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proportions,  to learn about the great nasraney magician of Córdoba, and how
he saved the city from an attack once more than half a century ago.
It was another delicate feeler; clearly designed to give Jim the opportunity
to talk of comparable powers and situations with regard to an appearance of
the Mongols. Unfortunately, Jim had never heard of the great nasraney magician
of Córdoba, a city in Spain which, during the eleventh and twelfth centuries,
had been almost the center of the western world, as far as North Africa was
concerned.
 Ah well, Jim said.  I suppose if the Mongols show up, we ll just have to be
polite to them and hope everything goes well.
 Inshallah ( It is the will of God ), said ibn-Tariq, defeated.  In any
case, the sun is close to the mountain tops, now. Shortly we will be stopping
for the night. I will ride forward and find out what our chosen stopping place
will be like.
Ibn-Tariq rode on ahead, and Jim was left alone. He was not particularly
disappointed in this because he wanted to think. He would have liked to have
asked ibn-Tariq more about Palmyra, and the chance of finding Geronde s father
there. But he hesitated to talk about that until this business of his being a
magician had been abandoned between them. What he really wanted-and, in fact,
he had been trying to get into words-was to ask ibn-Tariq to keep any
information on both Jim and Brian to himself.
It could probably not be kept entirely quiet, but the problem was that the
name  magician in ordinary gossip and conversation easily slipped into being
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 great magician ; and great magicians attracted great interest. Great interest
would stand in the way of his and Brian s investigation of Palmyra and the
whereabouts of the Lord of Malvern, by as many discreet routes as possible.
Jim s main difficulty lay in the fact that, even with the help of his
invisible and undoubtedly magic translator, he simply did not have the clever
control of his tongue that ibn-Tariq had. He had yet to think of a good way of
meeting ibn-Tariq halfway about the subject; so that it could be acknowledged
between them without ever being put into words.
He was in the midst of this particular study when he became aware that he was
no longer riding alone. Another camel had moved in beside him, and it was the
one with Baiju, the Mongol, on its back.
Baiju had been riding along with him for several minutes; but in his usual
fashion, he seemed in no hurry to open conversation with Jim.
It was strange, thought Jim. According to all visible characteristics, Baiju
should appear unimportant, if not ridiculous. He was not only a little man,
but he seemed to ride hunched in the saddle, although Jim had finally decided
that his posture was indeed not so much hunched, as completely relaxed.
In fact, he seemed more at home in his saddle than anyone else in the
caravan. His face was dish-shaped, with slightly slanted eyes and high cheek
bones and yellow skin. His very dark eyes were essentially expressionless. It
was impossible to read anything from them as to how he was feeling, let alone
what his intentions might be.
Still, he had been friendly enough, in his laconic way. He was the very
opposite of ibn-Tariq, in that he did not so much reply to what was said to
him, as simply utter flat statements. Jim knew he would not speak until Jim
initiated the conversation.
 We will be stopping for the night, soon, said Jim.  It seems to me it s
already starting to get cool; but then, we re steadily moving higher into the
mountains.
He looked at Baiju, who, under a coat of mail, appeared to be wearing nothing
but a thin shirt of dark blue color, made of what looked like some
surprisingly modern, close-woven, thin material.
 You do not notice the cold of the mountain heights with only that shirt
under your mail? he asked.
 The shirt is silk, said Baiju.
Jim felt a little foolish. Of course the Mongols, with their connections to
the Far East, would tend to have garments made of silk. In fact, now that he
stopped to think about the robe he had seen abu al-Qusayr wear...
 Still, he said,  in the west, we re used to wearing a garment of padding
under our chain mail. Don t you usually prefer wearing something like that? Or
are ways of dressing simply different here?
 It is silk because of the arrows, said Baiju.  When an arrow goes into the
body, the silk is pushed in with it. It is then easy to remove the arrow by
pulling gently on the silk.
Jim winced internally. He had never heard of such a way of dealing with
arrows; but perhaps it made sense. Silk was an interesting cloth in many ways,
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and it might well have the characteristic of entangling the barbed ends of an
arrow and the strength not to tear loose, but bring the arrowhead out when
pulled, instead of just tearing loose when it was pulled upon. At the same
time, having an arrow removed that way would not be the most comfortable of
experiences-though, come to think of it, having the arrow cut out might be
even worse.
 Are Mongol arrows always barbed? he asked.
 Always, said Baiju.
 And do the arrows and suchlike vary from tribe to tribe? Jim asked.  Maybe
I should say from kingdom to kingdom-
 They do not vary, said Baiju.
 In the west, our weapons vary, said Jim.  Generally, of course there s the
short sword and the long; and various styles of them. But usually you can tell
by the weapon and the way a man s dressed where he s from. How do you tell
where another Mongol s from?
 You look, said Baiju. Jim thought he would go on from those first two
words, but evidently they were his complete answer.
 I suppose what I meant to ask, said Jim,  is what differences do you look
for? What about him, his clothes or his weapons, or whatever, tell you who he
is?
 You look, said Baiju.  That is all. You look-and you know.
 I see, said Jim.  If we run into a force of Mongols, have you any idea
which kingdom of Mongols they ll be? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]