The Lost Valley of Iskander | Page 9

to his sides that this was
impossible.
Abdulla frowned worriedly, and drew a curved dagger.
"Cut loose his arms," he directed, "then all three of you lay hold on him;
it is like letting a leopard out of his cage."
Gordon made no resistance and was quickly spread-eagled on the slab,
with a big Attalan at each arm and one on his legs. They held him
closely, but seemed skeptical of Abdullah's repeated warnings
concerning the stranger's strength.
The Tajik again approached his prisoner, lowering his knife as he
reached out. With a dynamic release of coiled steel muscles, Gordon
wrenched his legs free from the grasp of the careless Attalan and drove
his heels into Abdullah's breast. Had his feet been booted they would
have caved in Tajik's breast bone. As it was, the merchant shot
backward with an agonized grunt, and struck the floor flat on his
shoulders.
Gordon had not paused. That same terrific lunge had torn his left arm
free, and heaving up on the slab, he smashed his left fist against the jaw

of the man who gripped his right arm. The impact was that of a
caulking hammer, and the Attalan went down like a butchered ox. The
other two lunged in, hands grasping. Gordon threw himself over the
slab to the floor on the other side, and as one of the warriors lunged
around it, he caught the Attalan's wrist, wheeled, jerking the arm over
his shoulder, and hurled the man bodily over his head. The Attalan
struck the floor head-first with an impact that knocked wind and
consciousness out of him together.
The remaining kidnapper was more wary. Seeing the terrible strength
and blinding speed of his smaller foe, he drew a long knife and came in
cautiously, seeking an opportunity for a mortal thrust. Gordon fell back,
putting the slab between himself and that glimmering blade, while the
other circled warily after him. Suddenly the American stooped and
ripped a similar knife from the belt of the man he had first felled. As he
did so, the Attalan gave a roar, cleared the slab with a lion-like bound,
and slashed in mid-air at the stooping American.
Gordon crouched still lower and the gleaming blade whistled over his
head. The man hit the floor feet-first, off balance, and tumbled forward,
full into the knife that swept up in Gordon's hand. A strangled cry was
wrung from the Attalan's lips as he felt himself impaled on the long
blade, and he dragged Gordon down with him in his death struggles.
Tearing free from his weakening embrace, Gordon rose, his garments
smeared with his victim's blood, the red knife in his hand. Abdullah
staggered up with a croaking cry, his face green with pain. Gordon
snarled like a wolf and sprang toward him, all his murderous passion
fully roused. But the sight of that dripping knife and the savage mask of
Gordon's face galvanized the Tajik. With a scream he sprang for the
door, knocking the torch from its socket as he passed. It hit the floor,
scattering sparks, and plunging the room into darkness, and Gordon
caromed blindly into the wall.
When he righted himself and found the door, the room was empty
except for himself and the Attalans, dead or senseless.
Emerging from the chamber, he found himself in a narrow street, with

the stars fading for dawn. The building he had just quilted was
dilapidated and obviously deserted. Down the narrow way he saw the
house of Perdiccas. So he had not been carried far. Evidently his
abductors had anticipated no interference. He wondered how much of a
hand Bardylis had had in the plot. He did not like to think that the
youth had betrayed him. But in any event, he would have to return to
the house of Perdiccas, to obtain the packet he had concealed in the
wall. He went down the street, still feeling a bit sick and giddy from
that blow that had knocked him senseless, now that the fire of battle
had cooled in his veins. The street was deserted. It seemed, indeed,
more like an alley than a street, running between the back of the
houses.
As he approached the house, he saw someone running toward him. It
was Bardylis, and he threw himself on Gordon with a cry of relief that
was not feigned.
"Oh, my brother!" he exclaimed. "What has happened? I found your
chamber empty a short time ago, and blood on your couch. Are you
unhurt? Nay, there is a cut upon your scalp!"
Gordon explained in a few words, saying nothing of the letters. He
allowed Bardylis to suppose that Abdullah had been a personal enemy,
bent on revenge. He trusted the youth now, but there was no need to
disclose