A black entered from a doorway carrying a huge flaming torch, and instantly the wild scene was bathed with flickering, ghostly illumination.
And by that illumination Drake saw Tana enter and regard the massacre with cold hard eyes. She wore a great crimson cloak and with her white cruel face, fathomless eyes and gleaming black hair, thrown into relief by the flaming torch, she looked like the wife of Satan.
She stood in the doorway, a slim, cold, unmoved figure, watching the savage carnage with a hard, mocking smile on her face, and a flicker of ironic amusement in her deep eyes.
And Drake knew then who the traitor had been; but he didn’t know why this cold terrible woman had betrayed them.
Ali Baba tugged at his arm again.
“Follow me!” he cried. “It is death to stay.”
Drake needed no more urging.
He darted after Ali Baba toward another door. He heard Tana’s cold voice rise over the tumult, and a glance over his shoulder showed two of the blacks charging after them, eating the ground with their giant strides.
Ali Baba tugged frantically at the door.
“It is stuck!” he gasped. “Allah save us! We are lost.”
“Keep trying,” Drake snapped. He wheeled to face the three charging giants. He knew he would stand no chance of saving himself from death, but even a second’s delay might give Ali Baba a chance.
He ducked the first savage blow of the leading giant and dove at the man’s legs. His hip struck the black’s knees squarely and the huge creature sprawled forward, his own momentum and weight smashing him to the floor with bone-shattering force. The second guard tried to check his speed and, failing, sprawled over the prostrate form of his companion.
Drake was numb from the waist down because of the terrific impact. He tried to crawl to his feet, but before he could even get to his knees, the blacks had regained their feet with the agility of great cats and were upon him — bearing him to the floor under their weight.
They seized his wrists and jerked him to his feet. He didn’t bother to struggle. In their terrible hands he was helpless as a baby.
One of the blacks raised his fist and brought it down against his temple and all sound and light faded from his brain into a morass of blackness...
Chapter VIII
When Drake felt consciousness filtering back to him he was first conscious of a terrible ache in his head, and then a dragging bumping sensation as if he were being hauled between two horses over a bumpy road.
He opened his eyes and when he was able to focus them he realized that he was in the grip of the two Nubians who had captured him and was being dragged across the rough floor of the storeroom.
The blacks carried him through an open door, across the drafty black courtyard, and finally, after an interminable trip through the mazes of the palace they halted at the great golden doors which he remembered led to the Caliph’s throne room.
The gates were swung back and the guards started forward again, dragging him unceremoniously across the luxurious marble floor of the throne room and finally releasing him before the great throne of Zinidad. Drake almost collapsed when they took their hands from him, but he forced himself to straighten and stand erect before the throne.
Zinidad was sprawled on his great silken pillow, regarding him with wrathful expectancy. At his side stood Tana, tall, proud, cold, her white face as devoid of emotion as a marble statue.
“Drake!” a soft, anxious voice beside him said. “Are you all right? Look at me, please!”
Drake turned his aching head with an effort. Sharon was standing at one side, several feet away. He noticed dully that her arms were bound behind her back. She wore a long, flowing white gown buckled at her waist, and her hair fell to her bare shoulders in disarray. Her face and eyes were anxious.
“Please,” she said again, “are you all right, darling?”
“I guess so,” Drake muttered. He shook his head and some of the cobwebs disappeared. “I feel all right.”
“That is fine.” Zinidad interrupted their conversation with a soft chuckle. “I am very glad you are feeling all right. I am glad both of you feel all right, because in a little while you will not be feeling so good. You will know then how unwise it is to cross the kind Caliph, Zinidad.” He turned and smiled affectionately at Tana. “If it had not been for my little Tana your clever plot might have succeeded. But Tana is loyal; Tana is grateful for the many things I have done for her. And I will not forget this new evidence of her loyalty.”
Tana inclined her head slowly.
“I am happy serving you, O generous Caliph.”
Drake understood then the reason behind Tana’s betrayal. She had never intended to sponsor a genuine revolt against the Caliph. She had simply engineered one and then, by informing Zinidad of what was to happen, had earned his undying gratitude. She had sacrificed Ali Baba, his men, and Sharon and him, so that she gained again a position of influence close to the Caliph.
And it looked as if her clever, ruthless plan had succeeded completely.
Drake looked at her with blazing contempt. She returned his gaze calmly, mockingly with the merest hint of a scornful smile at the edges of her thin, curving lips.
“I am surprised at my little story teller,” Zinidad said sadly, regarding Sharon and wagging his fat head slowly. “I did not think she would join my enemies to betray me.” He pursed his soft, lecherous lips and smiled gently. “As much as it pains me, I must see that you share the same fate as the others.” He turned languidly to Drake. “And you, my clever friend, I must ask you where the thieving scoundrel Ali Baba is.”
This was the first indication Drake had that Ali Baba had escaped.
“I don’t know where he is,” he said. “We will find him wherever he is,” Zinidad murmured. “And now you two unfortunate people must pay for your crimes.” He clapped his soft hands together. “Take them to our pleasant torture chamber and make them comfortable,” he said to the guards who stepped to Drake’s side. “But,” he added, with a roguish shake of his finger, “don’t be too hasty with the procedure. We want our guests to enjoy themselves for several days.”
The guards bowed impassively, took Drake’s arms in their huge hands and led him toward the door. Sharon followed behind him, escorted by two more guards...
Drake and Sharon were led to a room deep in the bowels of the palace, which, judging from the unpleasant looking instruments and racks that adorned the place, was used as the Caliph’s private torture chamber.
They were shackled to walls, hands above their heads, facing each other about eight feet apart. The guards withdrew then, closing and locking the heavy, barred door after them.
The position was not particularly uncomfortable, but, Drake realized it would become very monotonous as the hours passed.
“This looks like the end,” he said bitterly. “We haven’t got a chance of getting out, now.” He tugged desperately, futilely, at the iron gyves that secured his wrists. “It’s no use. I don’t give a damn about myself, but thinking about you almost drives me out of my head.”
“Let’s don’t give up yet,” Sharon said. “Something may turn up yet. And stop worrying about me.” She threw her shining red hair back from her forehead with a toss of her head. “I’m not going to give them any satisfaction.”
“That’s the spirit, honey,” Drake said. He was silent a moment, thinking of Tana. “That witch!” he finally said explosively. “She certainly sold us down the river in neat style.”