4 African Mysteries: Zoraida, The Great White Queen, The Eye of Istar & The Veiled Man (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux

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СКАЧАТЬ revealing the fact that he wore two similar garments, one over the other, and a second later he produced a yellow turban, similar to the one he himself was wearing.

      “Trust in me, O my friend,” he whispered. “Assume this disguise, and follow me.”

      I dressed quickly, and, arranging the turban upon my head, we were about to leave when, pointing to the long dagger upon the bench, he said in an ominous undertone, “Take that with thee. Peradventure thou mayest want it.”

      Snatching it up, I placed it in my sash, and quickly we went forth together.

      “Remember thou art no longer a slave,” he whispered.

      “Have no fear, but bear boldly thy part as one of the Fadáwa-n-serki.”

      Without any attempt at concealment, we walked onward together in the brilliant moonlight to the gate leading to the Court of the Janissaries, whereat stood two great negroes, their naked swords gleaming in the white moonbeams. Holding my breath, I scarce dared to gaze upon them, but, after an inquiring glance at us, they pushed open the heavy gate, ceremoniously allowing us to pass into the first vestibule. Again we passed the second gate unchallenged, and then the third, finding ourselves in the great court of the guardians of the Fáda. Some of the brightly-attired soldiers of the Sultan were squatting under the spacious arches, smoking keef, amusing themselves with damma, or taking coffee, while others strolled about in pairs gossiping. The presence of the Fadáwa-n-serki was nothing unusual, therefore we attracted no notice as in silence we crossed the court to the great dark portals, beyond which, again unchallenged, we passed, gaining a smaller court, where a fountain plashed with cool refreshing sound into a basin of carved porphyry. Through this region of the Fáda we went without inquiry being addressed to us, and, judging from the obsequious manner of the guards, I felt convinced that my unknown friend was some high official whom janissaries dared not question.

      Another court was passed, and as I was wondering who my rescuer might be, we came to the great outer gate, which, next to the gate of the harem, was the most carefully guarded entrance in the whole of the Fáda. As we approached, the chief of the guards, a Soudanese of great height and muscular development, loudly demanded our business.

      My heart gave a leap, and again I held my breath. The result of this interview would, I knew, decide my fate. If it were discovered that I, a slave purchased by Hámed’s gold, was endeavouring to escape, a sudden and violent death was the punishment I must expect.

      “Art thine eyes so dimmed as not to recognise ’Abd e Rahman, cadi of Egemmén, and Hadj Beshir, sheikh of the Kel-Ikóhanén? Open thy gate quickly and let us pass. We have no time to bandy words, for we are on an urgent mission for our new lord the Sultan ’Abd-el-Kerim.”

      The black giant, either recognising my companion, or becoming impressed by the importance of our rapid departure, bowed ceremoniously, and shouted to his men to unbar the door in the great dark arch. In the deep shadow six janissaries were drawn up on either side, armed with long curved swords, and as we stood in the full, bright moonlight, they could easily see our faces distinctly, though they themselves remained hidden. Chains clanked, and slowly the heavy door that never opened after sunset grated upon its hinges; then, having given peace to the chief of the guard, we were about to pass out into the city, when suddenly one of the soldiers cried —

      “Hold! That man is a false cadi! He is the fierce pirate of the Desert known as Hámma, and is a terror to our people along the shores of the Tsâd! The other I recognise as a slave of the eunuchs!”

      The words caused the greatest sensation among his companions. For a moment they remained dumbfounded at our audacity.

      “Seize them!” cried the chief gate-keeper, rushing forward excitedly. Next second a dozen scimitars were playing around us, but ere we could be secured my mysterious companion had drawn his formidable knife from its sheath, and with a dexterous blow had sent the first man who laid a hand upon him reeling back, stabbed through the heart.

      In an instant I drew the dagger I had brought with me, and as I did so, closed with a big negro who endeavoured to hold me. I fought for life, and the struggle was short and desperate. Having gained the outer gate, I was determined to escape, and I defended myself with greater strength than I had imagined I possessed. As the negro wrestled with me, clasping me in his iron embrace in an endeavour to throw me to the ground, we swayed backwards and forwards, both exerting every muscle to gain the mastery. Suddenly I felt my strength failing, for the pain caused by his grasp was excruciating, but with a quick movement I managed to wrench my right arm free, and with my dagger struck him a blow in the throat which caused him to release his hold. Then, staggering, he fell back mortally wounded.

      With a spring like that of a leopard, another negro pounced upon me, while a second seized me by the shoulder. It was a critical moment. Capture I knew meant death, and as I turned in struggling with my latest assailants, I saw my companion struck a coward blow by a scimitar from behind. He fell like a log, and, judging from the terrible wound inflicted on his skull, death must have been instantaneous.

      His fate filled me with a strength that was almost demoniacal, for while the others assembled round the prostrate bodies of the false cadi and the man he had killed, I fought desperately, determined to struggle on till the last. My knife, wet with the blood of the first janissary who had attacked me, was still in my hand, and, feeling myself being overpowered by the fierce black-faced brutes, I dealt one a blow in the side which caused him to spring away, and as he did so, I again brought the keen blade full across the other’s face, inflicting a frightful gash. Shrieking with rage and pain, he released me, clapping both hands to his ebon countenance.

      A moment later I dashed headlong into the darkness, followed at full speed by half a dozen enraged and howling janissaries who, waving their scimitars, cried: “Kill the slave! Let him not escape! Kill him! Kill him!”

      Chapter Twenty Eight

       On the Pinnacle of Al Arâf

       Table of Contents

      It was a mad dash for liberty. Ignorant of where my footsteps would lead me, I sped swiftly onward across a great open space, which I afterwards learnt was called the Katshíu, past the Mesállaje, or Great Mosque, with its high square minaret, and running beside the walls of several spacious whitewashed buildings, evidently the residences of wealthier merchants, I turned the first corner I came to, and, passing a stagnant pool, found myself in a maze of squalid, narrow, ill-built streets, which, though bearing marks of former grandeur, were unpaved and filthy. The houses, mostly of one storey, were mean, flat-roofed, and half in decay, and as I wound my way through the unlighted, crooked thoroughfares, I could still hear the hurrying footsteps and shrill cries of the palace guards, who, eager for revenge, were determined that I should not escape them.

      Panting, well knowing that a halt meant death by torture, I ran forward until I found myself in the Erárar-n-Zákan, or Camel Market, a small square with the usual arched arcade running along one side. Then, the angry shouts of the janissaries sounding on my ears, I resolved upon a desperate expedient, namely, to dash along a street which led back in the direction I had come, and so return towards the Mosque. Even in my desperation I was determined to seek the holy man and deliver Zoraida’s letter which for so many months had reposed in the little leathern charm-case suspended round my neck; but as I rushed headlong across a deserted market-place and emerged into an open space, I noticed a youthful Arab horseman mounted and leading a horse saddled but riderless.

      My СКАЧАТЬ