About my neck, on a leather string, I wore the ring of the Kur, it containing the light-diversion device. I fingered the ring, looking down on the lines.
There was still much disturbance on the left flank of the Aretai, hundreds of riders angrily Milling about, Tajuks with Zevar and Arani mixed in. Suleiman, with his immediate retinue, was with them, doubtless expostulating.
I saw motion among the ranks of the Kavars and their vassal tribes. I heard the drums change their beat; I saw the lines of riders ordering themselves; I saw pennons, the pennons of preparation, lifted; I assumed that when they lowered the pennons of the charge would be lifted on their lances, and then that the lances would drop, and with them the lance of every rider in the Kavar host and that, drums rolling, the lines would then, in sweeping, almost regular parallels, charge.
It seemed a not inopportune time for Baram to commit his forces.
Thanks to the Tajuks, Suleiman was not in the center, and thanks, too, to them, the Aretai left flank, instead of being ready for action, swarmed and broiled like the Crowds in a bazaar.
I saw Baram, vizier to Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars, extend his arm before his body, and then lift it. I saw the pennons of the charge, with his arm, raised.
Suleiman, in the midst of the Tajuks, and Zevar and Arani, turned, stricken.
But the arm of Baram, the vizier, did not strike forward, the lances with it.
Instead, suddenly, he turned in the saddle, lifting both arms, signaling to the lines “Stop!” The lances of readiness and of the charge slipped to the stirrup boots.
Slowly, not hurrying, between the lines, came a single rider, in swirling Kavar white. In his right hand he held a high lance, from which fluttered a broad and mighty pennon, scarlet and white, that of Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars.
Behind him and to the side staggered four stripped wretches, their wrists crossed and bound, each on his own tether to the pommel of the saddle.
Baram, swiftly, with his guard, rode to meet the rider. The lines, on each side, shifted, but did not move. Suleiman hurried to the Aretai center.
I saw the lance with its mighty pennon of the rider in white, veiled, dip and circle, and then dip and circle again. Riders, from both sides, moved their kaiila slowly toward the figure, their guards hanging behind them. There came to that parley in the center of the field the pashas of the Ta’Kara and Bakahs, and of the Char and Kashani; and, too, riding deliberately, strapped in the saddle, there came Suleiman, high Pasha of the Aretai, with him, Shakar, captain of the Aretai, and their guard, and, with them as well, the pashas of the Luraz, Tashid and Raviri, with their guards. Then, I saw the pasha of the Ti, with his guard, join them. Lastly, riding abreast, swiftly across the field, I saw the pashas of the Zevar and the Arani, and the young khan of the Tajuks, join the group, Behind the pashas of the Zevar and Arani, strung out behind each, in single lines, came their guard. No one rode behind the young khan of the Tajuks. He came alone. He disdained a guard.
I had no one to represent me but myself, and I was curious. I urged my kaiila down the slope. I would mix in with the parleying group. I had little doubt that each there would assume I had business there, and was legitimate party to some group not their own.
In a few moments, crowding my kaiila in, moving with courtesy but resolution through the guards, I found myself near the center of the parleying group, in the line behind the pashas and the khan.
“Mighty Haroun,” said Baram, Sheik of Bezhad, “the command is yours! The Kavars await!”
“The Bakahs, too!” cried the pasha of the Bakahs. “The Ta’Kara!” “The Char!”
“The Kashani!” Each of the pashas lifted their lances.
The veiled figure, robed in white, with the lance and pennon, nodded his head, accepting the command of these thousands of fierce warriors.
Haroun then turned in his robes. “Greetings, Suleiman,” said he.
“Greetings, Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars,” said Suleiman.
“I heard your wound was grievous,” said Haroun to Suleiman. “Why have you taken to the saddle?”
“Why of course to do war with you,” said Suleiman.
“On grounds, or for sport?” asked Haroun.
“On grounds,” said Suleiman, angrily. “Kavar raids on Aretai communities, the breaking of wells!”
“Remember Red Rock!” cried a Tashid guard.
“Remember Two Scimitars!” cried a man in the retinue of the pasha of the Bakahs.
“No mercy is shown to he who destroys water!” cried a man, one of the Luraz.
Scimitars were loosened. I shifted my wind veil about my face. There were Aretai present. They paid the little attention. I saw Shakar look once at me, and then look troubled, then look away.
“Look!” said Haroun. He pointed to the nude, tethered wretches, bound to his pommel. “Lift your arms, Sleen,” he said to them.
The men lifted their arms, their wrists crossed, bound, over their heads.
“See?” asked Haroun.
“Kavars!” cried one of the Raviri.
“No!” cried Suleiman. “The scimitar on the forearm! The point does not face out from the body!” He looked at Haroun. “These men are not Kavars,” he said.
“No,” said Haroun.
“Aretai raided Kavar oases,” cried a man, a guard among the Ta`Kara. “They broke wells!”
Suleiman’s hand clenched on the hilt of his scimitar. “No!” he cried. “That is not true!”
There was angry shouting among the Kavars and their cohorts.
Haroun held up his hand. “Suleiman speaks the truth,” said he. “No Aretai raided in this season, and had they done so, they would not destroy wells. They are of the Tahari.”
It was the highest compliment one tribesman could pay to another.
“The Kavars, too,” said Suleiman, slowly, clearly, “are of the Tahari.”
The men subsided.
“We have a common enemy, who would put us at one another’s throats,” said Haroun.
“Who?” asked Suleiman.
Haroun turned to the tethered wretches. They lowered their arms and fell to their knees in the gravel and sand of the field. They put down their heads.
“For whom do you ride?” demanded Haroun.
One of the men, miserable, lifted his head. “For Tarna,” he said.
“And whose minion is she?” asked Haroun.
“The minion of Abdul, the Salt Ubar,” said the man. Then he put down his head.
“I understand little of this,” said the young khan of the Tajuks. He carried a leather, black, lacquered buckler on his left arm, a slim, black, tem-wood lance in his right hand. At his side hung a scimitar, He wore a turban, and a burnoose, with the hood thrown back over his shoulders. His eyes, sharp and black, bore the epicanthic fold. At his saddle hung a conical steel helmet, oddly fashioned with a rim of fur encircling it, bespeaking a tradition in armory whose origin did not seem likely to be the Tahari. The young khan looked about, from face to face. He was angry. “I have come for a war,” he said. “Is there to be no war?”
Haroun regarded him. “You shall have your war,” he said. Haroun looked at Suleiman. “I speak in good faith,” he said. “The Kavars, and all their vassal tribes, are yours to command.”
“I am weak,” said Suleiman. “I am not yet recovered from my wound. Command the Aretai, and those who ride with them.”
Haroun looked at the young Tajuk khan. “And you?” he asked.
“Do you lead me to war?” asked the Tajuk.
“Yes,” said Haroun.
“Then I will follow you,” he said. The young khan spun his kaiila about. Then he turned again, and looked over his shoulder. “Who holds your left flank?” he asked.
“The Tajuks.” said Haroun.
“Aiiii!” cried the young khan, rising in his stirrups, lifting big lance. Then he sped upon his kaiila to his men.