send him back to his ewes!”

  The others shouted with raucous laughter. Temujin bent over the whimpering old man and struck him across the face. Toghrul Khan fell flat on his face, and lay there, writhing humbly and imploringly, filled with the terror of death. He tried to kiss Temujin’s feet, uttering, meanwhile, thin sobbing bleats. Temujin watched him, smiling broadly, his face black and evil.

  “I have heard the story,” he said. “I have heard that thou didst send thy son, Taliph, unto mine anda, Jamuga, and there did seduce him and make him a traitor. For this treachery he died. But now, I shall avenge him.”

  He seized the old man once more by the neck, and dragged him to his feet, and literally let him hang from his hand as a boy would hold a rabbit. He hung grotesquely, his feet, in their boots of glimmering gold, pointing downwards, limply. But he looked at Temujin cravenly, his hands folded together in mute and shameful pleading. His attitude, his look, excited renewed laughter among the Mongols.

  Temujin, playing with him, swung him to and fro, as though he were a mere bag of clothes. Slobber dripped from the old man’s blubbering lips; his eyes rolled up. “Spare me! Spare me!” he whimpered. “Jesus! Allah!”

  Then, holding Toghrul Khan a little distance from him, Temujin deliberately thrust him through the body with his sword. He plunged the weapon again and again through the cringing belly of the old man, until he was dead, and Temujin dropped the sword, black and wet with blood in the moonlight. Then he flung the body from him and kicked it in the face.

  “I have been avenged,” he said. But he no longer saw Toghrul Khan. He saw Jamuga and Azara.

  The looting went on, systematically. Just as dawn came up, the Mongols turned homeward, their loot on their saddles, and the dancing girls, weeping, riding behind them.

  When Taliph heard the news, he fled to his father’s new house behind the Wall.

  Chapter 25

  It was in the year of the Leopard that Temujin defeated Toghrul Khan, and murdered him, thus, as he thought, avenging both Azara and Jamuga.

  But the battle was not yet won.

  Now he set out, with unrelenting ferocity, savagery and speed, to subjugate the rest of the Karait. Never allowing them to rest, he pursued them to their very stronghold, the city in the desert, Karakorum, or the Black Sands. The Karait were resolute fighters, and contemptuous of the nomad “beggar,” but all their resolution and contempt could not withstand the lightning assaults, the almost supernatural tirelessness of the enemy. And now it happened that it needed only the word that the red-haired Mongol was approaching, with his Raging Torrents, his Terrible Riders, to throw panic among the proud Karait. For it was said that spirits rode with him, and none could oppose him, that his warriors, cut down, rose again, unwounded. More than his hordes and vicious fighters, superstition and terror defeated his enemies. Among the Moslem Karait, it was said that God had unloosed a scourge, which could not be held at bay, could not be defeated.

  The priests in the mosques cried out: “We have sinned, and forgotten God and His prophet! And so He is punishing us, sending an invincible Terror to destroy us, and none can withstand it!”

  The Christian priests exclaimed: “This is the prophecy of the unloosing of Satan, and the end of the world! Against the whip of the Lord, every man is powerless.”<
br />
  The frightful hordes rode like lightning, preceded by a ghostly army, armed with supernaturalism. It was said that Temujin was everywhere. He was striking at the unconquered Merkit and Karait and Uighur and Naiman, in a hundred different places at the identical time, hundreds of miles apart. It was whispered that he rode on the whirlwind. Complete frenzy and demoralization flew over the Gobi. At the last, it was not the hordes of Temujin that defeated the enemy. It was his very name, terrible and mystic.

  Men may struggle against a human foe, said the terrified whisper, but how can men oppose the will of God?

  One by one, the tribes fell and surrendered, expecting annihilation. But Temujin again displayed his great wisdom. As each tribe surrendered, he said to them: “Ye are heroes, for ye have fought like demons, like faithful men. I need you. Come unto me, and enter my nation, and serve me. Once, the Yakka Mongols were a tribe. Now we are a nation, and ye may be part of it, sharing in our glory and our triumphs, riding, invincible with us, before the shadow of God.”

  Hypnotized by his power, his strength, his generosity, his very appearance, not a tribe refused to join him. And they joined him wholeheartedly, caught up by the mysterious spell, willing to die for him, fixing their eyes upon him as men fix their eyes upon an altar. The murderer of the steppes seemed, indeed, imbued with the lightning of the heavens. Eventually, other tribes laid down their arms without a single blow given or received, and crowded about the standard of the nine yak tails.

  Again, in these days of overwhelming triumph, Temujin showed his wisdom. For he set over each conquered people a ruler picked from among themselves, whom they trusted, and whom he could trust. Thus, reconciled and stabilized, he could leave each conquered tribe, and launch himself into new struggles and new conquests. With each victory, his strength increased. He never rested. He told his paladins: “The success of an action lies in completing it, and consolidating it. Never leave a position until you are certain that it is yours forever.”

  Town after town fell, often without an attempt at resistance. When this happened, his warriors could pick from the loot, but were not allowed to molest the inhabitants, nor strip them completely. First, above everything else, he needed allegiance. By his generosity, he turned terrified enemies into passionate friends.

  Within three years, his hordes conquered the valleys and towns of the Western Turks, the towns and pasturage and lands and rivers of the Taijiut, the Naiman, the Uighur and the Merkit. Down the writhing flank of the Great Wall of Cathay, his mounted warriors rode, and along the sides of the low bleached mountain of the north, driving like living battering-rams through the old towns of Khoten and Bishbalik, galloping like the whirlwind, leaving complete subjugation and demoralization behind them, setting up their standard in the palaces of sultans and princes, and leaving their banners in mosques and temples and churches.

  Adoring tales were told of his green eyes and his red hair, his blazing smile and his generosity, his courage and his invincibility. Subtle as always, he first made rulers and priests his vassals and friends, and left the rest to them.

  He knew that strength lay in men and superstition and terror. He tried to win allegiance with promises, which were always kept. If these failed, he had no mercy. Every man was hunted down and killed, the women enslaved, the children adopted by the Mongol women, and the pastures and towns turned over to alien owners.

  Mysteriously, he seemed to know the right thing to do, and never made a mistake. Thus, the tales of his supernatural power became stronger, and often, he had only to ride towards a site or a city to have its rulers come forth, offering surrender and allegiance.

  No longer were mere hordes added to his empire. Rich men, merchants and traders, nobles and lords, surrendered to him, and even philosophers and teachers from the academies joined him with idolatry. Wisdom seemed no shield against his might. Those who had taught the dignity of men, and the learning of the ages, were often the first to drivel of “the hand of God, and the glory of Temujin.” Now, to his entourage, he added learned men, scholars and savants, astrologers and scientists and physicians, who rode with him in litters, and sat with him about the council fires. Among his favorites was a physician, who was his personal attendant. Chepe Noyon and Subodai smiled to themselves, and mentioned the strange resemblance of this physician to the dead Kurelen.

  The ancient feuds of the Gobi were stamped out in the hoofprints of Temujin’s hordes. The old independence was gone, the old liberty of the nomad. The peoples of the Gobi were welded together in a feudal system where there was only one law: the will of Temujin.

  Cathayan scholars had said that liberty was dearest and nearest to the heart of all men. This was proved to be a bitter lie. For Temujin knew that above liberty, men loved a whip, above freedom, they worshipped a sword, above an elected leader, they adored a tyrant, who discounted their ability to think, and commanded instead of consulted. He knew that men voluptuously revel in complete surrender, as women secretly revel in rape. In surrender, men experienced a sensual orgasm. And as he conquered, and saw the grovelling and adoration of the people, his hatred and contempt for all mankind grew.

  He said to himself: “These are soulless beasts. If they were not, they would prefer death and endless struggle to servitude.” But this was a counsel he kept to himself. He preferred to tell the conquered that they were heroes, that he subjugated them only to add to their own strength, and set them as kings upon the earth. More and more he despised and loathed the priests, who persuaded the people to give up their liberties and their independence. Buddhist and Christian, Shaman and Muhammadan, Confucian and Taoist, he could depend upon the priests to deliver the people into his hands, bound and helpless. And so, to the end of his life, he believed that priests were the enemies of all men, and was careful to guard himself against them as against serpents.

  Now he was master of the Gobi. But he was not yet satisfied. He called a kurultai, a council of the khans, knowing that the hour had come, which would give him his most coveted honor.

  Chapter 26

  The khans came, a separate horde in themselves, coming as priests to a god. It was a tremendous gathering, that council in the Gobi.

  By this time, the Mongol horde was no loose confederacy. It had a hard nucleus of organization, its permanent central unit, which was divided into units of ten thousand, the tuman, each commanded by a Mongol officer. It was purely a military organization, in which the warrior was the first and last authority. From this organization, headed by Temujin, issued all the commands and laws of the Gobi empire. The Mongols were the lord-people, set over all other tribes and races.

  But still, among the peoples of the Gobi, custom and tradition died hard. Temujin was wise enough to know this. He wanted to be named emperor. But he knew that should he announce himself emperor, he might violate the old quarrelsome right of the khans to elect a leader themselves. He dared not violate this tradition. They must elect him, with due process.

  That gathering of the khans was the most momentous event in the history of Asia, and the most splendid. There, in the midst of the barrens, the mountains and the desert, they came, resplendent and arrogant, jubilant and proud, knowing why they had been summoned. They came like free men, displaying mighty accoutrements, attended by slaves and warriors, arrayed in silks and armor. They set up their yurts about the council fires, yurts hung with cloth-of-gold and cloth-of-silver, and filled with treasures and dancing girls. No longer were they shabby baghaturs. Temujin had made them arrogant kings, gorgeously clad, followed by retinues.

  There was a glorious feast, in the Gobi, that night. The looted treasures and luxuries of a thousand cities added to the splendor of the scene. Jewels glittered in the red light of the campfires. Women and old minstrels sang, and girls danced. And Temujin sat in the midst of them all, on his white horseskin, simply clad in a white wool coat, belted with silver, his hair the color of fire.

  The khans knew why they had been summoned; they knew what they were to do. But they pr
etended not to know. They affected to believe this was merely a feast prepared for them by the leader, in acknowledgment of their victories. They drank deeply; they laughed and shouted. They ate until they could eat no more, and then watched the dancers and listened to the singers, their dark faces shining with grease and surfeit. And servants piled high the fires, and brought fresh food and wine in silver cups and silver platters.

  Then, at midnight, there was a sudden awesome silence. The khans sat like bronze statues, clad in silks and gold, their savage faces intent and fixed. Every eye gazed steadfastly and expectantly at Temujin.

  He looked from one to the other, slowly, gathering in every glance, every thought, every soul. Then he rose. He stood among them, tall and broad, his greenish eyes shining and sparkling in the light of the fires. He began to speak, quietly and forcefully:

  “The time hath come to us when we must name an emperor, a lord of all men. Our power is great; our conquests dazzle the hearts and minds of humanity. But, we must name an emperor, who must be the supreme authority, the fountain-head of all law. For we have greater things to do, greater conquests. The world lies before us, from the sunrise to the sunset. To seize it all, there must be one lord, one guiding voice, to whom all khans must offer allegiance and obedience. We are a nation. The nation needs its emperor.”

  The khans listened, in somber silence. When Temujin had finished, and stood among them, waiting, they affected to be considering the momentous decision. They glanced about them, at their brothers, as though awaiting a name, or names. But they knew the name, had always known the name. It was part of their pride that they pretended to be in doubt.