Swords From the East (77 page)

"You are going away!" she cried. "You must not. If you leave Cambalu the Shadow of the Throne will say that you have taken the ruby with you."

Let him say that, Messer Marco thought, after I am gone. Brushing Alai aside, he went to the curtain, and paused as a babble of voices rose beyond it. His servants pushed in, chattering, but keeping well away from an officer with a shaven skull who wore a gold tablet at his throat. A dozen lanternbearers and swordsmen followed him. Marco recognized the Great Quieter, who was Ahmed's torturer. T'ai wei, the Cathayans called him.

"Long life," said the T'ai wei amiably. "Alas that I must intrude upon the threshold of the Lord Po-lo. Yet it is reported that a candidate concubine has been seen outside the doors of the Treasury."

Messer Marco looked over his shoulders. Hoshang had vanished-probably out upon the balcony. But Alai stood by the table, and her eyes touched his once, fearfully.

"By what authority," he asked, "do you cross my threshold?"

The T'ai wei touched the gold tablet at his throat, and his eyes were insolent. "By the order-" and he kowtowed thrice-"of the Minister Ahmed."

"I think," Messer Marco said thoughtfully, "this is the second time you have stolen into my rooms. I think you are a thief, without a single honorable characteristic."

The face of the T'ai wei darkened, and his mouth remained open.

"The first time," Marco went on, "you left something behind you."

Swiftly the shaven man glanced toward the girl, and away. Alai, watching him, her hands clenched against her sides, saw him ponder. He had been disgraced before his attendants.

"Go quietly," Marco prodded him, "and the next time bring a little courage with you."

But the shaven man sidled away quickly, his attendants following, while Marco's servants made way for them.

"Whatever you may be," Marco said to the girl, "I'll not have Ahmed take you from my house. Unless," he added, "you wish it."

Silently she shook her head. "Now I have no place to go, Lord Po-lo. And within the half of an hour Ahmed will be here with his people."

"Time enough," said Messer Marco, knotting the scarf about his hips. "You'll come with me."

He caught up a curved blade of Zipangu steel and thrust it into his girdle, blowing out the candle as he did so. Then he caught up the slender girl, and carried her out to the balcony.

As he dropped to the stones of the pavement, a shadow detached itself from the wall. Marco turned, feeling for his sword, when the shadow whispered plaintively: "What are you doing, Lord Po-lo? They are watching us."

It was old Hoshang, quite sober now. Marco could see no one else near him.

"Faith," he said, "the bold trick is best. We'll walk out of here and see who follows us."

Taking Hoshang's arm, he strode toward the courtyard entrance, Alai following with lowered head. The slaves and light-bearers at the gate merely glanced up casually at them.

Clear of the inner palace, Marco turned to the right, toward the lake where white swans floated drowsily. He had gone a bowshot when, looking back over his shoulder, he saw a lantern following, and the figures of men about it. Another light hurried up to join the first.

"Alas," Hoshang moaned, "did not the stars foretell misfortune?"

"No!" the girl cried. "There is only one place for us now. Come quickly!"

Marco saw now what Alai meant to be

[Unfortunately, the text was printed without a linking segment in 1937, and the original has been lost. Readers will have to imagine for themselves how Marco Polo arrives at this concluding scene.-Ed.]

long in his skin, nor would he, Marco Polo, live another hour, unless-

"Hai!" he shouted. "The snake has come out of his hole, and is slain."

He thrust aside the T'ai wei, who was bending over Ahmed's gleaming body. And he pulled from Ahmed's girdle the rolled paper that the T'ai wei had been fumbling for. Glancing at it, he handed it to Kublai Khan.

The old Tatar put his hand to his mouth as he read, shaking his head slowly. "What is this thing? A sealed order in my Minister's hand, giving authority to enter the threshold of the Lord Po-lo and take the girl known as Precious Pearl?"

Alai touched his feet imploringly. And then from the wall Hoshang come forward, his lined face peaceful. He knelt before the Khan.

"Will the Son of Heaven hear the words of a dishonored old man? The Minister of your empire held you under the spell of his tongue, so that you became like one asleep. No one dared give evidence against him, while he lived. He took my granddaughter into his harem by force, and after her, her mother. My son, the husband, took his own life grieving. And I have waited to take vengeance on Ahmed. Have I not a right to speak?"

"Aye," Kublai nodded.

Gratefully, Hoshang sighed. "Now is the spirit of my son at peace. Much incense have I burned that this should be."

Kublai considered his astrologer. "You threw that knife?"

Bowing his head to the old Tatar's feet, Hoshang assented. "My poor hand dispatched the great Minister. For the stars foretold that when He Who Sleeps shall awake-and who could that be but the Son of Heaven?-the Mightiest of Men shall die. And who could that be but the wretch who abused his Power?" Hoshang nodded, his eyes elated, "No one can escape his fate."

Putting his hands to the breast of his robe, he drew out something that flashed crimson fire deeper than sunset. Marco Polo bent forward, with an exclamation.

"Here," said Hoshang, "is the red precious stone of Ceylon. I took it from the counting room of that foolish young barbarian Po-lo, before it should be stolen by Ahmed."

With an exclamation of delight Kublai took it in his hands, and seated himself to stare at it, turning it this way and that, to catch the light in its heart. He chuckled like a child with a new toy.

"Let the traitor Ahmed," he said to the Tatar captain, "be cut into seven pieces, and hung above the seven gates of Cambalu as a warning to others."

Alai had drawn closer to his knee. He smiled at the candidate concubine. "Precious Pearl," he said, stroking her dark hair, "you please me. But in the future do not try to manage the affairs of my palace."

"Nay, lord of my heart," she assented happily.

So Marco Polo left them in the jade house. With Hoshang and the Tatars who were bearing the body of Ahmed the Persian cut into seven parts, he retraced his steps down the Green Mount toward the palace, which he knew he could not leave now-however homesick he might be for Venice. And he reflected that, no matter how many years he might dwell in Cathay, he would never understand its people.

"How," he asked Hoshang suddenly, "did you steal the ruby?"

"Po-lo, I told you how."

Messer Marco pondered and laughed. "Kao Hoshang, you have no sons. And if you have no sons, how could you have a granddaughter?"

Hoshang bent his head and sighed. "Alas, that is a great mystery."

"Tell me why you slew Ahmed when you did."

"A dead enemy," the old astrologer nodded, "is better than a live one."

Adventure magazine, in which many of the tales in this volume first appeared, maintained a letter column titled "The Camp-Fire." As a descriptor, "letter column" does not quite do this regular feature justice. Adventure was published two and sometimes three times a month, and as a result of this frequency and the interchange of ideas it fostered, "The Camp-Fire" was really more like an Internet bulletin board than a letter column found in today's quarterly or even monthly magazines. It featured letters from readers, editorial notes, and essays from writers. If a reader had a question or even a quibble with a story, he could write in and the odds were that the letter would not only be printed but that the story's author would draft a response.

Harold Lamb and other contributors frequently wrote lengthy letters that further explained some of the historical details which appeared in their stories. The relevant letters for this volume follow.

There were a total of 753 issues of Adventure, and no single library in the United States has a complete collection (few libraries have any copies of Adventure). With those facts in mind, perhaps you will excuse the inclusion of several additional Camp-Fire letters for which I do not have exact dates. Copies of them were passed on to me by pulp scholar Alfred Lybeck, and I have so far been unable to determine in which issues of Adventure they originally appeared, although there is no doubt in my mind as to their authenticity (due to typeface, Camp-Fire logo, comments from Adventure editor Arthur Sullivan Hoffman, Harold Lamb's distinctive writing style and knowledge base, etc.). Unlike the usual run of Lamb's letters, these were not pulled from issues containing his stories; rather, they were typed in response to reader queries. The subject of at least one of them would be considered politically incorrect today.

As with the other Bison Books editions of Lamb's work, the prefatory comments of Adventure editor Arthur Sullivan Hoffman also are printed here.

August 30, 1922: "The Road of the Giants"

Most of us aren't very wise in the history of ancient Asia-or the Asia of a few centuries ago, or even the Asia of today, so when Harold Lamb does the work of digging it out and handing it to us on a platter it tastes pretty good.

Berkeley, California

Our school histories, in fact all of our histories put together, do not give as much of an idea of Central Asia in the year 1771. It was that year and place, however, that saw the passing of the Giants.

Owing to this blank space in history-unwritten because no wellknown battle took place therein, or any court cabal, or secret confessions of any lady in waiting-the writer will try to sketch the scene a little. The great empire of Genghis Khan had been broken up five hundred years ago. The wave of nomads, the Mongols from the steppe country of Central Asia, had settled back.

So the name of the mighty conqueror, Genghis Khan, was only a legend in the land; the grim figure of the lame Timor (called Tamerlane in European histories) had held its sway among the mountains of Central Asia, and rested now in the tomb.

Other nomads, the Chagatai Mongols-called by us the Moguls-had arisen in the mountains north of Afghanistan, had ruled India, with splendor and wisdom; but their descendants of the peacock throne were only effigies who watched the incoming of the Portuguese, French, and English. Warren Hastings is mentioned in our histories.

But India itself is separated from Central Asia by the Himalayas, and only Tibet had a hand in the passing of the Giants. Tibet-as we call it; the inhabitants term it Po, and the castle-temple at Lhassa the Po-tala-was the religious center of Central Asia, a kind of transmountain pope ruling over a hierarchy of priests, with spies, disciples, and a fine system of news collection by mounted couriers. The authority of the Dalai Lama or King-Priest extended from the Chinese side of the Gobi Desert (Pekin) to the outposts of the Russian armies on the Volga, and from Lhassa to the Arctic Circle.

In other words, the Dalai Lama had made himself spiritual master of a space about as large as the United States of America. This space-steppe land in the center, deserts and mountains on three sides, the frozen tundras of Siberia (then called Russian Tartary) to the north-was still held by the nomad tribes, the Tatars. They were not, however, the united Horde of Genghis Khan, but groups of separate tribes, herdsmen, with vague traditions of former battles.

Some were under Russian rule, others-in the Gobi region-were existing under the firm but benevolent hand of Ch'ien-lung, who was emperor of China at the time of China's greatest power. Some more of the Tatar clans were imbued with Muhammadanism, or were allies of the Dalai Lama. But they were-and are to this day-independent chaps. The Torguts especially-the clan called the Giants.

The Torguts, about 162o, during the brief empire of Galdan Khan in the mountains of Central Asia (the empire touched upon in the story "The Wolf-Chaser"), refused servitude and migrated west as far as the Russian border, on the Volga. There they built villages and remained, contented enough with fighting and cattle raising.

Meanwhile the various Muscovite states were absorbed into an expanding empire under the vigorous hand of Peter the Great and, after him, Catherine. The Torguts were threatened with taxation, and with seizure of their sons by the Russians. To escape servitude, a second time, they chose to migrate to their homeland at the headwaters of the River Ili, then unoccupied. Chien-lung had extended them an invitation to do so.