ON, TO THE GOLDEN CITY!
The Spartan simplicity of the proceedings impressed the Master far more than any Oriental ceremony could have done. Here was the Olema, or high priest and chief, of a huge city carved of virgin gold, coming to meet him on horseback and speaking to him face to face, like a man.
It was archaic, patriarchal, dramatic in the extreme. No incensed courts, massed audiences, tapestried walls, trumpeting heralds, genuflexions, could have conveyed half the sense of free, virile power that this old Bara Miyan gave as he stood there on the close turf, under the ardent sun, and with a wave of his slim hand gave the order:
"The magic! To the testing of the magic!"
Thoroughly well pleased with progress thus far, the Master turned back to give final instructions to his men and to examine the apparatus. This was in perfect condition, all grouped with controls centered in one switchboard and focussing-apparatus so that Brodeur, in charge, could instantly execute any command.
Bara Miyan, clapping his hands again, summoned three horsemen who dismounted and came to him. By the emerald color of their head-fillets and jackets, as well as by their tonsure, the Master recognized them as mystics of the class known as Sufis.
That he was about to face a redoubtable test could not be doubted. Long experience with Orientals had taught him the profundity of their legerdemain, practically none of which ever has been fathomed by white men. The Master realized that all his powers might be tried to the utmost to match and overcome the demonstration of the Jannati Shahr folk.
While Bara Miyan stood talking to the three Sufis, the Master was in a low voice instructing his own men.
"Everything now depends on the outcome of the approaching contest," said he. "These people, irrespective of what we show them, will probably evince no surprise. If we allow any sign or word of astonishment to escape us, no matter what they do, they will consider us beaten and we shall lose all. There must be no indication of surprise, among you. Remain impassive, at all costs!" He turned to Brodeur, and in French warned him:
"Remember the signals, now. One mistake on your part may cost my life—more than that, the lives of all the Legion. Remember!"
"Count on me, my Captain!" affirmed Brodeur. The masked woman, coming to the Master's side, said also in French:
"I have one favor to ask of you!"
"Well, what?"
"Your life is worth everything, now. Mine, nothing. Let me subject myself—"
He waved her away, and making no answer, turned to the Olema.
"Hast thou, O Bara Miyan," he asked in a steady voice, "a swordsman who can with one blow split a man from crown to jaw?"
"Thou speakest to such a one, White Sheik!"
"Take, then, a simitar of the keenest, and cut me down!"
The old man turned, took from the hand of a horseman a long, curved blade of razor-keenness and with a heavy back. The Master glanced significantly at Brodeur, who knelt by the switchboard with one steady hand on a brass lever, the other on the control of a complex ray-focussing device.
Toward Bara Miyan the Master advanced across the turf. He came close.
For a moment the two men eyed each other silently.
"Strike, son of the Prophet!" cried the Master.
Up whirled the Olema's blade, flickering in the sun. The metallic click of the brass switch synchronized with that sweep; Brodeur shifted the reflector by the fraction of a degree.
Bara Miyan's arm grew rigid, quivered a second, then dropped inert. From his paralyzed hand the simitar fell to the grass. Brodeur threw off the ray; and the Master, unsmiling, stooped, picked up the blade and with a salaam handed it back, hilt-first, to the old man.
Only with his left hand could Bara Miyan accept it. He spoke no word, neither did any murmur run through the massed horsemen. But the shadow of a deep astonishment could not quite veil itself in the profound caverns of the old man's eyes.
"Strike again, Bara Miyan," invited the Master. "The other arm, perhaps, may not have lost its cunning!"
The Olema shook his head.
"No, by Allah!" he replied. "I know thy magic can numb the flesh, and it is a good magic. It is strong. But by the rising of the stars—and that is a great oath—the bullets of our long rifles can pierce thine unbelieving body!"
"Then bring six of thy best riflemen and station them a dozen paces from me," the Master challenged. "Let them look well to their cartridges. It is not I who load the guns with bullets made of soft black-lead, as the Effendi Robert-Houdin did long ago to the confusion of the Marabouts in Algeria. No, let thy men load their own rifles. But," and his voice grew mocking, "let their aim be good. Death is nothing, O Bara Miyan, but clumsy shooting means much pain."
His tone galled the aged Sheik, despite that impassive exterior. Bara Miyan beckoned, and with a command brought six riflemen from their horses.
"Load well, and shoot me this Frank!" exclaimed the Olema. A fire was burning in his eyes.
"Aywa!" (Even so!) replied one of the riflemen. "Allah will make it easy for us!"
"Have no fear, Bara Miyan," another said. "Not so easily shall El Kisa (the People of the Garment) be overcome by the Feringi!"
Tension held Arabs and Legionaries, alike. All remained calm, though had you watched "Captain Alden," you would have seen her fingers twisting together till the blood almost started through the skin.
The Master walked a few paces, turned and faced the squad.
"Ready, men of Jannati Shahr?" asked he, with a smile.
"We are ready, Unbeliever!"
"Then fire!"
Up came the rifles. Brodeur turned a knurled disk, and from one of the boxes on the grass a sudden, whining hum arose, like millions of angry hornets.
"Fire!" repeated the Master.
Six rifle-hammers fell with dull clicks. Nothing more.
The Master smiled in mockery.
"O Bara Miyan," said he, "let thy men reload and fire again! Perhaps the sweat of a great anxiety hath wet their powder!"
"Thou must indeed be Khalil Allah" (a friend of Allah), he admitted. "No doubt thou art a great caïd in thy own country. It is strong magic, Frank. But now behold what mine imams can do!"
The riflemen, disgruntled but still, Arab-like, holding their impassivity, returned to their horses and mounted again. At another call of Bara Miyan, three imams came from among the horsemen. They were dressed alike, in brilliant saffron gandouras, with embroidered muslin turbans from under which hung daliks, or sacred plaits of hair; and each carried a plain white cloth in his hand.
In complete silence they showed the Legionaries both sides of these cloths, then spread them on the grass. In not more than two minutes, a slight fluttering became visible. This increased and grew more agitated. One by one, the imams gathered up the cloths, opened them and exhibited three bluish-black birds with vivid scarlet crests.
The Master nodded.
"It is an old trick," said he, indifferently. "I have seen hawks, much larger, come from under smaller cloths even in the great suk (market-place) at Cairo."
Bara Miyan made no answer. The imams drew knives from their belts of plaited goat-hide, and without more ado severed the birds' heads.
This the Legionaries saw with perfect distinctness. The blood on the feathers was entirely visible. The bodies quivered. Calmly the imams, with reddened hands, now cut wings and legs from the bodies. They laid these dead fragments on the blood-stained cloths in front of them.
"Let every Frank behold!" exclaimed the Olema. The Legionaries drew near. The imams gathered up the fragments in the cloths.
"Now," said the Master, "thine imams will toss these cloths in the air, and three whole birds will fly away. The cloths will fall to earth, white as snow. Is that not thy magic?"
Bara Miyan glowered at him with evil eyes. Not yet had his self-control been lost; but this mocking of the unbeliever had kindled wrath. The Master, however, wise in the psychology of the Arab, only laughed.
"This is very old magic," said he. "It is told of in the second chapter of Al Koran, entitled 'The Cow;' only when Ibrahim did this magic he used four birds. Well, Bara Miyan, command thine imams to do this ancient magic!"
The sharp click of a switch on the control-board sounded as the imams picked up the little, red-dripping bundles. Silently they threw these into the air and—all three dropped back to earth again, just as they had risen.
A growl burst, involuntarily, from the Olema's corded throat. The growl echoed through the massed horsemen. Bara Miyan's hand went to the butt of his pistol, half glimpsed under his jacket. That hand fell, numb.
"Look, O Sheik!" exclaimed the Master, pointing. The Olema turned; and there on the highest minaret of gold, the green flag had begun smoldering. As Brodeur adjusted his ray-focusser, the banner of the Prophet burst into bright flame, and went up in a puff of fire.
Only by setting teeth into his lip could the Sheik repress a cry. Dark of face, he turned to the Master. Smiling, the Master asked:
"Perhaps now, O Bara Miyan, thou wouldst ask thine imams to plant a date-stone, and make it in a few minutes bear fruit, even as the Prophet himself did? Try, if thou hast better fortune than with the birds! But have care not to be led into committing sin, as with these birds—for remember, thou hast shed blood and life hath not returned again, and El Barr is sacred from the shedding of blood!"
His tone was well calculated to make the lesson sink well to the
Olema's heart—a valuable lesson for the Legion's welfare. But the
Olema only replied:
"The blood of believers is meant. Not of animals—or Franks!"
"And wilt thou make further trial with me?" demanded the Master.
"No, by the Prophet! It is enough!" The Master's soul warmed toward the honesty of this bluff old Arab. "Thy magic is good magic. Give me thy salt, Frank, and take mine!"
The Master signaled to Brodeur as he drew forth his bag of salt. He stretched it out in his open palm; and all at once, bag, hand, and arm up to the elbow enveloped themselves in a whirling mist and vanished from sight, even as the Master's whole body had vanished in the cabin when Leclair had tried to arrest him.
The Sheik's eyes grew white-rimmed with astonishment. Vaguely he groped for the Frank's hand, then let his own fall limp.
"Allahu akbar!" he gasped.
The Master nodded at Brodeur. The droning of the apparatus ceased, and again the hand became visible.
"Faith!" the major's voice was heard. "We've landed half a dozen home runs, and they've never even got to second!"
"Come, O Bara Miyan!" the Master smiled. "Now we will put away the things of magic, and talk the words of men. Here is my salt!"
The Sheik gingerly accepted a pinch, and with much misgiving put it into his mouth. He produced salt of his own, which the Master tasted.
"It is done," said the Master. "Now thou and I are akhawat. Nahnu malihin." (We have eaten salt.)
"But only from this mid-day till noon of the morrow," the Olema qualified the bond.
"Even so! Remember, though, that the salt is now in the stomachs of all thy people, both here and in the city, as it is in the stomachs of all my men!"
"I will remember."
"And now, O Bara Miyan, I will show thee the very great gifts that I have brought thee!"
The Olema nodded, in silence. A great dejection held him and his men. The Master dispatched half a dozen men for the Myzab and the Black Stone, also for three sticks of a new explosive he had developed on the run from the Sahara. This explosive, he calculated, was 2.75 times more powerful than TNT.
"Men," said he to the remaining Legionaries, "be ready now for anything. If they show fight, when they realize we have touched the sacred things of Islam, let them have it to the limit. If the salt holds them, observe the strictest propriety.
"Some of us may go into the city. Let no man have any traffic with wine or women. If we commit no blunder, in less than twenty-four hours we shall be far away, each of us many times a millionaire. Watch your step!"
The six men returned, carrying the blanket that contained the sacred things. At the Master's command, they laid the heavy bundle on the grass before the Olema and his beaten men.
"Behold!" cried the Master. "Gifts without price or calculation! Holy gifts rescued from unworthy hands, to be delivered into the hands of True Believers!"
And with swift gestures he flung back the enveloping folds of the
blanket, as if only he, the Master, could do this thing. Then, as the
Myzab and the Stone appeared, he drew from his pocket the Great Pearl
Star, and laid that also on the cloth, crying in a loud voice:
"O, Bara Miyan, and people of Jannati Shahr, behold!"
An hour from that time, the Master and seventeen of the Legionaries were on their way to the City of Gold.
The stupefaction of the Arabs, their prostrations, cries, prayers would delay us far too long, in the telling. But the Oath of the Salt had held; and now reward seemed very near.
There could be no doubt, the Master reflected as he and his men galloped on the horses that had been assigned to them, with the white-robed and now silent horde, that the reward—in the form of exchange gifts—would be practically anything the Legionaries might ask and be able to carry away.
Treachery was now not greatly to be feared. Even had the salt not held, fear of the explosive would restrain any hostile move. One stick of the new compound, exploded at a safe distance by wireless spark, had utterly demolished the stone which had been brought from the watercourse.
The plain statement given Bara Miyan that the Myzab and the Black Stone must be left on the grass until the Feringi had again flown away toward their own country, had duly impressed the Arabs. They had seen two sticks of the explosive laid on the holy objects, and well had understood that any treachery would result in the annihilation of the most sacred objects of their faith.
The Master felt, as well he might, that he absolutely held the whip hand of the Jannati Shahr people. Elation shone in his face and in the faces of all. The problem now had simplified itself to just this: What weight of jewels and of gold could Nissr, by jettisoning every dispensable thing, whatsoever, carry out of El Barr, over the Iron Mountains and the Arabian Desert, back to the civilization that would surely make peace with the Legion which would bring such incalculable wealth?
Even the Master's level head swam a little, and his cool nerves tingled, as he sat on his galloping white horse, riding beside the Olema, with the thunder of the rushing squadrons—Arabs and his own men—like music of vast power in his ears.
He did not, however, lose the coldly analytic faculty that weighed all contingencies. The adventure still was critical; but the scales of success seemed lowering in favor of the Legion. The feel, in his breast pocket, of the leather sack containing Kaukab el Durri, which he had again taken possession of after the magic tests, gave added encouragement. This, the third gift, was to be delivered only at the last moment, just before Nissr should roar aloft.
"I think," reflected the Master, "the Pearl Star is an important factor. It certainly will put the final seal of success on this extraordinary bargain."
While his thoughts were busy with the pros and cons of the soul-shaking adventure now coming to its climax, his eyes were busy with the city wall and towers every moment closer, closer still.
The Master's knowledge of geology gave him the key to the otherwise inexplicable character of Jannati Shahr. This gold, in incredible masses, had not been mined and brought hither to be fashioned into a great city.
Quite the contrary, it formed part of the cliffs and black mountains themselves. Some stupendous volcanic upheaval of the remote past had cleft the mountain wall, and had extruded through the "fault" a huge "dyke" of virgin metal—to use technical terms. This golden dyke, two and a half to three miles wide and of undeterminable length and depth, had merely been formed by strong, cunning hands into walls, battlements, houses, mosques, and minarets.
It had been carved out in situ, the soft metal being fashioned with elaborate skill and long patience. Jannati Shahr seemed, on a larger scale and a vastly more magnificent plan, something like the hidden rock-city of Petra in the mountains of Edom—a city wholly carved by the Edomites out of the solid granite, without a single stone having been laid in mortar.
Wonderful beyond all words as the early afternoon sun gleamed from its broad-flung golden terraces and mighty walls—whereon uncounted thousands of white figures had massed themselves—the "Very Heavenly City" widened to the Legionaries' gaze.
On, up the last slope of the grassy plain the rushing horsemen bore. Into a broad, paved way they thundered, and so up, on, toward the great gate of virgin gold now waiting to receive them.