Yet her eyes belied the discouragement her lips spoke. The sultan ceased comparing her to the women of Gurjestan and Tcherkess, for she was incomparable. Even his jest and his vengeance were trifling....
The sultan disengaged himself from her perfumed embrace.
"Ismeddin is waiting."
And Schamas ad Din ascended the winding incline, smiling and stroking his curled beard.
Ismeddin in the meanwhile had led Maksoud, still bound and gagged, and his escort of black mamelukes into the courtyard.
"Father of many little pigs," murmured the darvish, "our lord the Sultan has taken offense at your last display of wretched marksmanship. And since none of his own fancies were worthy of you, he is even now taking counsel with Abaddon of the Black Hands. I expect him any moment, well advised and smiling. So be assured against anything as commonplace as being sawed asunder between two planks."
The Africans had dismounted, and were taking from their packs all manner of implements, as well as cords, flasks of oil, charcoal, and a pair of small bellows. One of them set to work kindling a fire while the other three deftly fitted together mortised and tenoned pieces of dark, heavy wood, assembling a stout frame equipped with hooks, manacles, and shackles.
"It is difficult to say what form the master's fancy will take," resumed Ismeddin, as he approvingly regarded the executioners at their work. "But surely it will not be commonplace."
He picked up a keen, two-handed sword, tested its edge and balance.