But the proud Arab blood in him
flared up again as he was thrust forward, confronting Bara Miyan. His
head snapped up, his eyes glittered like a caged eagle's, the fine,
high nostrils dilated; and there he stood, captive but unbeaten, proud
even in this hour of death.
Bara Miyan made no great speaking. All he asked was:
"Art thou, indeed, that Shaytan called Abd el Rahman, the Reviler?"
The desert Sheik nodded with arrogant admission.
Bara Miyan turned and clapped his hands. Out from among the horsemen
two gigantic black fellows advanced. Neither one was Arab, though no
doubt they spoke the tongue. Their features were Negroid, of an East
African type.
The dress they wore distinguished them from all the others. They had
neither _tarboosh_ nor burnous, but simply red fezes; tight sleeveless
shirts of striped stuff, and trousers of Turkish cut. Their feet were
bare.
Strange enough figures they made, black as coal, muscled like
Hercules, and towering well toward seven feet, with arms and hands in
which the sinews stood out like living welts. Their faces expressed
neither intelligence nor much ferocity. Submission to Bara Miyan's
will marked their whole attitude.
Pages:
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391