Adventure Magazine Cover — page 171: what you’re looking at

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

170 Michael looked up as arrows began to fly in dense clouds from the sultan’s skirmish- ers. The front ranks of the Tatars took this punishment without cry or movement. By now the Turkish regiments of mailed horsemen could be plainly seen, moving for- ward at a trot. Then the sun glinted on ten thousand arrows loosed at the same moment by the Mongol archers who shot three times while one shaft was in the air. The clamor among the Turks shrilled with shouts of pain and anger. Horses broke from the front lines, and the curtain of dust swelled so that ,it covered the scene of the battle from view from the rear where Michael and the Cha- tagais stood with picked regiments of Iran and the Tatar steppe. 4 The roar of voices merged with a pan- demonium of clashing steel and thud of horses’ hoofs. The tumult swelled until they could no longer hear their own voices. Stationary at first, the brunt of the battle began to move onward toward the waiting masses of Tamerlane’s horse, under Mahmoud Khan and the Lame Conqueror himself—the center of the army that was between the foot-soldiers and the cavalry in reserve, where Michael was. “Bayezid’s mongrel skirmishers have been killed off,’ he mused, ‘‘and his Sipahis are at work.” Even Bembo looked a trifle downcast. He glanced at the glittering figure of Mirza Rustem seated on a black stallion near them. The grandson of pursetiowe was chewing dates. Plucking up his spirits at this sight, the jester took some fruit from his girdle and tried to follow the mirza’s example. But he gagged and coughed up the food, thereby raising a laugh from Michael and the near- est Tatars. A hot wind tossed the dust clouds high overhead and the glare of the sun pierced sullenly through the murk. “Hai—Allah—hai!’’ the deep shout of the Janisseries came to them. Mirza Rustem finished his dates and be- gan to eat dried meat that he pulled from under his saddle where the heat afid the chafing of the leather had softened the stif- fened-meat. Bembo, watching in fascina-. tion, found the sight too much for his stomach and turned to look at the masses of Tatars before them. Adventure Tamerlane, his standard and Mahmoud Khan were no longer to be seen. The red ball of the sun, high overhead when the conflict began, was lowering to the west. A leaping, furtive form passed the jester’s vision, like an incarnation of evil. One of Tamerlane’s hunting-leopards had escaped from its cage. No one:paid heed to it. Bembo began to tremble, and found that the perspiration that soaked his ‘garments was cold. The hideous din in front of him had dwindled for a space and now swelled again until it seemed to embrace the horizon. He looked for captives to be led back, but nonecame. Surely, he thought, there would be wounded Tatars running from the front, and others not wounded who had escaped the eye of their leaders. That had been a familiar sight in the orderly battles of Eu- . rope. “The Mongols fight each man for him- self,”’ grunted Michael impatiently. ‘They do not keep lines as we do; that is why Bayezid has not broken their center yet. Tamerlane’s cavalry met the charge of the Janisseries z He rose in his stirrups, looking eagerly over.the field. He could make out that the two armies were engaged from wing to wing. The Turkish half-moon was no_ longer clearly drawn and the bodies of reserve cavalry behind the half-moon had been ~ brought up into the line of battle. Unconsciously Michael had edged his horse up abreast of the stocky pony of Mirza Rustem. Now he felt an iron hand seize his bridle and draw it back. Looking into the eyes of Tamerlane’s grandson, he found them cold and spirit- less. The Breton was flushed and impatient as a hunting-dog held in leash. But there was no fire in the glance of Mirza Rustem who gazed upon the death of thirty thou- sand men with utter indifference. “Do you fight for your God?” asked the Tatar. ‘As you for your khan.” Mirza Rustem turned to glance fleetingly at where he could make out the yak-tail | standard in the black mass of the Tatar center. | “Aye,” he said slowly, “yet your God is gold, no more. A wazir spy of the sultan confessed before we beheaded him this day that a Christian had gone over tothe enemy <Sh EOmMmicbdoo (S@)