The Lost Valley of Iskander | Page 7

harshly demanded the giant.
"Let them hear, brother!" Bardylis directed triumphantly.
"I come in peace," said Gordon briefly, in archaic Greek. "I am called
El Borak, but I am no Moslem."
A murmur of surprise went up from the throng, and Ptolemy fingered

his chin and scowled suspiciously. He was a magnificently built man,
clean-shaven like all his tribesmen, and handsome, but his visage was
moody.
He listened impatiently while Bardylis related the circumstances of his
meeting with Gordon, and when he told of the American lifting the
stone that pinned him down, Ptolemy frowned and involuntarily flexed
his own massive thews. He seemed ill-pleased at the approval with
which the people openly greeted the tale. Evidently these descendants
of Grecian athletes had as much admiration for physical perfection as
had their ancient ancestors, and Ptolemy was vain of his prowess.
"How could he lift such a stone?" the king broke in. "He is of no great
size. His head would scarcely top my chin."
"He is mighty beyond his stature, O king," retorted Bardylis. "Here is
the bruise on my leg to prove I tell the truth. He lifted the stone I could
not move, and he came down the Road of the Eagles, which few even
among the Altaians have dared. He has traveled far and fought men,
and now he would feast and rest."
"See to it then," grunted Ptolemy contemptuously, turning back to his
dice game. "If he is a Moslem spy, your head shall answer for it."
"I stake my head gladly on his honesty, O king!" answered Bardylis
proudly. Then, taking Gordon's arm, he said softly, "Come my friend.
Ptolemy is short of patience and scant of courtesy. Pay no heed to him.
I will take you to the house of my father."
As they pushed their way through the crowd, Gordon's gaze picked out
an alien countenance among the frank, blond faces—a thin, swarthy
visage, whose black eyes gleamed avidly on the American. The man
was a Tajik, with a bundle on his back. When he saw he was being
scrutinized he smirked and bobbed his head. There was something
familiar about the gesture.
"Who is that man?" Gordon asked.

"Abdullah, a Moslem dog whom we allow to enter the valley with
beads and mirrors and such trinkets as our women love. We trade ore
and wine and skins for them."
Gordon remembered the fellow now—a shifty character who used to
hang around Peshawur, and was suspected of smuggling rifles up the
Khyber Pass. But when he turned and looked back, the dark face had
vanished in the crowd. However, there was no reason to fear Abdullah,
even if the man recognized him. The Tajik could not know of the
papers he carried. Gordon felt that the people of Attalus were friendly
to the friend of Bardylis, though the youth had plainly roused Ptolemy's
jealous vanity by his praise of Gordon's strength.
Bardylis conducted Gordon down the street to a large stone house with
a pillared portico, where he proudly displayed his friend to his father, a
venerable patriarch called Perdiccas, and his mother, a tall, stately
woman, well along in years. The Attalans certainly did not keep their
women in seclusion like the Moslems. Gordon saw Bradylis's sisters,
robust blond beauties, and his young brother. The American could
scarcely suppress a smile at the strangeness of it all, being ushered into
the every-day family life of two thousand years ago. These people were
definitely not barbarians. They were lower, undoubtedly, in the cultural
scale than their Hellenic ancestors, but they were still more highly
civilized than their fierce Afghan neighbors.
The interest in their guest was genuine, but none save Bardylis showed
much interest in the world outside their valley. Presently the youth led
Gordon into an inner chamber and set food and wine before him. The
American ate and drank ravenously, suddenly aware of the lean days
that had preceded this feast. While he ate, Bardylis talked, but he did
not speak of the men who had been pursuing Gordon. Evidently he
supposed them to have been Afghans of the surrounding hills, whose
hostility was proverbial. Gordon learned that no man of Attalus had
ever been more than a day's journey away from the valley. The ferocity
of the hill tribes all about them had isolated them from the world
completely.
When Gordon at last expressed a desire for sleep, Bardylis left him

alone, assuring him that he would not be disturbed. The American was
somewhat disturbed to find that there was no door to his chamber,
merely a curtain drawn across an archway. Bardylis had said there were
no thieves in Attalus, but caution was so much a natural part of Gordon
that he found himself a prey to uneasiness. The room opened