'Surrender?' Jim smiled. 'Beshwayo does not understand that word either. A white flag will not save one of the men inside those walls.'
'Not a surrender.' Dorian shut his telescope. 'I know the man waving that flag. His name is Rahmad. He is one of the Omani admirals, a gc sailor and a brave man. He was not able to choose the master he serve He will not cravenly surrender. He wants to parley.'
Jim shook his head impatiently. 'I cannot keep Beshwayo in checf much longer. What is there to speak about?'
'I intend to find out,' Dorian said.
'By God, Uncle! You cannot trust Zayn al-Din. This might be a trap
'Jim is right, Father,' cried Mansur. 'Don't give yourself into Zaynjj power.'
'I must speak to Rahmad, if there is some small chance that I caner the bloodshed now and save the lives of those wretches trapped wit hts the walls.'
Then I must go with you,' said Jim.
'I also.' Mansur stepped up beside him.
Dorian's expression softened and he placed a hand on each of their shoulders. 'Stay here, both of you. I will need someone to avenge me, if things go awry.' He dropped his hands and loosened his sword-belt. He handed the weapon to Mansur. 'Keep this for me.' Then he looked at Jim: 'Can you hold your friend Beshwayo and his hunting hounds on a leash for just a little longer?'
'Be quick, Uncle. Beshwayo is not famous for his forbearance. I know not how long I can hold him.' Jim went with Dorian to where Beshwayo stood at the front of his imp is and spoke to him earnestly. At last Beshwayo grunted reluctantly, and Jim told Dorian, 'Beshwayo agrees to wait until you return.'
Dorian strode through the ranks of the Beshwayo imp is. They opened before him, for those warriors recognized the quality of nobility in him. Dorian's step was measured and stately as he strode towards the walls and stopped within easy pistol shot. He looked up at the figure on the parapet.
'Speak, Rahmad!' he ordered.
'You remember me ?' Rahmad sounded amazed.
'I know you well. I would not have trusted you otherwise. You are a man of honour.'
'Majesty!' Rahmad bowed deeply. 'Mighty Caliph.'
'If you address me thus, why do you fight against me?'
Rahmad seemed for a moment overcome with shame. Then he raised his head. 'I speak not only for myself but for every man within these walls.'
Dorian raised his hand to stop him. 'This is strange, Rahmad. You speak for the men? You do not speak for Zayn al-Din? Explain this to me.'
'Mighty al-Salil, Zayn al-Din is...' Rahmad seemed to search for the right words. 'We have requested Zayn al-Din to demonstrate to us and all the world that he, not you, is indeed the Caliph of Oman.'
'In what way can he prove this?'
'In the traditional manner, when two men have an equal claim to the throne. In the sight of God, and before all this array, man to man in single combat, we have requested Zayn al-Din to fight to the death to prove that claim.'
You propose a duel between us?'
We have taken an oath of allegiance to Zayn al-Din. We cannot surrender his person to you. We are bound to defend him with our own lives. However, if he were defeated in a traditional duel, we would
be released from our vow. Gladly then we would become your liege men.'
Dorian understood their dilemma. They were holding Zayn al-Din prisoner, but they were unable to execute him or hand him over. He must kill Zayn himself in single combat. The alternative would be for him to allow the Beshwayo to slaughter Rahmad and all the Omani.
'Why should I place myself in such peril? You and Zayn al-Din are in my power.' Dorian pointed at the black ranks of Beshwayo. 'Why should I not send them in to massacre you all here and now?'
'A lesser man might do that. I know you will not, for you are the son of Sultan Abd Muhammad al-Malik. You will not desecrate our honour, or your own.'
'What you say is true, Rahmad. It is my destiny to unite the kingdom of Oman, not split it asunder. I must take up that destiny with honour. I will fight Zayn al-Din for the caliphate.'
With white ash the Omani elders and headmen marked out the duelling ring on the hard- baked ground below the walls of the fort. This was a circle twenty paces in diameter.
All the Arabs who had fought with Zayn al-Din and been trapped within the fort now lined the parapets. Dorian's forces, including the crews from the captured dhows who had declared their loyalty to him, were drawn up on the bayside of the ring, facing the opposing forces on the walls of the fort.
Jim had explained the rules and the object of the duel to Beshwayo, and he was enthralled. He no longer resented being deprived of the right to storm the fort and wipe out the defenders. For him this gladiatorial contest was even greater sport.
'This is a fine way to solve a dispute, Somoya. It is truly a warrior's thing. I shall make it my own custom in the future.'
The entire Beshwayo army squatted in ranks behind Dorian's legions. The high parapet and the slope of the ground afforded every man present an unobstructed view of the ring.
Dorian, flanked by Jim and Mansur, stood at the forefront of this array, facing the closed gates of the fort. He wore only a simple white robe and his feet were bare. In accordance with the rules of the contest he was unarmed.
There was another blast on the ram's horn and the gates of the fort swung open. Four men marched out and came down the hill. They were in half-armour, bronze helmets and chain-mail over shirts with greaves
protecting their lower legs. They were big men with cold eyes and brutal faces, the executioners of the Omani court. Torture and death were their vocation. They took up their positions at the four points of the circle, and leaned on the hilts of their drawn swords.
There was a pause and then another trumpet blast. A second procession came down the slope. It was led by Mullah Khaliq. Behind him came Rahmad and four other tribal headmen. Then, with an escort of five armed men, the tall figure of Zayn al-Din limped after them. They stopped on the far side of the ring, facing Dorian.
Rahmad advanced into the centre of the ring. 'In the Name of the One God and his True Prophet we are met here this day to decide the fate of our nation. Al-Salil!' He bowed towards Dorian. 'And Zayn al Din.' He turned and bowed again. 'This day one of you will die and the other will ascend the Elephant Throne of Oman.'
He held out his hands and the two headmen who flanked him passed Rahmad a pair of scimitars. Rahmad stabbed the point of one of these weapons into the earth just inside the ash line of the ring, and left it standing upright. Then he crossed the circle and placed the other weapon exactly opposite it.
'Only one of you will be permitted to leave this ring alive. The four referees,' he pointed to the waiting executioners, 'have been strictly charged with the duty of killing immediately whichever of you is driven or thrown outside this line of ashes.' He touched the line with the toe of his sandal. 'Now Mullah Khaliq will lead the prayers begging for the guidance of God in these affairs.'
The holy man's voice droned in the silence as he commended the combatants to God and their fate. Dorian and Zayn stared across the ting at each other. Their faces were expressionless but their eyes burned with hatred and anger. The mullah ended his prayer: 'In God's Name let it begin!'
'In God's Name, make ready!' Rahmad called.
Jim and Mansur lifted the loose robe over Dorian's head. He wore only a white loincloth under it. Where the sun had not touched him his skin was smooth and white as cream in a jug. At the same time his escort helped Zayn remove his robe. Now he wore only a loincloth, and his skin was the colour of old ivory. Dorian knew that Zayn was his senior by only two years. They were both in their middle forties, and the effects of age were becoming apparent on their bodies. There were streaks of grey in their hair and beards, and a fleshiness round their waistlines. However, their limbs were clean and hard and their movements were lithe as they stepped into the ring. Even the impediment in Zayn's step seemed more sinister than inhibiting. They were matched in
height but Zayn was the heavier man, bigger boned and wider in the shoulder. Since childhood both had been trained in the warrior's way, but they had matched against each other once only before this day. However, they had been children then, and they and the world about them were altered.
They stood just out of arm's reach of each other. Neither spoke, but they assessed each other carefully. Rahmad stepped between them. He carried a length of silken cord, light as gossamer and strong as steel. He had measured its length and cut it precisely five paces shorter than the diameter of the ring.
Rahmad went to Zayn first. Though he knew full well that he was left-handed, Rahmad asked formally, 'Which hand?'
Disdaining a reply Zayn proffered his right hand. Rahmad tied the end of the cord round his wrist. He was a sailor and the knot would neither tighten nor slip, yet it would hold like a steel cuff. Rahmad came to Dorian with the other end of the cord. Dorian gave him his left hand and he tied it with the same type of knot. The two combatants were linked together:
