“But if we keep him alive until we are met with the friends of Tarzan, should it so befall that they overtake us, then we may say that we did hold him prisoner that Tarzan’s own people might mete out their vengeance to him, which would suit them better.”
“Thy words are not without wisdom,” admitted Ibn Jad, “but suppose the Nasrany spoke lies concerning us and said that it was we who slew Tarzan? Wouldst they not believe him above us?”
“That be easily prevented,” said the old man who had spoken before. “Let us cut his tongue out forthwith that he may not bear false witness against us.”
“Wellah, thou hast it!” exclaimed Ibn Jad.
“Billah, nay!” cried Fahd. “The better we treat him the larger will be the reward that he will pay us.”
“We can wait until the last moment,” said Ibn Jad, “and we see that we are to lose him and our reward, then may we cut out his tongue.”
Thus the fate of Wilbur Stimbol was left to the gods, and Ibn Jad, temporarily freed from the menace of Tarzan, turned his attention once more to his plans for entering the valley. With a strong party he went in person and sought a palaver with the Galla chief.
As he approached the village of Batando he passed through the camps of thousands of Galla warriors and realized fully what he had previously sensed but vaguely—that his position was most precarious and that with the best grace possible he must agree to whatever terms the old chief might propose.
Batando received him graciously enough, though with all the majesty of a powerful monarch, and assured him that on the following day he would escort him to the entrance to the valley, but that first he must deliver to Batando all the Galla slaves that were with his party.
“But that will leave us without carriers or servants and will greatly weaken the strength of my party,” cried Ibn Jad.
Batando but shrugged his black shoulders.
“Let them remain with us until we have returned from the valley,” implored the sheik.
“No Galla man may accompany you,” said Batando with finality.
Early the next morning the tent of Ibn Jad was struck in signal that all were to prepare for the rahla, and entirely surrounded by Galla warriors they started toward the rugged mountains where lay the entrance to the valley of Ibn Jad’s dreams.
Fejjuan and the other Galla slaves that the Arab had brought with them from beled el-Guad marched with their own people, happy in their newfound freedom. Stimbol, friendless, fearful, utterly cowed, trudged wearily along under guard of two young Beduins, his mind constantly reverting to the horror of the murdered man lying in his lonely grave behind them.
Winding steadily upward along what at times appeared to be an ancient trail and again no trail at all, the Arab and their escort climbed higher and higher into the rugged mountains that rim the Valley of the Sepulcher upon the north. At the close of the second day, after they had made camp beside a rocky mountain brook, Batando came to Ibn Jad and pointed to the entrance to a rocky side ravine that branched from the main canyon directly opposite the camp.
“There,” he said, “lies the trail into the valley. Here we leave you and return to our villages. Upon the morrow we go.”
When the sun rose the following morning Ibn Jad discovered that the Gallas had departed during the night, but he did not know it was because of the terror they felt for the mysterious inhabitants of the mysterious valley from which no Galla ever had returned.
That day Ibn Jad spent in making a secure camp in which to leave the women and children until the warriors had returned from their adventure in the valley or had discovered that they might safely fetch their women, and the next morning, leaving a few old men and boys to protect the camp, he set forth with those who were accounted the fighting men among them, and presently the watchers in the camp saw the last of them disappear in the rocky ravine that lay opposite the menzil.
XVI
The Great Tourney
King Bohun with many knights and squires and serving men had ridden down from his castle above the City of the Sepulcher two days ago to make his way across the valley to the field before the city of Nimmr for the Great Tourney that is held once each year, commencing upon the first Sunday in Lent.
Gay pennons fluttered from a thousand lance tips and gay with color were the housings of the richly caparisoned chargers that proudly bore the Knights of the Sepulcher upon whose backs red crosses were emblazoned to denote that they had completed the pilgrimage to the Holy Land and were returning to home and England.
Their bassinets, unlike those of the Knights of Nimmr, were covered with bullock hide, and the devices upon their bucklers differed, and their colors. But for these and the crosses upon their backs they might have been Gobred’s own good knights and true.
Sturdy sumpter beasts, almost as richly trapped as the knight’s steeds, bore the marquees and tilts that were to house the knights during the tourney, as well as their personal belongings, their extra arms and their provisions for the three days of the tourney; for custom, over seven centuries old, forbade the Knights of Nimmr and the Knights of the Sepulcher breaking bread together.
The Great Tourney was merely a truce during which they carried on their ancient warfare under special rules which transformed it into a gorgeous pageant and an exhibition of martial prowess which noncombatants might witness in comfort and
