Chapter VIII: The Emir’s Court

The Emir, splendid in jeweled robes of state, held court. The room was filled with petty officers of the court, townspeople of Yelwa, and smaller chiefs, and below the dais groveled the prisoner, loaded with leg irons and manacles. The accused, now pale and trembling, bore little resemblance to the cruel tyrant who, called forth by the Emir to answer for his crimes, had replied by raising an army and attempting war upon the Emir himself.

Here in the court witness after witness was called, drawn from the actual scene of the crime, and guilt of the accused was established beyond dispute. Their tales of terrorism, exaction, and torture ended, the prisoner, eyes fixed in dread anticipation upon the judge, his Emir, awaited sentence.

The stir of movement, of whispered comment, ceased throughout the bare, cave-like hall. Judgment and sentence were about to be pronounced. Raising one hand with its antique signet rings, the Emir enjoined silence. “Since you, Governor of one of our provinces, saw fit to rise in armed rebellion against us....” He was addressing the object in chains, upon whom all eyes were fixed.

All eyes except those of Garram. In the deserted side of the hall, behind the Emir, a man, previously hidden behind a massive pillar, moved swiftly forward to the cover of another pillar. A quick movement of Kon’s huge head had drawn Garram’s attention to this.

The voice of the Emir continued. “Since in this rebellion you tortured free men, burned villages, stole....” The level voice was proceeding with the summing up.

Next to the Emir sat the Waziri, the Vizier, and the Emir’s first officer of state. He was close enough to be visible from a corner of the Emir’s eye, and in full view of the people, but Garram, watching, saw that although neither head nor body of the Waziri moved, his left hand slid behind him and made signs behind the cover of his robes. Such signs could only be intended for that stealthily approaching figure.

“All these are clearly shown by many men whose own eyes have beheld them,” the voice continued. “Therefore the sentence is Death! Your head shall be struck off in the market place at sunset time!”

Garram’s keen and watchful eye saw the Waziri’s hand fall as if in secret signal. There was a swift flash of steel as the hidden man sprang into the open and flung himself upon the unsuspecting Emir, and the point of the assassin’s knife tore into the back of the jeweled robe. Then Kon’s great weight struck with full force, and knife and man went thudding to the ground.

There was a gasp of horror from the crowded room, another gasp as the dog’s huge jaws closed menacingly around the attacker’s throat.

The Emir gave no sign of fear, did not even pause in his judgment. Coolly he continued with his directions to the executioner, and the condemned rebel was removed, then, careless of the spreading stain of blood upon his garments, the chief turned to the scene at his feet. The time for the attack had been well chosen, when all attention was upon the fate of the rebel, and but for Kon’s intervention the Emir’s fate would have been certain. Now, with threatening clamor, guards and courtiers rushed forward and surrounded the prostrate man. Kon, at a word from Garram, released the figure and stalked back to his master’s side.

The prisoner, would-be assassin, was dragged by the mob to the front of the dais, and in a moment his scarlet and gold uniform of the guard hung in tatters from his shoulders, his face was twisted in pain. But he faced the wrathful Emir unafraid, waiting his sentence of death or torture.

“So it is you, Ibrahim!” cried the Emir. “You, the son of my cousin, of my own blood!”

Ibrahim, lips set with pain, inclined his head in assent. The Emir’s even tones deepened in anger. “Was then my gift of captaincy of the guard such an insult that it must be wiped out in blood?” The proud and angry face of the chief took on a look of sorrowful disdain. “If I have ever wronged you, or yours, speak--and I will set you free!”

The young man had returned haughty look for look, in spite of his pain. Now something like shame came to the handsome face, and he bent his head to hide it.

“Speak, if you have words in excuse for your deed! If you have none the penalty is----”

“_Death!_” With a ring of pride Ibrahim completed the Emir’s sentence.

“Nay,” mocked the Emir. “Death is scarcely the word. But in the end you may greet death as a mercy, and not as a punishment. But, guard, remove the prisoner lest I pass sentence blinded by anger. Seven days from to-day, at the door of the mosque of my ancestors, I will pass sentence.”

“In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, the Assembly is dismissed,” rang the voice of the court crier.

As the crowd filed through the wide doorways in ever increasing hubbub of talk the Emir turned to the Waziri. “See that an interpreter be sent me. One that speaks the speech of this young hunter whose dog has saved my life.” Then, contemptuous of the broadening red stain upon his robe he passed through the small doorway leading to his private apartments.

THE EMIR’S SECRET