“He is my tried and faithful servant, Ndabezita,” pleaded Haviland. “He is not the enemy of this people—indeed, very much the reverse, for who delivered him—delivered all of us—out of the hand of Mushâd?”
“Ha! Mushâd!” exclaimed the King, whom an idea seemed to strike—perhaps also a little impressed by the absolute fearlessness evinced by Haviland, and which decided him to spare Somala for the present. “Bring forward Mushâd and his other dogs.”
A ferocious murmur of delight hummed through the whole assembly. The hated slavers were about to suffer. Many willing hands dragged them forward into the presence of the King.
His iron frame wasted with exhaustion and ill-treatment, Mushâd’s spirit was still unbent.
He met the fierce scowl of the despot with a scowl every whit as savage and defiant.
“Ho! Mushâd!” cried the King, mockingly. “But a short while since thou didst swear to seize me and make a slave of me. How now? I think thou didst swear thine oath upside down.”
“God is God, and Mohammed is the Prophet of God. He shall turn the foul unbeliever into worse than a dog. It matters not who is his instrument in doing so,” answered the Arab, defiantly.
“Whau!” cried the King. “If Mohammed comes near the land of Inswani he shall taste what you are about to taste. But you—you have made slaves of certain of my people. Slaves of the people of Inswani! Hear you it, my children?”
Even our two friends, tried, intrepid adventurers as they were, could not help a sense of heart-failing as they heard the terrific roar of hate and vengeance which was hurled from every throat as these words of the King fell upon their ears: “Warriors of Inswani, slaves beneath the lash of this Arab dog!” Well, he was at their mercy at last.
“Let him taste the lash!” they roared.