He caught swift vision of a wide _mirbad_, or open court for drying
dates; and then, through a low, golden arch, a camel-yard with a
vast number of kneeling, white dromedaries. And everywhere he saw
innumerable hosts of the people of Jannati Shahr.

The streets themselves were clear of people as the cavalcade thundered
on and on with many turnings; but every doorway, shop, arch, roof,
terrace, and tower was packed with these silent, white-clad folk,
bronze-faced and motionless, all armed with pistols, rifles, and cold
steel.

What some poet has called "a joyous fear" thrilled the Legion. No,
not fear, in the sense of timidity, but rather a realization of the
immense perils of this situation, and an up-springing of the heart to
meet those perils, to face and overcome them, and from out their very
maw to snatch rewards beyond all calculation.

Even the Master himself, tempered in the fires of war's Hell, sensed
this tremendous potentiality of death as the tiny handful of white men
galloped on and on behind Bara Miyan. Here the Legion was, hemmed and
pent by countless hordes of fanatics whom any chance word or look,
construed as a religious insult, might lash to fury. Five men remained
outside. The rest were now as drops of water in a hostile ocean. In
the Master's breast-pocket still lay Kaukab el Durri--and might not
that possession, itself, be enough to start a jihad of extermination?

Was not the fact of unbelieving dogs now for the first time being in
the Sacred City--was not this, alone, cause for a massacre? What, in
sober reason, stood between the Legion and death? Only two factors:
first, the potential destruction of the Myzab and the Black Stone
in case of treachery; and second, two tiny pinches of salt exchanged
between the Master and old Bara Miyan!

The situation, calmly reviewed, was one probably never paralleled in
the history of adventure--more like the dream of a hashish-smoking
addict than cold reality.

Very contending emotions possessed the hearts of the Legionaries, in
different reactions to their diverse temperaments. Only a vast
wonder mirrored itself in some faces, a kind of numb groping after
comprehension, a failure to believe such a thing possible as a city of
pure and solid gold.

Others showed more critical interest, appreciation of the wonderful
artistic effects of the carven gold in all its architectural
developments under the skilled chisels of the Jannati Shahr folk.

Still others manifested only greed. The eyes of such, feverishly
devouring walls, cornices, pillars, seemed to say:

"God! If we only had the smallest of these things, what a fortune that
would mean! What an incredible fortune!"

Each man, reacting under the overwhelming stimulus of this wonder
city, in his own expression betrayed the heart and soul within him.
And thus, each absorbed in his own thoughts and dreams, silently the
Legionaries pondered as they galloped through the enchanted streets.

Some fifteen minutes' riding, with no slackening of the pace and
always on an upward grade toward what seemed the central citadel of
Jannati Shahr, brought the party to an inner wall, forty feet high
and pierced by a triple-arched gate surmounted by a minaret of golden
lacery.

Through the center arch rode Bara Miyan, now reining into a canter.
The _imams_ and the Legionaries followed, and with them about fifty
of the Arabs, of superior rank. The rest drew rein outside, still in
complete silence.

The lessened cavalcade now found itself in what at first glance seemed
an enchanted garden. Not even a feeling of anxiety caused by the
silent closing of the hugely massive golden gates that, as they
passed through, immediately blocked the triple exit, could divert the
Legionaries' minds from the wondrous park confronting them.

Date and cocoa-palms with shadowy paths beneath them; clear rills with
bamboo thickets along their banks and with tangles of white myrtle,
red clouds of oleanders that diffused an almond perfume, delicate
hybiscus, and unknown flowers combined to weave a magic woof of
beauty, using the sifted sunlight for gold threads of warp.

Unseen water-wheels splashed coolly; vivid butterflies flickered
through masses of greenery among the acacia, mimosa, lote and mulberry
trees. And there were color-flashing parrots, too, a-wing and noisy
in the high branches; and apes that swung and chattered; and round the
high, golden walls of the citadel, half visible through the cloud of
green and party-colored foliage, whirls of pigeons, white as snow,
flicked against the gold.

The Legionaries were hard put to it to obey the Master's order never
to express surprise or admiration. But they kept silence, though their
eyes were busy; and presently through another smaller gate they all
clattered into a _hosh_, or court, facing what obviously must have
been the central citadel of Jannati Shahr.

Bara Miyan pulled sharply on the red, silver-broidered reins and
cut back the frothing lip of his barb. With a slide almost on its
haunches, along the soft, golden pavement, the horse came to a
quivering stand. All halted. And for a moment, the stamping of the
high-nerved horses' hoofs echoed up along the tall citadel with its
latticed windows and its machicolated parapet a hundred and fifty feet
in air.

"Well ridden, O Frank! Well ridden by thee and by all thy men
of Feringistan!" exclaimed Bara Miyan, with what seemed real
friendliness, as he sat there on his high saddle, gravely stroking his
beard. "It was a test for thee and thine, to see, by Allah! if the men
of the unbelieving nations be also men like us of Araby!

"We of the Empty Abodes are 'born on horseback.' But ye, white as the
white hand of Musa (Moses) have houses that, so I have heard, move on
iron roads. And I see now ye have flying houses. Wherefore horses are
not dear to you, as to us. But I see that ye can ride like men. Well
done! _Salaam_!"

The Master returned a "_Bikum!_" of thanks. He would have been glad
to wipe his forehead, streaming with sweat; and so, too, would the
others. But pride restrained them. Not for them such weakness as the
use of a handkerchief, in presence of these half-hundred grave-eyed,
silently observing men of Jannati Shahr.

"Faith, though," the major whispered to "Captain Alden," close behind
him, "of all ways to take a walk, my favorite way _not_ to is on an
Arab horse with a saddle like the Inquisition! Tomorrow, oh, my poor
bones, tomorrow!"

Bara Miyan was speaking again, while the Master, Leclair, and
his orderly, Lebon--who alone of the Legionaries understood
Arabic--listened closely.

"Now that we have eaten salt and are _akhawat_ brethren," said he, "we
must break bread together. Let thyself and all thy men partake of food
with us, O Frank! Then we will speak of the present, we shall bestow
on thee. _Bismillah!_ Dismount, White Sheik, and enter!"

The Master bowed, and swung himself from his horse. All did the same,
Legionaries and Arabs alike. And for a moment they stood there in the
sunlight before the long colonnade that occupied the lower story
of the citadel; while from beneath that colonnade issued a dozen or
fifteen of the black, muscular Maghrabi men, two of whom--in the
role of official stranglers--they had already seen. These powerful
half-savages took the horses away, the hoofs clacking hollowly on the
golden pavement.

Bara Miyan led the way in under the colonnade, which, though of gold
like all else in this, wonder city, still offered grateful shade.
The perpetual glare of the golden roadways, houses, towers,
balconies--even covered as many were with floating curtains of muslin
or silk--had been trying to eyes and nerves. Infinitely preferable
would stone or wood have been, for dwellings; but as Jannati Shahr
was, so the Legion had to take it. And doubtless long generations of
familiarity with it had made it wholly normal, pleasant, and innocuous
to these super-Arabs.

The Jannati Shahr men began kicking off their _babooshes_ and sliding
their naked feet into light slippers, rows upon rows of which stood
under the portico. The Master and Leclair quickly put off their
shoes and took slippers; the others followed suit. But not without
unwillingness did the Master make the change.

"This will put us at a very serious disadvantage," thought he, "in
case it comes to fighting. These people are used to going almost
barefooted. We are not. Still, there's no help for it. But I'd like
infernally well to keep my shoes!"

All he said was:

"Remember now, men, no women and no wine! If this city is like the
usual Arab towns, there will be neither in sight. But if not,
and temptations arise, remember my orders! No drop of any kind of
liquor--and no flirtation. I'll deal summarily with any man who
forgets himself. There's everything at stake now, in the next hour or
two. We can't jeopardize it all for any nonsense!"

The major groaned, inwardly. Thirsts were on his Celtic soul that
longed for dalliance with the Orient; but he well knew that tone of
voice, and sadly resigned himself to abstinence.

"Keep your revolvers loose in the holsters, men," the Master added,
as Bara Miyan gestured toward the slowly opening entrance of the
citadel--a massive door as all doors seemed in Jannati Shahr; a
door of gold reinforced with huge teak beams. "Watch for any sign
of treachery, but don't shoot until I give the order. Then, shoot to
kill! And whatever you do, stick together. Don't separate, no matter
what the provocation! Now, follow me!"

A strange feeling of anxiety, almost of fear, had taken hold on the
Master's heart. This fear was not in the least for himself or any
of the men. Hard-bitted adventurers all, they had gone into this
expedition with their eyes open, well knowing that some must
inevitably die before its close. They had gambled at dice with Fate;
and, losing, could have no complaint.

It was all for "Captain Alden" that the Master's anxiety was now
awakened. Here was a woman, not only exposed to risks of death, but
also of capture by Orientals--and what it might mean to a white woman
to be seized for some hidden harem in Jannati Shahr the Master knew
only too well. He found a moment's pause to speak in a low tone to the
"captain," unheard by any of the others.

"Remember the mercy-bullet!" said he. "If anything happens and there's
any risk of capture--remember, the last one for yourself!"

"If the worst comes," she whispered, "we can at least share death
together!"

He gazed at her a moment, not quite fathoming her words, but with an
inexplicable tightening round the heart.

"We can at least share death together!"

Why should those words so powerfully affect him? What were these
uncomprehended, new emotions stirring in his hard soul, tempered by
war and by unnumbered stern adventurings?

The Master had no skill in self-analysis, to tell him. Leader of
others, himself he did not understand. But as that night aboard Nissr,
when he had laid a hand on the woman's cabin door, something unknown
to him seemed drawing him to her, making her welfare and her life
assume a strange import.

"Come, O Frank!" Bara Miyan was saying. The Olema's words recalled the
Master to himself with a start. "Such food and drink as we men of El
Barr have, gladly we share with thee and thine!"

The old man entered the dark doorway of the citadel, noiselessly in
soft sandals. Beside him walked the Master; and, well grouped and
flanked and followed by the Arabs in their white robes--all silent,
grave, watchful--the Legion also entered.

Behind them once more closed the massive doors, silently.

The eighteen Legionaries were pent in solid walls of metal, there in
the heart of a vast city of fighting-men whose god was Allah and to
whom all unbelievers were as outcasts and as pariah dogs--anathema.




CHAPTER XLI


THE MASTER'S PRICE

A dim and subtly perfumed corridor opened out before them, its walls
hung with tapestries, between which, by the light of sandal-oil
_mash'als_, or cressets, the glimmer of the dull-gold walls could be
distinguished.

Pillars rose to the roof, and these were all inlaid with
mother-of-pearl, with fine copper and silver arabesques of amazing
complexity. Every minutest architectural detail had been carved out of
the solid gold dyke that had formed the city; nothing had been added
to fill out any portion. The imagination was staggered at thought of
the infinite skill and labor required for such a task. The creation of
this city of El Barr seemed far beyond the possible; yet here it was,
all the result of the graver's chisel.[1]

[Footnote 1: If any reader doubts the existence of El Barr, as a city
of gold carved from a single block, on the ground that such a work
would be impossible, I refer him to an account of Petra, in the
_National Geographic Magazine_ for May, 1907. Petra, in all details,
was carved from granite--a monolithic city.]

Blase as the Legionaries were and hardened to wonders, the sight of
this corridor and of the vast banquet-hall opening out of it, at the
far end, came near upsetting their aplomb. The major even muttered an
oath or two, under his breath, till Leclair nudged him with a forceful
elbow.

Not thus must Franks, from Feringistan, show astonishment or
admiration.

"May the peace be upon thee," all at once exclaimed Bara Miyan,
gesturing for the Master to enter the vast hall. "Peace, until the
rising of the day!"

"And upon thee, the peace!" the Master answered, with the correct
Arabic formula. They entered, and after them the other Legionaries and
the sub-chiefs of Jannati Shahr.

The banquet-hall was enormous. The Master's glance estimated it as
about two hundred and fifty feet long by one hundred and seventy-five
wide, with a height from golden floor to flat-arched roof of some one
hundred and twenty-five. Embroidered cloths of camel's-hair and silk
covered the walls. Copper braziers, suspended from the pillars, sent
dim spirals of perfumed smoke aloft into the blue air.

About sixty feet from the floor, a row of clerestory windows,
unglazed, admitted arrows of sunlight through a golden fretwork; and
these arrows, piercing the incense vapor, checkered intricate patterns
on the enormous, deep-piled Persian rugs of rose, lilac, and misty
blue.

Tables and chairs, of course, there were none. A _dakkah_, or
platform, in horseshoe shape, at the far end, covered with rugs and
cushions, and with water-jars, large copper fire-pans, coffee-pots of
silver, and _shishahs_ (water-pipes) told where the feast was to be
offered.

From a side door, as a silken curtain was drawn back, some fifteen
slave-girls entered--whiter than their masters and in tight jackets
and loose, silk trousers. These girls brought copper basins of
rose-water for the Arabs' "lesser ablution" before a meal. Bara Miyan
smiled slightly as he gestured the Legionaries also to wash hands and
faces; but the Master, little relishing the idea of using this same
water after the Arabs, shook his head.

Not thus slyly could the Olema inflict humiliation on unbelievers. A
hard look crept into the Master's eyes. This covert insult, after the
exchange of salt, boded very ill.

In silence the Legionaries watched the Arabs dry their hands and
faces on towels given them by the slave-girls, who then noiselessly
withdrew. All the Arabs prostrated themselves and prayed. The Master
was the only one who noticed one significant fact: that now the
_kiblah_, or direction of prayer, was not to the north-west, where lay
Mecca, but--judging by the sun--was almost due west, toward the spot
where lay the Black Stone. This reassured him once more.

"They recognize the Stone, right enough," thought he. "As long as
nothing happens to that, we hold the whip-hand of them. Our only real
danger is that something _might_ happen to it. But a few hours, now,
will end all this. And in a few hours, what can happen?"

The Arabs ceased their droning supplications to Allah, which had been
rising with hypnotically soothing murmurs through the incensed air,
and now followed Bara Miyan toward the raised platform. The old Sheik
beckoned his guests. All disposed themselves comfortably among the
cushions. The Legionaries ignored what seemed a disposition on
the part of the Arabs to separate them--to scatter them along the
platform.

"Keep together, men," the Master commanded. "Group yourselves closely
here, in the middle. Say nothing. Watch everything. Make no move
without specific orders. If it comes to a fight, and I am killed,
Leclair will command you. His knowledge of Arabic temporarily ranks
him above Bohannan. Don't shoot unless it comes to hard necessity; but
if you do shoot, make every bullet count--and save the last one for
yourselves!"

Bara Miyan clapped his hands. Through two arched doorways, to right
and left, entered a silent file of the huge, half-naked Maghrabi
men. All were unarmed; but the muscles of their heavy shoulders, the
gorilla-like dangle of their steel-fingered hands produced an effect
more ominous even than the gleam of simitars in the dim cressets'
light would have been.

Along the walls these black barbarians disposed themselves, a full
hundred or more, saying nothing, seeming to see nothing, mere human
automata. Bohannan, seated cross-legged between Captain Alden and the
Master, swore an oath.

"What are these infernal murderers here for?" growled he. "Ask the
Sheik, will you? I thought you and he had eaten salt together! If this
isn't a trap, it looks too damned much like it to be much of a picnic!
Faith, this is a Hell of a party!"

"Silence, sir!" commanded the Master; while Leclair, at his other
side, cast a look of anger at the Celt. "Diplomacy requires that we
consider these men as a guard of honor. Pay no attention to them,
anybody! Any sign of hesitation now, or fear, may be suicide.
Remember, we are dealing with Orientals. The 'grand manner' is what
counts with them. I advise every man who has tobacco, to light a
cigarette and look indifferent. _Verb sap!_"

Most of the Legionaries produced tobacco; but the Olema, smiling,
raised a hand of negation. For already the slave-girls were entering
with trays of cigarettes and silver boxes of tobacco. These they
passed to the visitors, then to the Arabs. Such as preferred
cigarettes, suffered the girls to light them at the copper fire-pans.
Others, choosing a _shishah_, let the girls fill it from the silver
boxes; and soon the grateful vapors of tobacco were rising to blend
with the spiced incense-smoke.

A more comfortable feeling now possessed the Legionaries. This sharing
of tobacco seemed to establish almost an amicable Free Masonry between
them and the Jannati Shahr men. All sat and smoked in what seemed a
friendly silence.

The slave-girls silently departed. Others came with huge, silver trays
graven with Koran verses. These trays contained meat-pilafs, swimming
in melted butter; vine leaves filled with chopped mutton; _kababs_,
or bits of roast meat spitted on wooden splinters; crisp cucumbers; a
kind of tasteless bread; a dish that looked like vermicelli sweetened
with honey; thin jelly, and sweetmeats that tasted strongly of
rosewater. Dates, pomegranates, and areca nuts cut up and mixed with
sugar-paste pinned with cloves into a betel leaf--these constituted
the dessert.

The Arabs ate with strict decorum, according to their custom,
beginning the banquet with a _Bismillah_ of thanks and ending with an
_Al Hamd_ that signified repletion. Knives and forks there were none;
each man dipped his hand into whatever dish pleased him, as the trays
were passed along. The Legionaries did the same.

"Rather messy, eh?" commented the major; but no one answered him. More
serious thoughts than these possessed the others.

After ablution, once more--this time the white men shared it--tobacco,
pomegranate syrup, sherbet, water perfumed with _mastich_-smoke, and
thick, black coffee ended the meal.

The Master requested khat leaves, which were presently brought
him--deliciously green and fresh--in a copper bowl. Then, while the
slave-girls removed all traces of the feast, all relaxed for a few
minutes' _kayf_, or utter peace.

Utter peace, indeed, it seemed. Nothing more soothing could have been
imagined than the soft wooing of repletion and of silken cushions,
the dim sunlight through the smoke of incense and tobacco, the gentle
bubbling of the water-pipes, the half-heard courting of pigeons
somewhere aloft in the embrasures of the clerestory windows.

All possibility of warfare seemed to have vanished. Under the magic
spell of this enchanted, golden hall, even the grim Maghrabis, black
and motionless along the tapestried walls, seemed to have sunk to the
role of mere spectators.

The Arabs' glances, though subtly curious, appeared to hold little
animosity. Now that they had broken bread together, cementing the Oath
of the Salt, might not hospitality have become inviolable? True, some
looks of veiled hostility were directed against "Captain Alden's"
strangely masked face, as the woman sat there cross-legged like the
rest, indifferently smoking cigarettes. For what the Arab cannot
understand is always antipathetic to him. But this hostility was
not marked. The spirits of the Legion, including those of the Master
himself, rose with a sense of greater security.

Even Bohannan, chronic complainer, forgot to cavil and began to bask
in contentment.

"Faith, but this is a good imitation of Lotus-land, after all," he
murmured to Janina, at his side. "I wouldn't mind boarding at this
hotel for an indefinite period. Meals excellent; waitresses beat
anything on Broadway; atmosphere very restful to wandering gentlemen.
Now if I could only get acquainted with one of these lovely Fatimas,
and find out where the bar is--the bar of El Barr! Very good! Faith,
very good indeed!"

He laughed at his own witticism and blew perfumed smoke toward the
dim, golden roof. But now his attention was riveted by the silent
entrance of six dancing-girls, that instantly brought him to keen
observation.

Their dance, barefooted and with a minimum of veils, swayed into
sinuous beauty to the monotonous music of kettle-drums, long red
flutes and guitars of sand-tortoise shell with goat-skin heads--music
furnished by a dozen Arabs squatting on their hunkers half-way down the
hall. The gracious weaving of those lithe, white bodies of the girls
as they swayed from sunlit filigree to dim shadow, stirred even the
coldest heart among the Legionaries, that of the Master himself. As
for Bohannan, his cup of joy was brimming.

The dance ended, one of the girls sang with a little foreign accent,
very pleasing to the ears of the Master and Leclairs the famous chant
of Kaab el Ahbar:

A black tent, swayed by the desert wind
Is dearer to me, dearer to me
Than any palace of the city walls.
Dearer to me!

[1]_And the earth met with rain!_

A handful of dates, a cup of camel's milk
Is dearer to me, dearer to me
Than any sweetmeat in the city walls.
Dearer to me!

_And the earth wet with rain!_

A slender Bedouin maid, freely unveiled
Is dearer to me, dearer to me
Than harem beauties with henna-stained fingers.
My Bedouin maid is slim as the _ishkil_ tree.
Dearer to me!

_And the earth wet with rain!_

Black tent, swift white mare, camel of Hejaz blood
Are dear to me, are dear to me!
Dearest is my slim, unveiled one of the desert sands!
Dearest to me!
Ibla her name is; she blazes like the sun,
Like the sun at dawn, with hair like midnight shades,
Oh, dear to me!
Paradise is in her eyes; and in her breasts, enchantment.
Her body yields like the tamarisk,
When the soft winds blow over the hills of Nedj!
Dearest to me!

_And the earth wet with rain!_

[Footnote 1: _W'al arz mablul bi matar._ A favorite refrain for songs
among the Arabs, to whom rain represents all comforts and delights.]

A little silence followed the ending of the song and the withdrawal
of the girls and musicians. The major seemed disposed to call for
an encore, but Janina silenced his forthcoming remarks with a sharp
nudge. All at once, old Bara Miyan removed the amber stem of the
water-pipe from his bearded lips and said:

"Now, White Sheik, thou hast eaten of our humble food, and seen
our dancing. Thou hast heard our song. Wilt thou also see jugglers,
wrestlers, trained apes from Yemen? Or wilt thou take the _kaylulah_
(siesta)? Or doth it please thee now to speak of the gifts that my
heart offers thee and thine?"

"Let us speak of the gifts, O Bara Miyan," answered the Master, while
Leclair listened intently and all the Arabs gave close heed. "We have
not many hours more to stay in this paradise of thine. We must be
away to our own Feringistan, in our flying house. Let us speak of the
gifts. But first, I would ask thee something."

"Speak, in Allah's name, and it shall be answered thee!"

"The salt is still in thy stomach for us?"

"It is still in my stomach."

"Thou dost swear that, O Bara Miyan, by a great oath?"

"By the rising of the stars, which is a great oath!"

"And by the greatest oath, the honor of thy women?"

"Yea, Frank, by the honor of my women! But thou and thine, too, have
covenants to keep."

Old Bara Miyan bent shaggy white brows at the Master, and peered out
intently from under the hood of his burnous. The Master queried:

"What covenants, great Olema?"

"These: That no harm shall befall Myzab and the Great Pearl Star and
the Black Stone, before thou and thine fly away to the Lands of the
Books. Then, that no blood of our people shall be shed in El Barr,
either the city of Jannati Shahr or the plain. These things thou must
understand, O Frank. If harm befall the sacred relics, or blood
be shed, then the salt will depart from my stomach, and we will be
_kiman_,[1] and the _thar_[2] will be between thine and mine. I have
spoken!"

[Footnote 1: Kiman, of hostile tribes.]

[Footnote 2: Thar, the terrible blood-feud of the Arabs.]

The Master nodded.

"These things be very clear to my heart," he answered. "They shall be
treasured in my memory."

"It is well. Now speak we of the gifts."

The fixed attention of the Arabs told the Legionaries, despite their
ignorance of Arabic, that at last the important negotiation of the
reward was under way. Pipes and cigarettes smoldered, unsmoked; all
eyes turned eagerly toward the Master and Bara Miyan. Silence fell
upon the banquet-hall, where still the thin, perfumed incense-smoke
writhed aloft and where still the motionless Maghrabi men stood in
those ominous lines along the silk-tapestried walls.

"And what things," began the Olema, "doth thy heart desire, in this
city of Jannati Shahr? Tell thy wish, and perchance it shall be
granted thee!"

The Master paused, deliberately. Well he understood the psychological
value of slow action in dealing with Orientals. Bargaining, with such,
is a fine art. Haste, greed, eagerness defeat themselves.

Contemplatively the Master chewed a khat leaf, then smiled a very
little, and asked:

"Is it permitted to tell thee that this gold, of which thou hast
carved thy city--this gold which to thee is as stones and earth to
the people of Feringistan--hath great value with us?"

"It is permitted, O Frank. This thing we already know." The old man
frowned ominously. "Dost thou ask gold?"

The Master nerved himself for the supreme demand, success in which
would mean fortune beyond all calculation, power and wealth to shame
all plutocrats.

"Gold?" he repeated. "Yea, that is what we ask! Gold! Give unto us
what gold our flying house can carry hence to our own land beyond the
salted seas, and we will depart. Before the rising of the stars we
will be gone. And the peace be unto thee, O Bara Miyan, master of the
gold!"

Tension as of a wire about to snap contracted the Master's nerves,
strong as they were. Leclair leaned forward, his face pale, teeth set
hard into his lip.

"Yea, gold!" the Master repeated with hard-forced calm. "This is the
gift we ask of thee, for the Myzab and the holy Black Stone and Kaukab
el Durri--the gift of gold!"




CHAPTER XLII


"SONS OF THE PROPHET, SLAY!"

The Olema shook an emphatic head of negation. "_Yafta Allah!_" he
exclaimed, using the absolute, decisive formula of refusal in Arab
bargaining. "This gold of ours is sacred. The angel Jibrail himself
struck the Iron Mountains with his wing, at the same hour when the
Black Stone fell from Paradise, and caused the gold to gush out. It is
not earthly gold, but the gold of angels.

"Not one grain can be taken from El Barr. The curses of Jehannun, of
Eblis, rest on Arab or _Ajam_ who dare attempt it. Surely, such a one
shall be put to the sword, and his soul in the bottom pits of Hell
shall be taken by the feet and forelock and cast into the hottest
flames! That soul shall eat of the fruit of the tree Al Zakkum, and be
branded forever with the treasure he did attempt to ravish from us!"

"Remember, great Olema, we did bring thee the Myzab and Kaukab el
Durri, and the holy Black Stone!"

"I remember, White Sheik, and will reward thee, but not with gold!"
The old man's face was stern, deep-lined, hard; his eyes had assumed a
dangerous glitter. "Thou hast a good tongue, but though it speak from
now till the angel Al Sijil roll up all the scrolls of life, it shall
not avail.

"Ask some other thing; and remember, if thou dost try by any magic
to remove even a sand-grain of this gold, the salt will be no longer
between thee and me. This must be added to the two things I have
already told thee of, that would take away the salt!"

Narrowly the Master eyed him, then nodded. Huge though this rebuff
had been, and great as the loss must be, the Master realized the utter
impossibility of coming to any terms with Bara Miyan on a gold basis.
All the fanaticism of these people would resist this, to the death.
Even to insist further might precipitate a massacre. Therefore, like
the philosopher he was, he turned to other possibilities, considering
what was best to be done.

The Olema spoke again, pausing now and then as he puffed reflectively
at his water-pipe. Said he:

"I will tell thee a great secret, O Frank. In this city lie the lost
books of the Arwam (Greek) wise men and poets. When the Alexandrian
library was burned by Amrou, at Omar's order, the four thousand baths
of the city were heated for six months by ancient scrolls. I have
heard that ye Feringi have greatly mourned the loss of the Arwam
learning and poetry. Not all this treasure was lost, White Sheik!"

The Master started, peered at Bara Miyan and forgot to chew his
soothing khat leaves.

"And then--?" asked he.

"Some twenty thousand of the most precious parchments were privately
carried by our _Sufis_ to Medina, and thence, after many years, to
Jannati Shahr. Here they still lie, in perfect form, clearly to be
read. This is a treasure that would set the world of the Feringi