garment that he had been given to protect his back from the sun, and stepped up to the Negro. After that all I could see was a whirling tangle of arms and legs, until suddenly Andy flew into the air, to land on his back with such a crash that he lay there astounded and unable to believe his senses. The Negro burst into joyous laughter, so that his teeth gleamed white in his black face, but it was clear that he bore Andy no ill will.
Seeing him lie there motionless I hurried over to him, but he thrust me aside, sat up and asked where he was and what had happened. I fancied that he was play-acting and that he had let the Negro win, to flatter him. But Andy felt his limbs and back and said, “There must have been some mistake, and I can’t for the life of me make out how I come to be sitting on the ground while that black fellow’s on his legs, sniggering.”
He got to his feet again, flushing darkly, and hurled himself with a roar at his adversary, so that for a while nothing was to be heard but the fearsome cracking of bones and sinews. Then as if by magic Andy was lifted once more into the air, and the Negro tossed him backward over his shoulder, without even turning to see what became of him. The sight so horrified me that from force of habit I crossed myself. Andy staggered up on trembling legs and said, “Turn away your head, Michael; don’t look at me. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, unless I’ve fallen foul of Satan himself. But the third time’s lucky, and I’ll get a grip of this oily devil somehow, if I have to break his bones to do it.”
Once more he made a violent rush, the dust swirling about his feet. But the Negro handled him seemingly without effort, and at length grasping him by wrist and leg he began whirling him madly round and round. Then he let go, so that Andy thudded to the ground and rolled some distance in a cloud of dust. When I reached him I saw that his shoulders had been cut by the stones and that blood was pouring from his nose.
“Easy, Michael, easy,” he panted, with a face like thunder. “I tackled him carelessly, and he got the better of me by some trick.”
He would have charged in again, but the Italian renegade came soothingly toward him and said, “Let that be enough, now, and pray harbor no ill feelings. Mussuf has none. You needn’t be ashamed to acknowledge him the victor, for he’s a renowned guresh, or wrestler. He has thrown you three times running. Come, then, admit yourself fairly beaten. He owns that you’re the most powerful man he’s ever met.”
Andy was unappeased. His eyes were bloodshot as he thrust the renegade aside, and he was on the point of hurling himself yet again at the Negro when Captain Torgut appeared at the entrance to the palace and ordered us sharply to make an end of our sport. Andy was compelled to choke back his rage, wipe the blood from his face, and cover his flayed back, while the Negro threw out his chest like a fighting cock and strolled over to the group of renegades to receive their praise.
I was crestfallen on Andy’s account, and strove to comfort myself with the thought that the sea voyage had not suited him and that he had been weakened by poor food. But I had little time to brood over our disgrace, for Captain Torgut ordered us abruptly to enter the palace and present ourselves before his lord, Sinan the Jew. We were led through the building into an inner courtyard bounded on all sides by a cool colonnade and made beautiful by many varied fruit trees. Beneath a roof supported by pillars sat Sinan the Jew. He had one eye, a thin nose, and a sparse beard, and wore a plume in his turban. He was not long past middle age and his lean face was that of a warrior, though for the moment he was content to sit cross legged on a cushion.
He began by surveying the four poor seamen, but found little to interest him there, and he dismissed them with a disdainful jerk of his thumb. Then fixing his eye on Andy and me he
Stop in the Name of Pants!