"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 some one 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 sheikh, "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 sheikh. 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 sheikh.
"What do you mean?"
"He lies asleep in yon beyt and—thou hast a sharp khusa."
"I have never killed a man," whispered Stimbol.
"Nor hast thou ever been killed," reminded the sheikh; "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 women'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 bad 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 wantest to warn the Nasrany because he befriended thy lover! Go thou 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 sheikh, 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 burnoose.
14. 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. There lives no sir knight with such mighty thews as hath 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 are all for Sir James, and yet—" he paused, "I fear—"
"Fear what?" demanded Edward.
"That Sir James is 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 Jesus to guide his blade through Sir Malud's helm," said Edward.
"Good! Get thou up now and look to thy master's mail and to the trappings of his steed, that he may enter the lists bedight as befits a noble sir knight of Nimmr," instructed Richard, and left them.
It was eleven o'clock of this February morning. The sun shone down into the great north ballium of the castle of Nimmr, glinting from the polished mail of noble knights and from pike and battle-axe of men-at-arms, picking out the gay colon of the robes of the women gathered in the grandstand below the inner wall.
Upon a raised dais at the front and center of the grandstand sat Prince Gobred and his party, and upon either side of them and extending to the far ends of the stand were ranged the noble knights and ladies of Nimmr, while behind them sat men-at-arms who were off duty, then the freedmen and, last of all, the serfs, for under the beneficent rule of the house of Gobred these were accorded many privileges.
At either end of the lists was a tent, gay with pennons and the colors and devices of its owner; one with the green and gold of Sir Malud and the other with the blue and silver of Sir James.
Before each of these tilts stood two men-at-arms, resplendent in new apparel, the metal of their battle-axes gleaming brightly, and here a groom held a restive, richly caparisoned charger, while the squire of each of the contestants busied himself with last-minute preparations for the encounter.
A trumpeter, statuesque, the bell of his trumpet resting upon his hip, waited for the signal to sound the fanfare that would announce the entrance of his master into the lists.
A few yards to the rear a second charger champed upon his bit as he nuzzled the groom that held him in waiting for the knight who would accompany each of the contestants upon the field.
In the blue and silver tilt sat Blake and Sir Richard, the latter issuing instructions and advice, and of the two he was the more nervous. Blake's hauberk, gorget and bassinet were of heavy chain mail, the latter lined inside and covered outside, down to the gorget, with leopard skin, offering fair protection for his head from an ordinary, glancing blow; upon his breast was sewn a large, red cross and from one shoulder depended the streamers of a blue and silver rosette. Hanging from the pole of the tilt, upon a wooden peg, were Blake's sword and buckler.