Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

68 Adventure He called for a stout staff of hard, sea- soned wood as thick as his wrist, and the smith brought him one reenforced with iron —the broken handle of a great mace. Then Robert took up the spiked knob and the chains from which his wrists had been freed and set to work grimly to fit the fetters at the ends of the chains upon the staff. The Mongols watched the making of this unwonted weapon with attentive interest. They had orders to deny the champion of the Franks no request, and the smith helped find bolts that would fit the holes in the shackles. When the work was finished, Robert had the mace-handle attached to the two chains, each about a foot long. From these chains swung the spiked knob of iron that had been his gift from Osman. ‘The warriors took turns trying to swing it around their heads, and only a few could do so, with an effort. “What is this thing?” they asked of the interpreter. Robert smiled. “Tt is the morning star.” “How is that?” He thrust the handle in the water-cask so that the wood would swell and grip tighter the iron bands. “When it falls a man dies.” The guards squatted down to watch while he slept on a pile of skins. And in whispers, not to disturb him, the Mongols discussed his stature and mighty muscles, the lines in his dark face that were deep even in slumber. They pointed to the tawny mane of yellow hair and shook their heads, for they had never seen a man like this. With equal interest they watched the morning star soaking in the water cask, certain that this was some kind of magic. B's WHEN the sun scattered the mists ra on the sandy plain, throngs of Mongol warriors moved toward the standard of Genghis Khan. They squatted down, keeping clear a space some hundred yards square in front of the pole that bore the horns and the yak-tails. A little later the chieftains of the Horde walked over from their tents, and all raised their arms as the Khan appeared in the entrance of his pavilion and mounted a pony. It was ever his custom, bred of a life of constant warfare, to be in the saddle; and he was never known to walk when a horse was at hand. After he had taken his place at the edge of the cleared ground and received the greet- ings of the palladins, Chepe Noyon rode up and dismounted. Two warriors with drawn swords forced a way through the ranks of watchers at one end of the square and halted. Robert, clad in mail from knee to throat, walked between them, bearing the new mace in his hand, and a thousand pairs of eyes fastened on it curiously. The knight swept a quick glance at the lines of silent warriors, who sat or stood where they willed, each with a spear or sword at hand—at the savage standard and the deserted wall of the city that loomed above the round tents of the Horde, and the pall of smoke that rose behind the walls and overspread the sky. He stood erect, smiling a little. For here was no fair list, fashioned for jousting, with heralds and poursuivants to tend the combatants and enforce the rules of the tournament—no minstrels to make memorable the names of the men who bore themselves well. He rested the spiked knob on the earth and turned to where a commotion at the other end of the square announced the coming of the antagonist whom he was ordered to overthrow if he would live longer. He saw a tall figure, glistening in the finest of Damascus mail, and a crested helm. The man left his guards and moved toward the knight, who noticed that he carried only a battle-ax, a heavy blade with a long haft. “Will Bunsley!” cried Robert, taking a pace forward. | It was the archer, and he was pale to the lips as he moved closer. Within easy speaking distance he paused to wipe his forehead and to lean on his ax. “Aye, Sir Robert, ’tis Will Bunsley, who will ne’er pull a bow or buss a lass again. Harkee, time lacks for parley, and so do thou listen while I gabble—as is my way. “The Demoiselle d’Ibelin rests within Abdullah’s tent. Some words the minstrel did contrive to make clear to her, as follows: Item, thou and I, my lord, must e’en stand and smite each other till one is done to death; ztem, the maid doth pray for us both, but her heart aches for thee; item, these Mokals be dour fighters—as witness yonder fair city taken in despite of sword and bow and wall—and they will be an-angered if thou dost quibble or draw back.” _He glanced with widening eyes at COMmiCOOokkS. CO