Treasure of Khan by Clive Cussler Read Free Book Online Page A

leather straps. The other item was a patinated bronze tube, sealed at one end, but with a removable cap at the other end. The Chinese workers all grinned and chuckled at the sight of the objects, not knowing what significance they held, but assuming correctly that they had some importance.
    Hunt set down the cheetah skin and examined the heavy bronze tube. It had aged a deep green color, which only enhanced the elaborate image of a dragon that stretched along its length, the tail of the imaginary beast curled around the capped end of the tube like a coil of rope.
    â€œGo ahead, open it up,” Tsendyn urged with excited impatience.
    Hunt easily pried off the end cap, then held the tube up to his eye, peering in. He then turned the open end toward the ground and carefully shook the tube, catching with his open left palm the contents as it slid out.
    It was a rolled-up bolt of silk, dyed a pale blue. Tsendyn shook clean a nearby blanket and spread it across the ground at Hunt’s feet. The archaeologist waited for the dust to clear, then knelt down over the blanket and carefully unfurled the silk roll to its full length of nearly five feet. Tsendyn noticed the normally unflappable archaeologist’s hands trembled slightly as he smoothed out the creases in the silk.
    A picturesque landscape scene was painted on the silk, portraying a mountaintop with deep valleys, gorges, and streams depicted in beautiful detail. But the silk was obviously much more than an ornamental work of art. Along the left border was a sizeable section of text that Hunt recognized as Uighur script, the earliest Mongolian written language adopted from early Turkish settlers to the Asian Steppes. On the right margin was a sequence of smaller images, depicting a harem of women, herds of horses, camels, and other animals, and a contingent of armed soldiers surrounding several wooden chests. The landscape portion of the painting was bare of life except for a lone figure at the very center of the silk roll. Standing on a small mountain rise was a Bactrian camel draped with a saddlecloth inscribed with two words. Oddly, the camel was painted weeping, shedding oversized tears that fell to the ground.
    As he studied the silk painting, a band of sweat formed across Hunt’s forehead. He suddenly felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest and he had to force himself to take a deep breath of air. It just couldn’t be, he thought.
    â€œTsendyn…Tsendyn,” he muttered, nearly afraid to ask. “It is Uighur script. Can you read what it says?”
    The Mongol assistant’s eyes grew to the size of silver dollars as he, too, grasped the meaning of the image. He stuttered and stumbled as he tried to translate for Hunt.
    â€œThe wording on the left is a physical description of the mountainous region in the painting. ‘At home atop Mount Burkhan Khaldun, nestled in the Khentii Mountains, our emperor sleeps. The Onon River quenches his thirst, between the valleys of the doomed.”
    â€œAnd the inscription on the camel?” Hunt whispered, pointing a shaky finger at the center of the painting.
    â€œTemujin khagan,” Tsendyn replied, choking the words out in a hushed tone of reverence.
    â€œTemujin.” Hunt repeated the word as if in a trance. Though the Chinese laborers failed to comprehend, Hunt and Tsendyn realized with shock that they had made a discovery of astounding proportions. A wave of emotion surged over Hunt as he digested the enormity of the silk painting. Though he tried to mentally question its content, the power of the description was just too overwhelming. The weeping camel, the offerings depicted on the side, the locale description. Then there was the name on the camel’s back. Temujin. It was the birth name of a tribal boy who became the world’s greatest conqueror. History would remember him by his royally appointed moniker: Genghis Khan. The ancient silk painting before them could be nothing