Over sharp rocks and treacherous tufts of hulfa grass, through pebbly ravines and soft sand, into which the horses’ hoofs sank deeply at every step, we spurred onward. Zoraida, the beauteous Bringer of Victory, led us to the attack, and of that host none were afraid. From four directions the pirates of the plains were advancing on the City of the Ahír, and all were enthusiastic and confident except myself.
What, I wondered, would be the outcome of this carefully-planned attack on the great Fáda? For Zoraida’s safety I trembled. What her fate would be should she chance to fall into the hands of the brutal janissaries, I feared to contemplate. However, though no word was exchanged between us, I was determined to fight by her side, to protect her from her enemies, and dash with this horde of thieves onward to the city in which my one hope was centred.
The Arab had spoken the truth. We had the moon with us, and cared naught for the stars. Zoraida was our light, and we were following her, stout-hearted and strong-armed, prepared to plunder, to murder, to deal death and to spread desolation at every step.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
Hadj Absalam’s Decree.
The attack delivered during the moonlit hours was sharp, decisive, and, being unexpected, was at first little short of a massacre. Yelling with wild, fiendish delight, my companions, Zoraida at their head, swept onward through the gate of Agadez up to the great, gloomy portals of the Fáda, ruthlessly shooting down those who attempted to bar their passage, and engaging in desperate mortal combat with the armed guards, who offered stubborn resistance.
Our success, however, was brief, for our reinforcements had unfortunately not reached us. Recovering quickly from the first shock, the alarm was at once sounded throughout the city. All those capable of bearing arms united to repel us, and as the janissaries in strong bodies poured forth from the Palace gate, the fray soon became fierce and bloody. The Ennitra struggled with desperate courage begotten by the knowledge that they were surrounded by hundreds of the defenders, who would slaughter them and torture those who fell into their hands as prisoners. Knowing not a man would survive if they were defeated, they fought on, madly reckless in their insatiable desire for blood, as with their keen knives they dealt deathblows at those who were defending the gateway, being in turn slashed and maimed by the keen scimitars of the janissaries, until the roads ran with blood, and our horses leaped and stumbled over piles of dead and wounded.
The fight was desperate; the carnage horrible.