Into the beyt that had been Zeyd’s and which had been set up for the Nasrany, Tollog was dragged. He struggled and tried to scream for help, but he was powerless in the grip of steel that held him and choked him.
Inside the beyt a voice whispered in his ear. “Cry out, Tollog,” it said, “and I shall have to kill you.” Then the grasp upon his throat relaxed, but Tollog did not call for help, for he had recognized the voice that spoke and he knew that it had made no idle threat.
He lay still while the bonds were drawn tight about his wrists and ankles and a gag fastened securely in his mouth, lie felt the folds of his burnous drawn across his face and then—silence.
He heard Stimbol creep into the beyt, but he thought that it as still he who had bound him. And thus died Tollog, the brother of Ibn Jad, died as he had planned that Tarzan of the Apes should die.
And, knowing that he would die thus, there was a smile upon the lips of the ape-man as he swung through the forest toward the southeast.
Tarzan’s quest was not for Beduins but for Blake. Having ensured himself that the white man in the menzil of Ibn Jad was Stimbol and that none knew the whereabouts of the other American, he was hastening back to the locality where Blake’s boy had told him their bwana had disappeared, in the hope of picking up his trail and, if unable to assist him, at least to learn what fate had overtaken him.
Tarzan moved swiftly and his uncanny senses of sight and smell aided him greatly in wresting its secrets from the jungle, yet it was three days before he found the spot where Ara the lightning had struck down Blake’s gun bearer.
Here he discovered Blake’s faint spoor leading toward the north. Tarzan shook his head, for he knew that there was a stretch of uninhabited forest laying between this place and the first Galla villages. Also he knew that if Blake survived hunger and the menace of wild beasts he might only live to fall victim to a Galla spear.
For two days Tarzan followed a spoor that no other human eye might have discerned. On the afternoon of the second day he came upon a great stone cross built directly in the center of an ancient trail. Tarzan saw the cross from the concealment of bushes for he moved as beasts of prey moved, taking advantage of every cover, suspicious of every strange object, always ready for flight or battle as occasion might demand.
So it was that he did not walk blindly into the clutches of the two men-at-arms that guarded the outer way to the City of Nimmr. To his keen ears was borne the sound of their voices long before he saw them.
Even as Sheeta or Numa approach their prey, so Tarzan of the Apes crept through the brush until he lay within a few yards of the men-at-arms. To his vast astonishment he heard them conversing in a quaint form of English that, while understandable to him, seemed yet a foreign tongue. He marvelled at their antiquated costumes and obsolete weapons, and in them he saw an explanation of Blake’s disappearance and a suggestion of his fate.
For a time Tarzan lay watching the two with steady, unblinking eyes—it might have been Numa himself, weighing the chances of a sudden charge. He saw that each was armed with a sturdy pike and a sword. They could speak English, after a fashion, therefore, he argued, they might be able to give him word of Blake. But would they receive him in a friendly spirit or would they attempt to set upon and slay him?
He determined that he could never ascertain what their attitude would be by lying hidden among the brush, and so he gathered himself, as Numa does when he is about to spring.
The two blacks were idly gossiping, their minds as far from thoughts of danger as it were possible they could be, when suddenly without warning Tarzan launched himself full upon the back of the nearer, hurling him to the ground. Before the other could gather his wits the ape-man had dragged his victim into the concealment of the bush from which he had sprung, while the fellow’s companion turned and fled in the direction of the tunnel.
The man in Tarzan’s grasp fought and struggled to be free but the ape-man held him as easily as he might have held a child.
“Lie still,” he advised, “I shall not harm you.”
“’Ods blud!” cried the black. “What manner of creature be thou?”
“One who will not harm you if you will tell him the truth,” replied Tarzan.
“What wouldst thou know?” demanded the black.
“A white man came this way many weeks ago. Where is he?”
“Thou speakest of Sir James?” asked the soldier.
“Sir James!” mused Tarzan and then he recollected that Blake’s first name was James. “His name was James,” he replied, “James Blake.”
“Verily, ’tis the same,” said the soldier.
“You have seen him? Where is he now?”
“He be defending the honor of Our Lord Jesus and the Knights of Nimmr in the Great Tourney in the lists upon the plain below the city, and have ye come to wreak dispite upon our good Sir James thou wilt find many doughty knights and men-at-arms who will take up the gage in his behalf.”
“I am his friend,” said Tarzan.
“Then why didst thou leap upon me thus, if thou art a friend to Sir James?” demanded the man.
“I did not know how you had received him or how you would receive me.”
“A friend of Sir James will be received well in Nimmr,” said the man.
Tarzan took the man’s sword from him and permitted him to rise—his pike he had dropped before being dragged among the bushes.
“Go before me and lead me to your master,” commanded the ape-man, “and remember that your life will be the forfeit that you must pay for treachery.”
“Do not make me leave the road unguarded against the Saracens,” begged the man. “Soon my companion will return with others and then I shall beg them to take thee where thou wilt.”
“Very well,” agreed the ape-man. They had not waited long before he heard the sound of hastening footsteps and a strange jingling and clanking that might have been caused by the shaking of many chains and the striking against them of objects of metal.
Shortly afterward he was surprised to see a white man clothed in chain mail and carrying a sword and buckler descending the trail at a trot, a dozen pike-men at his back.
“Tell them to halt!” commanded Tarzan, placing the point of the man’s sword in the small of his back. “Tell them I would talk with them before they approach too closely.”
“Stop, I pray thee!” cried the fellow. “This be a friend of Sir James, but he wilt run me through with my own sword and ye press him too close. Parley with him, most noble sir knight, for I wouldst live at least to know the result of the Great Tourney.”
The knight halted a few paces from Tarzan and looked him up and down from feet to head. “Thou art truly a friend to Sir James?” he demanded.
Tarzan nodded. “I have been seeking him for days.”
“And some mishap befell thee and thou lost thy apparel.”
The ape-man smiled. “I go thus, in the jungle,” he said.
“Art thou a sir knight and from the same country as Sir James?”
“I am an Englishman,” replied Tarzan of the Apes.
“An Englishman! Thrice welcome then to Nimmr! I be Sir Bertram and a good friend to Sir James.”
“And I am called Tarzan,” said the ape-man.
“And thy rank?” inquired Sir Bertram.
Tarzan was mystified by the strange manners and garb of his seemingly friendly inquisitor, but he sensed that whatever the man might be he took himself quite seriously and would be more impressed if he knew that Tarzan was a man of position, and so he answered him truthfully, in his quiet way.
“A Viscount,” he said.
“A peer of the realm!” exclaimed Sir Bertram. “Prince Gobred wilt be o’er pleased to greet thee, Lord Tarzan. Come thou with me and I wilt furnish thee with apparel that befits thee.”
At the outer barbican Bertram took Tarzan into the quarters reserved for the knight commanding the warders and kept him there while he sent his squire to the castle to fetch raiment and a horse, and while they waited Bertram told Tarzan all that had befallen Blake since his arrival in Nimmr and, too, much of the strange history of this unknown British colony. When the squire returned with the clothing it was found that it fitted the ape-man well, for Bertram was a large man, and presently Tarzan of the Apes was garbed as a Knight of Nimmr and was riding down toward the castle with Sir Bertram. Here the knight announced him at the gate as the Lord Viscount Tarzan. Once within he introduced him to another knight whom he persuaded to relieve him at the gate while he conducted Tarzan to the lists that he might be presented to Gobred and witness the final scenes of the tourney, were it not concluded before they arrived.
And so it was that Tarzan of the Apes, clad in chain mail, and armed with lance and sword, rode down into the Valley of the Sepulcher just as Bohun put his foul scheme into execution and carried off the Princess Cuinalda.
Long before they reached the lists Bertram was aware that something was amiss, for they could see the dust clouds racing rapidly north away from the lists as though one body of knights pursued another. He put spurs to his mount and Tarzan followed suit, and so they came at a stiff run to the lists and there they found all pandemonium.
The women were mounting preparatory to riding back to Nimmr under escort of a few knights that Gobred had sent back to guard them. The men-at-arms were forming themselves into companies, but all was being done in a confused manner since every now and then a great part of the company would rush to the highest part of the stands and peer off toward the north after the clouds of dust that revealed nothing to them.
Sir Bertram accosted one of his fellows. “What hath befallen?” he demanded.
“Bohun hath seized the Princess Guinalda and carried her away,” came the astounding reply.
“Zounds!” cried Bertram, reining about. “Wilt ride with me in the service of our princess, Lord Tarzan?”
For answer Tarzan spurred his horse alongside of Bertram’s and stirrup to stirrup the two set out across the plain, while far ahead of them Blake drew gradually closer and closer to the fleeing Knights of the Sepulcher. So thick was the cloud of dust they threw up that they were hid from their pursuer even as he was hid from them and so were unaware that Blake was near them.
The American carried no lance nor shield, but his sword clattered and clashed at his side and at his right hip swung his forty-five. Whenever he had been armed, since he entered Nimmr, be had carried this weapon of another world and another age. To their queries he had answered that it was but a lucky talisman that be carried, but in his heart was the thought that some day it might stand him in better stead than these simple knights and ladies could dream.
He knew that he would never use it except in battle, or as a last resort against overwhelming odds or unfair tactics, but he was glad that he carried it today as it might mean the difference between liberty and captivity for the woman he loved.
Slowly he drew closer to the rearmost Knights of the Sepulcher. Their mounts bred and trained to the utmost endurance and to carry the great weight of man and mail kept to a brisk canter even after the first long spurt of speed that had carried them away from the lists of Nimmr.
The dust rolled up in clouds from iron-shod feet. Through it Blake groped, catching vague glimpses of mounted men just ahead. The black, powerful, fleet, courageous, showed no sign of fatigue. The rider carried his sword in his hand, ready. He was no longer a black, knight, but a gray. Bassinet, hauberk, all the rich caparisons of his horse, the horse itself, were gray with dust.
Blake glimpsed a knight toward whom he was slowly drawing closer. This knight was gray! Like a flash Blake realized the value of the camouflage that chance had laid upon him. He might ride among them and they would not suspect that he was not of them!
Instantly he sheathed his sword and pressed forward, but he edged off a little from the knight before he passed him. Urging the black ever a little faster Blake crept up through the ranks of Bohun’s knights. Somewhere a knight was carrying double and this knight he sought.
The nearer the head of the column he forged the greater became the danger of discovery, for now the dust was less thick and men could see farther, but yet his own armor, his face, the leopard skin of his bassinet were coated thick with gray and though knights peered intently at him as he passed none recognized him.
Once one hailed him. “Is’t thou, Percival?” he demanded.
“Nay,” replied Blake and spurred on a trifle faster.
Now, dimly, just ahead, he saw several knights bunched close and once he thought he glimpsed the fluttering garments of a woman in their midst. Pressing on, he drew close behind these and there, surrounded by knights, he saw a woman held before one of the riders.
Drawing his sword he spurred straight between two knights who rode close behind he who carried Guinalda, and as Blake passed he cut to the right and left and the two knights rolled trom their saddles.
At a touch of the spurs the black leaped abreast the young knight that was bearing off the princess. So quickly was the thing accomplished that the knights who rode scarce an arm’s length from him had not the time to realize what was occurring and prevent it.
Blake slipped his left arm about the girl and at the same time thrust to the left above his left forearm, driving his blade far into the body of the youthful knight Then he spurred forward carrying Guinalda from the dead arms as the knight pitched headlong from his saddle.
Blake’s sword was wrenched from his grasp, so far had he driven it into the body of the man who dared commit this wrong against the woman Blake loved.
Cries of rage arose about him as knights spurred in pursuit and the black ran free with no guiding hand upon the reins. A huge fellow loomed just at Blake’s rear and another was closing in from the other side. The first man swung his sword as he stood in his stirrups and the second was already reaching for Blake with his point.
Strange oaths were on their lips and their countenances were contorted by rage as they strove to have the life of the rash man who had almost thwarted them in their design, but that he could succeed they had not the remotest belief, for he was one against a thousand.
Then something happened the like of which had never been k nown to them or their progenitors. A blue barreled forty-five flashed from the holster at Blake’s hip, there was a loud report and the knight upon Blake’s right rear lunged head foremost to the ground. Blake turned in his saddle and shot the knight upon his other side between the eyes.
Terrified, the horses of other knights close by, who might have menaced him, bolted, as did the great black that Blake bestrode; but while the American was trying to replace his weapon in its holster and gather the reins in his right hand he leaned to the left and thus forced the horse slowly around toward the direction he wished him to go, Blake’s plan being to cut across the front of the Knights of the Sepulcher and then turn southward toward Nimmr.
He was sure that Gobred and his followers must be close in pursuit, and that it would be but a matter of minutes before he would have Guinalda safe behind a thousand or more knights, any one of whom would lay down his life for her.
But the Knights of the Sepulcher had spread out over a greater front than Blake had anticipated, and now he saw them coming rapidly upon his left and was forced to swerve in a more northerly direction.
Closer and closer they came and once more the American found it necessary to drop his reins and draw his forty-five. One shot sent the horses of the menacing knights rearing and plunging away from the terrifying sound, and it sent the black into a new paroxysm of terror that almost resulted in Blake and the girl being unhorsed.
When the man finally brought the animal again under control the dust cloud that marked the position of the Knights of the Sepulcher was far behind, and close upon Blake’s left was a great forest, whose dark depths offered concealment for the moment at least.
Reining quickly within Sir James drew up and gently lowered Guinalda to the ground. Then he dismounted and tied the black to a tree, for Blake was spent after what he had been through this day since his first entry upon the lists, and the black was spent as well.
He slipped the housing and the heavy saddle from the horse’s back and took the great bit from his mouth, replacing a portion of the housing to serve as a cooler until the horse should be less heated, nor once did he glance at the princess until he had finished caring for his horse.
Then he turned and faced her. She was standing leaning against a tree, looking at him.
“Thou art brave, sir knight,” she said softly, and then added, arrogantly, “but still a boor.”
Blake smiled, wanly. He was very tired and had no wish to argue.
“I’m sorry to ask you to do it,” he said, ignoring what she had said to him, “but Sir Galahad here will have to be kept moving about a bit until he cools off and I’m too fagged to do it.”
The Princess Guinalda looked at him in wide-eyed amazement. “Ye—ye,” she stammered, “ye mean that I should lead the beast? I, a princess!”
“I can’t do it, Guinalda,” replied Blake. “I tell you I’m just about all in, lugging all these skin chains about since sunrise. I guess you’ll have to do it.”
“Have to! Durst thou command, knave?”
“Snap out if it girl!” advised Blake curtly. “I’m responsible for your safety and it may all depend on this horse. Get busy, and do as I tell you! Lead him back and forth slowly.”
There were tears of rage in the eyes of the Princess Guinilda as she prepared to make an angry retort, but there was something in Blake’s eyes that silenced her. She looked at him for a long moment and then turned and walked to the black. Untying the rope that tethered him to the tree she led him slowly to and fro, while Blake sat with his back against a great tree and watched out across the plain for the first sign of pursuit.
But there was no pursuit, for the knights of Nimmr had taken the Knights of the Sepulcher and the two forces were engaging in a running fight that was leading them farther and farther away toward the City of the Sepulcher upon the north side of the valley.
Guinalda led the black for half an hour. She led him in silence and in silence Blake sat gazing out across the valley. Presently he turned toward the girl and rose to his feet.
“That’ll be good,” he said, approaching her. “Thank you. I’ll rub him a bit now. I was too exhausted to do it before.”
Without a word she turned the black over to him and with dry leaves he rubbed the animal from muzzle to dock. When he had finished he threw the housing over him again and came and sat down beside the girl.
He let his eyes wander to her profile—to her straight nose, her short upper lip, her haughty chin. “She is beautiful,” thought Blake, “but selfish, arrogant and cruel.” But when she turned her eyes toward him, even though they passed over him as though he had not been there, they seemed to belie all the other evidence against her.
He noticed that her eyes were never quiet. Her glances roved from place to place, but most often into the depths of the wood and upward among the branches of the trees. Once she started and turned suddenly to gaze intently into the forest.
“What is it?” asked Blake.
“Methought something moved within the wood,” she said. “Let us be gone.”
“It is almost dusk,” he replied. “When it is dark we can ride to Nimmr in safety. Some of Bohun’s knights may still be searching for you.”
“What!” she exclaimed. “Remain here until dark? Knowest thou not where we be?”
“Why, what’s wrong with this place?” demanded the man.
She leaned toward him, her eyes wide with terror. “It be the Wood of the Leopards!” she whispered.
“Yes?” he queried casually.
“Here lair the great leopards of Nimmr,” she continued, “and after night falls only a camp with many guards and beast fires be safe from them. And even so not always then, for they have been known to leap upon a warder and, dragging him into the wood, devour him within hearing of the camp.
“But,” suddenly her eyes responded to a new thought, “I hadst forgot the strange, roaring weapon with which thou slew the knights of Bohun! Of a surety with that thou couldst slay all the leopards of the wood!”
Blake hesitated to undeceive her and add to her alarm. “Perhaps,” he said, “it will be as well to start now, for we have a long ride and it will soon be dark.”
As he spoke he started toward Sir Galahad. He had almost reached the horse when the animal suddenly raised its head and with up pricked ears and dilated nostrils looked into the gathering shadows of the wood. For an instant Sir Galahad trembled like a leaf and then, with a wild snort, he lay back with all his weight upon the tether, and as it parted with a snap he wheeled and raced out upon the plain.
Blake drew his gun and peered into the wood, but he saw nothing nor could his atrophied sense of smell catch the scent that had come so clearly to the nostrils of Sir Galahad.
Eyes that he could not see were watching him, but they were not the eyes of Sheeta the leopard.