Hastily summoned from the beyt of Fahd, Stimbol, cautioned to stealth by Tollog, moved silently through the darkness to the mukaad of the sheik, where he found Ibn Jad awaiting him.
“Sit, Nasrany,” invited the Beduin.
“What in hell do you want of me this time of night?” demanded Stimbol.
“I have been talking with Tarzan of the Apes,” said Ibn Jad, “and because you are my friend and he is not I have sent for you to tell you what he plans for you. He has interfered in all my designs and is driving me from the country, but that is as nothing compared with what he intends for you.”
“What in hell is he up to now?” demanded Stimbol. “He’s always butting into someone else’s business.”
“Thou dost not like him?” asked Ibn Jad.
“Why should I?” and Stimbol applied a vile epithet to Tarzan.
“Thou wilt like him less when I tell thee,” said Ibn Jad.
“Well, tell me.”
“He says that thou hast slain thy companion, Blake,” explained the sheik, “and for that Tarzan is going to kill thee on the morrow.”
“Eh? What? Kill me?” demanded Stimbol. “Why he can’t do it! What does he think he is—a Roman emperor?”
“Nevertheless he will do as he says,” insisted Ibn Jad. “He is all powerful here. No one questions the acts of this great jungle sheykh. Tomorrow he will kill thee.”
“But—you won’t let him, Ibn Jad! Surely, you won’t let him?” Stimbol was already trembling with terror.
Ibn Jad elevated his palms. “What can I do?” he asked.
“You can—you can—why there must be something that you can do,” wailed the frightened man.
“There is naught that any can do—save yourself,” whispered the sheik.
“What do you mean?”
“He lies asleep in yon beyt and—thou hast a sharp khusa.”
“I have never killed a man,” whimpered Stimbol.
“Nor hast thou ever been killed,” reminded the sheik; “but tonight thou must kill or tomorrow thou wilt be killed.”
“God!” gasped Stimbol.
“It is late,” said Ibn Jad, “and I go to my sleeping mat. I have warned thee—do what thou wilt in the matter,” and he arose as though to enter the woman’s quarters.
Trembling, Stimbol staggered out into the night. For a moment he hesitated, then he crouched and crept silently through the darkness toward the beyt that had been erected for the ape-man.
But ahead of him ran Ateja to warn the man who had saved her lover from the fangs of el-adrea. She was almost at the beyt she had helped to erect for the ape-man when a figure stepped from another tent and clapping a palm across her mouth and an arm about her waist held her firmly.
“Where goest thou?” whispered a voice in her ear, a voice that she recognized at once as belonging to her uncle; but Tollog did not wait for a reply, he answered for her. “Thou goest to warn the Nasrany because he befriended thy lover! Get thee back to thy father’s beyt. If he knew this he would slay thee. Go!” And he gave her a great shove in the direction from which she had come.
There was a nasty smile upon Tollog’s lips as he thought how neatly he had foiled the girl, and he thanked Allah that chance had placed him in a position to intercept her before she had been able to ruin them all; and even as Tollog, the brother of the sheik, smiled in his beard a hand reached out of the darkness behind him and seized him by the throat—fingers grasped him and dragged him away.
Trembling, bathed in cold sweat, grasping in tightly clenched fingers the hilt of a keen knife, Wilbur Stimbol crept through the darkness toward the tent of his victim.
Stimbol had been an irritable man, a bully and a coward; but he was no criminal. Every fiber of his being revolted at the thing he contemplated. He did not want to kill, but he was a cornered human rat and he thought that death stared him in the face, leaving open only this one way of escape.
As he entered the beyt of the ape-man he steeled himself to accomplish that for which he had come, and he was indeed a very dangerous, a very formidable man, as he crept to the side of the figure lying in the darkness, wrapped in an old burnous.
XIV
Sword and Buckler
As the sun touched the turrets of the castle of the Prince of Nimmr a youth rolled from between his blankets, rubbed his eyes and stretched. Then he reached over and shook another youth of about his own age who slept beside him.
“Awaken, Edward! Awaken, thou sluggard!” he cried.
Edward rolled over on his back and essayed to say “Eh?” and to yawn at the same time.
“Up, lad!” urged Michel. “Forgottest thou that thy master fares forth to be slain this day?”
Edward sat up, now fully awake. His eyes flashed. “ ’Tis a lie!” he cried, loyally. “He will cleave Sir Malud from poll to breast plate with a single blow. Livest no sir knight with such mighty thews as hast Sir James. Thou art disloyal, Michel, to Sir Richard’s friend who hath been a good and kindly friend to us as well.”
Michel patted the other lad upon the shoulder. “Nay, I did but jest, Edward,” he said. “My hopes be all for Sir James, and yet—” he paused, “I fear—”
“Fear what?” demanded Edward.
“That Sir James be not well enough versed in the use of sword and buckler to overcome Sir Malud, for even were his strength the strength of ten men it shall avail him naught without the skill to use it.”
“Thou shalt see!” maintained Edward, stoutly.
“I see that Sir James hath a loyal squire,” said a voice behind them, and turning they saw Sir Richard standing in the doorway, “and may all his friends wish him well this day thus loyally!”
“I fell asleep last night praying to our Lord
