Swords From the East by Harold Lamb Read Free Book Online Page B

duello!"
    Well tempered as was his long campaign blade, he could not oppose it squarely to one of the Noyon's cuts without having it break in his hands, so great was the bull-like strength of the old warrior and the weight of his huge sword, which seemed to be designed for two hands rather than one.
    Nor could Hugo step back any farther. True, a swift thrust and he could pierce the cordlike throat of the other. But the mail on the chieftain's body made impossible any disabling thrust.
    Quickly, as the Tatar lifted his weapon for a second cut, Hugo's blade darted forward and its edge touched the Noyon on the brow over his good eye. Blood ran down into the eye, but Cheke Noyon merely grunted with rage and lashed out again, blindly.
    Cleverly the tall Frenchman warded the other's weapon, before the blow had gained force. For all his strength the Tatar was a child before the master of a dozen duels who had learned the tricks of fence as a boy. Hugo's skill was the more in that he never seemed perturbed.
    His long blade flashed here and there, and the Tatar's rushes were staved off. The blood in his eye maddened Cheke Noyon. He seized the hilt of his sword in both hands, raised it above his helmet with a roar-and stared about him, dazed, with empty hands.
    Hugo had stepped forward and engaged his blade in the other's hilt. The curved weapon of the Tatar lay a dozen feet away on the ground.
    "Hai!"
    A yell burst from the onlookers.
    Cheke Noyon peered at his foe. Then, shaking his brow clear of blood, he caught up his weapon, tossed it in air, snatched it in his left hand, and struck as a wolf leaps.
    But the gray eyes of the other had followed his movement, and the blow was parried. There came a clash of steel, a grunt from the Tatar, and his sword lay at his feet again.
    Gorun spurred his horse forward with a shrill shout, seeing his opportunity.
    "Sorcery!" he asserted. "0 khan, no living man could do this thing to the greatest of the Tatars. A hand from the spirit world has helped him. He has bewitched your sword. How otherwise could he overcome the lion of Tartary? Let him die!"
    Hugo stiffened, realizing the danger that lay in the appeal of the wily baksa to the vanity of the old chief. By agreeing with Gorun, the khan could wipe out the stigma of his defeat in the eyes of his followers.
    Cheke Noyon puffed out his cheeks, and his bleared eye flamed.
    "Dogs!" he bellowed. "Is my word naught but smoke? You heard my pledge. This khan goes free."
    He glared at Gorun.
    "Liar and toad. That was no witchery. It was the blow of a man who can use a sword."
    As the chief mounted, Hugo stepped forward, drawing the Turkish pistols from his belt. He held them out in the palm of his hand to the khan.
    "A gift," he said, "to a brave man. In a battle you could strike down four to my one. I know, for I have seen the Cossack fight, and the Ottoman, the janissary, and the Russian hussar."
    With a nod the khan took the weapons, looked at them, pleased, and stared at the stranger. He observed the dark face of the Frank, the keen eyes, and the long, muscular arms.
    "By the mane of my sire, I will take you to serve under me. You are no nursling in war. Is it done?"
    Hugo shook his head with a laugh. To serve under such as that!
    The broad face of Cheke Noyon grew black with anger.
    "Go your way, Frank, in peace," he growled, "but keep out of my sight. You have made me angry."
    Hugo watched the riders trot out of the grove.
    "Canaille-dogs," he thought. "Cerberus, it seems, has left offspring on the world. Ah, well, the old chief has good stuff in him."
    He looked around.
    "Ho. Aruk, you are still here. Tell me, where lives the other Frank who came before me?"
    Aruk wiggled his mustache and pointed to the chapel.
    "'Tis a queer world," Hugo ruminated, leaning on his sword and looking at the wide vista of the mountain slope that already cast its shadow on the grove. "Here in the place of the giants-or dwarfs-ruled by a bloodlusting Oedipus-why, he