THE RECLUSE
that statue which he did not fancy in the least.
From the city that night a swift runner entered the hills and from a spot where those in the palace could not see the light a signal fire blinked its message to the North.
And in the North another distant gleam in the hills answered and yet farther into the mysterious plains and deserts of the Gobi, the message sped upon its way.
The next night and a night thereafter the fires glowed bright and dim, over the sand dunes, so dim far away that they could not be seen at all by those near the first signal.
And the fourth night, the runner returned to Shi-kung-su, heavy laden with a chinking bag, his work accomplished.
Before he reached the city gate, a thin jingling of metal accoutrements with now and then a whispered curse as horses stumbled in the dark, made a murmur which seeped down from the hills and poured along the plains toward the summer palace. When the gate had closed behind him, the metallic whisper was very near the palace.
A sleepy guard patrolled the palace grounds; a guard who became awake instantly when an ill-trained horse commenced a whinny not far away. If it had been a full, complete sound the guard might have thought it one of the stabled horses, but it was cut suddenly short and he knew too well what that might mean.
He sprang to the parapet. Yes, it was true! Before the gate, were twenty or more men, bearing a heavy log and coming at a trot.
He seized a mallet and began hammering on the gong by the guard’s quarters.
“Up, bowmen!” he howled, in the intervals of pounding, “Up, spearmen! The Tartars are upon us!”
And then, the log struck the gate, wood whining in complaint and a few bricks fell. Again and again the stunning impact followed and too late, the guard rushed out, not in force but singly; not properly armed, but with what weapons came first to hand; not in armor but clothed only in their night garments; and one by one they dashed into the foe storming through the broken gate, one by one falling before the Tartar’s bows and iron tipped maces.
Arslan and another man, being at the opposite side of the palace on duty as guards at the moment of attack, were the only ones in armor.
A moment of horror, of surprise, of indecision held them, then the other man cried, “Quick! Let us leap down from the Wall, get horses and bring help from the towers. We can trap them all!”
“Do it if you can,” agreed Arslan, “I am for the palace!” and he started at a run for the nearest door.
On this side was the garden and as he ran beneath the low branches of a tree, he collided with something limp and swinging as though a full sack hung there. Beside the dangling object stood a well known shape, dim in the darkness, tying a knot about her throat with trembling fingers.
As she stepped off the stool, he cut through the sash above her head and she fell to the ground. Quickly he cut the other cord and the nurse also dropped and lay as one dead, behind a rose bush.
He unfastened the noose from the girl’s throat.
“There is no merit to be gained in that death, oh Maiden!” he said, grimly.
“It is an honorable death,” exclaimed Su-rah, “Shall a daughter of Chan know the polluting touch of a Tartar?”
“Perhaps there will be no need of it,” said the archer. “Fo Tung has gone for help and if we can hide for a little, we will be rescued.”
“Too late!’ she moaned, “too late! You should have let me die!” and she pointed to the garden wall.
Two short steel tipped horns had risen there while Arslan spoke and now the full face appeared below the hide helmet.
Broad and flat it was, and most indescribably dirty. For a second the Tartar stared down at the couple in the garden and then opened his mouth to shout.
As he did so, an arrow flew and the man’s leer changed to a look of stupid wonder, just before he disappeared, pierced through the throat.
Arslan was not an archer of the guard for nothing.
