Since he had learned from Blake’s blacks that the young American was missing and also that they had seen nothing of Stimbol since the latter had separated from Blake and started for the coast, the ape-man was more convinced than ever that the white prisoner among the Arabs was Blake.
Still he felt no great concern for the man’s safety, for if the Beduins had sufficient hopes of reward to spare his life at all he was in no great danger from them. Reasoning thus Tarzan made no pretense of speed as he followed the spoor of Ibn Jad and his people.
Two men sat upon rough benches at opposite sides of a rude table. Between them a cresset of oil with a cotton wick laying in it burned feebly, slightly illuminating the stone flagging of the floor and casting weird shadows of themselves upon the rough stone walls.
Through a narrow window, innocent of glass, the night air blew, driving the flame of the cresset now this way, now that. Upon the table, between the men, lay a square board blocked off into squares, and within some of these were several wooden pieces.
“It is your move, Richard,” said one of the men. “You don’t appear to be very keen about the game tonight. What’s the matter?”
“I be thinking of the morrow, James, and my heart be heavy within me,” replied the other.
“And why?” demanded Blake.
“Malud is not the best swordsman in Nimmr,” replied Sir Richard, “but—” he hesitated.
“I am the worst,” Blake finished the sentence for him, laughingly.
Sir Richard looked up and smiled. “Thou wilt always joke, even in the face of death,” he said. “Art all the men of this strange country thou tell’st of alike?”
“It is your move, Richard,” said Blake.
“Hide not his sword from thine eyes with thy buckler, James,” cautioned Richard. “Ever keep thine eyes upon his eyes until thou knowest whereat he striketh, then, with thy buckler ready, thou mayst intercept the blow, for he be over slow and always his eyes proclaim where his blade will fall. Full well I knoweth that for often have I exercised against him.”
“And he hasn’t killed you,” Blake reminded him.
“Ah, we did but practice, but on the morrow it will be different, for Malud engages thee to the death, in mortal combat my friend, to wash away in blood the affront thou didst put upon him.”
“He wants to kill me, just for that?” asked Blake. “I’ll tell the world he’s a touchy little rascal!”
“Were it only that, he might be satisfied merely to draw blood, but there is more that he hath against thee.”
“More? What? I’ve scarcely spoken to him a dozen times,” said Blake.
“He be jealous.”
“Jealous? Of whom?”
“He would wed the Princess and he hath seen in what manner thou lookest at her,” explained Richard.
“Poppycock!” cried Blake, but he flushed.
“Nay, he be not the only one who hath marked it,” insisted Richard.
“You’re crazy,” snapped Blake.
“Often men look thus at the princess, for she be beautiful beyond compare, but—”
“Has he killed them all?” demanded the American.
“No, for the princess didst not look back at them in the same manner.”
Blake leaned back upon his bench and laughed. “Now I know you’re crazy,” he cried, “all of you. I’ll admit that I think the princess is a mighty sweet kid, but say young fellow, she can’t see me a little bit.”
“Enough of thy outlandish speech I grasp to gather thy meaning, James, but thou canst not confuse me upon the one subject nor deceive me upon the other. The eyes of the princess seldom leave thee whilst thou art at practice upon the lists and the look in thine when they rest upon her—hast ever seen a hound adoring his master?”
“Run along and sell your papers,” admonished Blake.
“For this, Malud wouldst put thee out of the way and it is because I know this that I grieve, for I have learned to like thee over well, my friend.”
Blake arose and came around the end of the table. “You’re a good old scout, Richard,” he said, placing a hand affectionately upon the other’s shoulder, “but do not worry—I am not dead yet. I know I seem awkward with the sword, but I have learned much about its possibilities within the past few days and I think that Sir Malud has a surprise awaiting him.”
“Thy courage and thy vast assurance should carry thee far, James, but they may not overcome a lifetime of practice with the sword, and that is the advantage Malud hath over thee.”
“Does Prince Gobred favor Malud’s suit?” demanded Blake.
“Why not? Malud is a powerful knight, with a great castle of his own and many horses and retainers. Besides a dozen knights he hath fully an hundred men-at-arms.”
“There are several knights who have their own castles and following are there not?” asked Blake.
“Twenty, perchance,” replied Richard.
“And they live close to Gobred’s castle?”
“At the edge of the hills, within three leagues upon either hand of Gobred’s castle,” explained Richard.
“And no others live in all this great valley?” demanded Blake.
“You have heard mention made of Bohun?” asked Richard.
“Yes, often—why?”
“He calls himself king, but never will we refer to him as king. He and his followers dwell upon the opposite side of the valley. They number, perchance, as many as we and we be always at war against them.”
“But I’ve been hearing quite a bit about a great tournament for which the knights are practicing now. I thought that Bohun and his knights were to take part in it.”
“They be. Once each year, commencing upon the first Sunday of Lent and extending over a period of three days, there hath been from time immemorial a truce declared between the Fronters and the Backers, during which is held the Great Tourney, one year in the plain before the city of Nimmr and the next year in the plain before the City of
