Adventure Magazine Cover — page 154: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ie é 7 e if PU RON ye The Grand Cham Bygi AS HE reached this conclusion be Michael made out the figure of a horseman at the edge of the circle of firelight. It was a Tatar and the same Tatar that Michael had captured that noon. One of the men-at-arms beheld the new- comer at the same moment and gave a startled cry. The cry was echoed by Michael’s shout. “Cast down your weapons, fools!” He knew the danger of resistance if men of the Tatar horde had surrounded them. The dozen Christians, afoot and framed against” the fire, would not be a match for half their number of mounted warriors, armed with bows. Too startled.to heed the warning, or be- lieving that Michael meant to betray them to the riders who were emerging out of the shadows, the man-at-arms who had given the alarm cast his spear at the foremost rider. Michael rose, felt the hindrance of the cords on his ankles, caught the knife from the petrified Soranzi, slashed himself free of bonds and thrust the weapon back into the merchant’s hand. Soranzi was clawing at him. “Guard me! {I will pay what you ask.” A score of horsemen rode into the firelight. The Venetian who had cast the spear was cut down by the Tatar who had dodged the missile easily. Again Michael shouted to his party: “Stand back! Sheath your swords if you do not love death. Ah, the'cattle—” as the men ran about, seeking their weapons and sending a hasty arrow or two at the riders who swept over them with a quick rush of snorting horses and a red flash of swords in the firelight. Gian ran close to the fire and wheeled, to cast a javelin at a gnome-like rider. The man went down, but a second Tatar caught the lieutenant’s sword-thrust on his small round shield and split Gian’s steel cap with a sweep of a heavy curved sword. With a clash of armor Gian fell prone. The sentry who had been standing by Michael as if paralyzed now turned to flee into the dark, crying: “The fiends of hell are loose! mercy upon our souls.” Michael reflected even as he ran toward the fire, avoiding the rush of a horseman, that men who fled from sword-strokes and God havé _ cried on God for help merited little mercy. 153 The sentry’s shout of fear turned to a moan as the Tatar who had passed Michael overtook him in the outer rocks. Soranzi had fallen to his knees and being patently unarmed—the knife had dropped from his trembling hands—was spared for the moment. Michael saw that Rudolfo had taken a stand between the fire and the tower of skulls, his sword gleaming, his thin lips writhing. A rider spurred upon the condottiere— Michael noticed that the Tatar horses seemed trained to go anywhere, even near ' flames—and a squat black body swung from the saddle. The Tatar leader leaped at Rudolfo’s head, taking the thrust of the Venetian’s sword on his shield. The weight of the flying body broke the blade like glass and the two men grappled on the ground. “My left arm for a moment’s truce!” thought Michael, turning to face the riders who were trotting up to him. The last of the men-at-arms had been struck down. “Pax. Oh verily pax! Peace, my gentle dogs. If you are men, bethink you, there has been enough of slaying; if hellions, be- gone to purgatory, I conjure you—avaunt!” With the exception of the warrior who was locked in Rudolfo’s arms the Tatars reined in and looked up with exclamations of wonder. They saw Bembo. The grotesquely striped and bedraggled figure of the fool squatted mid-way up the pyramid of skulls. His teeth were chat- tering and his long arms shot out from his body in frenzied exhortation. Bembo had seized the first vantage-point to hand. Now he gazed hopefully and im- ploringly at Michael. “Conjure the de- mons, Brother Michael; weave the spell you told us of The half-moment of quiet was what Michael sought. He lifted his empty left hand and shouted one word in Turki. “Ambassadors!” One or two of the riders looked at him in surprize. Michael had learned in Bayezid’s camp that in the Tatar country envoys to the khans or chiefs were inviolate. Ordi- narily merciless, the Tatar war-chiefs took pride in the number of emissaries from other lands that came to themewith tribute. And in several instances the Tatars kept faith better than the monarchs of Europe. They respected an envoy and Conmicelooo <Sis (E@)