Three Bladed Doom - Robert E. Howard, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 2
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Three-Bladed DoomBy Robert E. HowardChapter 1 Knives in the DarkIt was the scruff of swift and stealthy feet in the darkened doorway he had just passed that warned Gordon. He wheeled with catlike quickness just in time to see a tall figure lunge at him from that black arch. It was dark in the narrow, alley-like street, but Gordon glimpsed a fierce bearded face, the gleam of steel in the lifted hand, even as he avoided the blow with a twist of his whole body. The knife ripped his shirt and before the attacker could recover his balance, the American caught his arm and crashed the long barrel of his heavy pistol down on the fellow's head. The man crumpled to the earth without a sound.Gordon stood above him, listening with tense expectancy. Up the street, around the next corner, he heard the shuffle of sandaled feet, the muffled clink of steel. They told him the knighted streets of Kabul were a death-trap for Francis Xavier Gordon. He hesitated, half lifting the big gun, then shrugged his shoulders and hurried down the street, swerving wide of the dark arches that gaped in the walls which lined it. He turned into another, wider street, and a few moments later rapped softly on a door above which burned a brass lantern.The door opened almost instantly and Gordon stepped quickly inside."Look the door!"The tall bearded Afridi who had admitted the American shot home the heavy bolt, and turned, tugging his beard perturbedly as he inspected his friend."Your shirt is gashed, El Borak!" he rumbled."A man tried to knife me," answered Gordon. "Others followed me."The Afridi's fierce eyes blazed and he laid a sinewy hand on the three-foot Khyber knife that jutted from his hip."Let us sally forth and slay the dogs, sahib!" he urged.Gordon shook his head. He was not a large man, but his appearance was impressive. Thick chest, corded neck and square shoulders presented a compactness which hinted at almost primordial strength and endurance, and he moved with a supple ease that betrayed capabilities for blinding quickness."Let them go. They're the enemies of Baber Khan, who knew that I went to the Amir tonight to urge him to pardon the man.""And what said the Amir?""He's determined on Baber Khan's destruction. The chief's enemies have poisoned the Amir against him, and then Baber Khan's stubborn. He's refused to come to Kabul and answer charges of sedition. The Amir swears he'll march within the week and lay Khor in ashes and take Baber Khan's head, unless the chief comes in voluntarily and surrenders. Baber Khan's enemies don't want him to do that. They know the charges they've made against him wouldn't stand up, with me defending his case. That's why they're trying to put me out of the way, but they don't dare strike openly."I'm going to see if I can't persuade Baber Khan to come in and surrender.""That the chief of Khor will never do," predicted the Afridi."Probably not. But I'm going to try. Baber Khan is my friend. Wake Ahmed Shah and get the horses ready while I throw a pack together. We're starting for Khor right away."The Afridi did not comment on night-travel in the Hills, or mention the lateness of the hour. Men who rode with El Borak were accustomed to hard riding at all ungodly hours."What of the Sikh?" he asked as he turned away."He remains at the palace. The Amir trusts Lal Singh more than his own guards, and wants to keep him as a bodyguard for awhile. He's been nervous ever since the Sultan of Turkey was murdered by that fanatic, Hasten, Yar Ali Khan. Baber Khan's enemies are probably watching the house, but they don't know about that door that lets into the alley behind the stables. We'll slip out that way."The huge Afridi strode into an inner chamber and shook the man sleeping there on a heap of carpets."Awaken, son of Shaitan. We ride westward."Ahmed Shah, a stocky Yusufzai, sat up, yawning."Where?""To the Ghilzai village of Khor, where the rebel dog Baber Khan will doubtless cut out all our hearts," growled Yar Ali Khan.Ahmed Shah grinned broadly as he rose."You have no love for the Ghilzai; but he is El Borak's friend."Yar Ali Khan scowled and muttered direly in his beard as he stalked out into the inner courtyard and headed for the stables. These lay within the high enclosure, and no one but the members of Gordon's "family" knew that a hidden door connected them with an outer alley. So all the shadowy figures that lurked about his house that night were watching the other sides when the small party moved stealthily down the black alley. Within half an hour from the time Gordon rapped at his door, the clink of hoofs on the rocky road beyond the city wall marked the passing of three men who rode swiftly westward.Meanwhile in the palace the Amir of Afghanistan was proving the adage concerning the uneasiness of the head that wears the crown.He emerged from an inner chamber, wearing a pre-occupied expression, and absently returned the salute of a tall, magnificently-shouldered Sikh who clicked his booted heels and came to military attention. The Amir turned up the corridor, indicating with a gesture that he wished to be alone, so Lal Singh saluted again and fell back, resuming his station by the door, one hand absently caressing the sharkskin-bound hilt of his long saber.His dark eyes followed the Amir up the corridor. He knew that his friend El Borak had been closeted with the king for several hours, and had left with an abruptness that hinted at anger.This interview was likewise on the Amir'smind as he entered a large lamp-lit chamber and crossed toward a gold-barred window that overlooked the sleeping city. It was the first rift in his relationship with the American, who acted as unofficial advisor, counsel, ambassador and secret service department. Hedged in by powerful nations which used his mountain kingdom as a pawn in their game of empire, the Amir leaned heavily on the western adventurer who had proved his reliability scores of times.The Amir frowned, from his troubled spirit, glancing idly at a curtain which masked an alcove and absently reflecting that the wind must be rising, since the tapestry swayed lightly. He glanced at the gold-barred window and instantly went cold. The light curtains there hung motionless. Yet the hangings over the alcove had stirredThe Amir was a powerful man, with plenty of personal courage Almost instinctively he sprang, seized the tapestries and tore them apart-a dagger in a dark hand licked from between them and smote him full in the breast. He cried out as he went down, dragging his assailant with him. The man snarled like a wild beast, his dilated eyes glaring madly. His dagger ribboned the Amir's khalat, revealing the mail shirt which had saved the ruler's life more than once.Outside a deep shout echoed the Amir's lusty yell for help, and booted feet pounded down the corridor. The Amir had grasped his attacker by the throat and the knife-wrist, but the man's stringy muscles were like knots of steel. As they rolled on the floor the dagger, glancing from the mail shirt, fleshed itself in arm, thigh and hand. Then, as the bravo heaved the weakening ruler under him, grasped his throat and lifted the knife again, something flashed in the lamp-light like a jet of blue lightning, and the murderer collapsed, split to the teeth."Your majesty-my lord-!" the Sikh was pale under his black beard. "Are you slain? Nay, you bleed! Wait!"He thrust the corpse aside and lifted the Amir. The ruler was gasping for breath and covered with blood, his own and his attacker's. He sank on a divan, and the Sikh began to rip strips of silk from the hangings to bind his wounds."Look!" the Amir gasped, pointing. His face was livid, his hand shook. "The knife! The knife!"It lay glinting dully by the dead man's hand -a curious weapon with three blades sprouting from the same hilt. Lal Singh started and swore beneath his breath."The Triple-Bladed Dagger!" panted the Amir, fear flooding his eyes. "The kind of knife that slew the Sultan of Turkey! The Shah of Persia! The Nizam of Hyderabad!""The mark of the Hidden Ones!" muttered Lal Singh, uneasily eyeing the ominous symbol of the terrible cult which within the past year had struck again and again at the men occupying the high places of the East.The noise had roused the palace; men were running down the corridors, shouting to know what had occurred."Shut the door!" exclaimed the Amir. "Admit no one but the major domo of the palace.""But we must have a physician, your majesty," protested the Sikh. "These wounds will not slay of themselves, but the dagger might have been poisoned.""Then send someone for a hakim. Ya Allah! The Hidden Ones have marked me for doom!" The Amir was a brave man, but his experience had shaken him terribly. "Who can fight the dagger in the dark, the serpent underfoot, the poison in the wine-cup?"Lal Singh, go swiftly to El Borak's house and tell him I have desperate need of him! Bring him to me! If there is one man in Afghanistan who can protect me from these hidden devils, it is he!"Lal Singh saluted and hurried from the chamber, shaking his head at the sight of fear in the countenance where fear had never before showed.There was cause for the Amir's fear. A strange and terrible cult had risen in the East. Who they were, what their ultimate purpose was, none knew. They were called the Hidden Ones and they slew with a three-bladed dagger. That was all that was known about them. Their agents appeared suddenly, struck and disappeared, or else were slain, refusing to be taken alive. Some considered them to be merely religious fanatics. Others believed their activities to possess a political ...
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