CHAPTER 1,
BACK THROUGH THE AGES.

Men have had visions ere now. Men have dreamed dreams. Faint glimpses of other worlds and other ages have come to us, as though for a moment the veil of Time had been rent and we had peered fearfully into the awful vistas.

Scant and fleeting those glimpses, not understood. And from them men have have shaped heaven and hell.

Little they knew that it was but the stirring of memory, memory transmitted from age to age, surviving the changing and shifting of centuries. Memory, that is as strong as the soul of man.

Time has no beginning or ending. The Wheel turns and the cycles revolve for ever. The Wheel turns and the souls of all things are bound to the spokes through all Eternity.

Form and substance fades but the Invisible Something, the ego, the Soul, swings on through the eons. It is as beginningless, as endless as Time Itself. These visions, these dreams, these instincts and inspirations, they are but memories, racial memories.

To some comes clearness of vision, of memory. Shall I say I have dreamed? No, for they were not dreams, the glimpses I had of Eternity.

For Eternity I have seen, the Ages of long ago and the future Ages. For as sure as I have lived before and as sure as I shall live again, I have drawn back the veil of Time and gazed clear-eyed into the Centuries. Glimpses I had in my youth, in child-hood, in infancy. Fleet snatches I caught, in dreams, in the Mystic Bowl of the Orient, in the Crystal.

But in manhood my clearest sight was reached, in manhood, when I purchased, for ten times its weight in gold, the Mystic Plant of the Orient.

In the waste place of the Orient it grows scantily, and from a wandering Hindu faquir I purchased a small quantity.

“Taduka,” I shall call it, although it is not Taduka nor is it anything known to or by, white men.

It is not an opiate, nor is its effect harmful in the least. It is to be smoked and when smoked, the world of today fades from about me and I travel back into the Ages or forward into the Future. Years, space, distance, time, are nothing. I have covered a million miles with the speed of light and a thousand years in as many seconds.

I have traversed empty space, from world to world. I have passed from Age to Age.

I have lived Centuries and Centuries on Centuries.

Sights I have seen and leagues on leagues have I traversed, in seconds time, for the effects of Taduka does not last many minutes, an hour at the utmost. A boon to humanity it would be, greater than the greatest inventions, greater than the written annals of history, and withal, absolutely harmless. Indeed, beneficient is Taduka.

So I have lived again the by-gone Ages of other lands.

And so it is that I, Stephen Hegen, knowing that the average human mind does not believe what it cannot conceive, and knowing that the conception of Mystery lies beyond the average human mind, yet I set down these, shall I call them adventures ? of mine.



I was a man in the Younger World. I lived in the trees and my only clothing was the thick, shaggy hair that grew on my body. I was not a large man but I was terrificly powerful.

I travelled through the trees, leaping and swinging from bough to bough like any ape.

I lived on fruit and nuts and such birds as I could snare and I crept, silently and fearful, to the river for water, glancing swiftly from side to side, ready to flee.

I was Swift-Foot the Tree-man, in those early days and my name did not lie. Swift of foot, men had to be in those days. Many a time have I footed it to the trees or the cliffs with the Mighty One, the lion, or old saber-tooth, the tiger, bounding behind me, shaking the earth with roars.

Once among the trees, nothing could catch me, not even the leopard nor the Hairy Fierce One, the ape.

The Hairy People, we called them, we of the Trees, for they were but savage apes. Powerful they were, and terrible, and possessed of a nasty temper. We of the trees were much higher in the scale of evolution. We had a sense of humor, childish and grotesque, I grant you, yet still, a sense of humor. The Hairy People had no sense of humor, and since they were morose and savage and of a hermit nature, we of the Trees let them alone.

Mighty fighters they were; a full grown male of the Hairy People was ten times as strong as a man of today, and nearly twice as strong as a man of the Trees.

If they had had union, they might have wiped out the Tree People, but when they came to steal the women of the Tree People, as they sometimes did, they came singly or only in twos and threes.

We of the Trees had feuds and fights with one another but we always united against a common enemy. And not one or three or ten Hairy Men could overcome the whole tribe of Tree People.

When a Tree Man was matched singly a Hairy Man, the Hairy Man almost invaribly came off victor.

Yet when a savage and powerful Hairy Man sought to carry off a girl of the Tree People whom I desired for a mate, I proved I was strong of arm as well as swift of foot.

For I saw red rage and there in the swaying tree-tops, a hundred feet from the ground, we fought, hand to hand, the Hairy Man and I, and bare-handed and unaided I slew him, there in tree-tops, when the world was young.

I was a slave in Egypt when Menes built the first pyramid. By day I toiled unceasingly with thousands of other slaves, working on the erection of the pyramids and at night I shared a squalid mud hut with other slaves.

I was tall and fair skinned and fair haired. One of the tribe of fair haired people who lived in caves on the coast of the Mediterranean. The ancestors of the Berbers of today.

I toiled without pause or rest and many a time I felt the slave-driver’s lash, until I remembered that I had been a chief in mine own land. Then, laying hands on the slave-driver, I slew him and broke away, regaining my freedom with one bold stroke.

To Ethiopia I fled, and there I became a chief of fighting men. From power to power I rose, until the Karoon, the king of Ethiopia, jealous of my rising power, sought my life.

Again I fled, across the desert, until I came to a tribe of black men.

Fierce fighters they were, and they took me into their tribe. I led them to victory against other tribes and I was made a chief among them.

When we had conquered the tribes’ enemies, I led an army of some two thousand out of the jungle, across the desert and into Ethiopia.

The black tribesmen were spearmen. They knew nothing of the bow and the Ethiopians were all skilled archers, and they greatly outnumbered us. But I led them skillfully and we fell upon the Ethiopians, surprizing them and closing in so swiftly that they had scant time to use their bows. In hand-to-hand fighting the Ethiopians could not stand before the fierce speamen and they broke and fled.

The Karoon, the king of Ethiopia, was slain in battle and I put myself on the Ethiopian throne.

Ethiopia became powerful under my rule and the Egyptians were forced to double their frontier armies.

I trained the armies of Ethiopia and I invaded Egypt. The Egyptian armies were hurled back and the Egyptian cities fell before the onslaught of my Ethiopian bowmen and savage black spearmen.

I conquered Egypt and for a time I reigned on the throne of the nation in which I had been a slave.

But the Egyptians rose against me and I was forced to flee to Ethiopia.

But no Egyptian army ever successfully invaded Ethiopia during my reign and I was content with the kingdom of Ethiopia for I made it into a mighty nation, supreme in that part of Africa.

I was a Pict and my name was Merak. I was a wiry man of medium height, with very black hair and very black eyes.

My tribe lived in wattle huts on the east coast of Britain. It was not known as Britain then, for the Brythons had not yet given the island its name.

My people were artizans, then, not warriors. We hunted a little and tilled the soil and were a peaceful people.

I sat before the door of my hut, fashioning a spear of bronze.

Before the Gaelic invasion, the Picts made their weapons and implements of skillfully fashioned flint and obsidian and jade.

But the first Celts had come from Hibernia and had settled in Britain, bringing with them the first metal ever seen by the Picts of the island. The Gaels had not conquered Britain entirely, by any means, nor did they ever entirel subjugate the Picts.

We were artizans and we were not warriors but we were cunning and skilled in crafts of many kinds.

As I fashioned the spear I glanced up, to see Mea-lah, the daughter of one of the chief’s councilors, passing.

I was aware of large, dark, beautiful eyes gazing into mine. Just an instant and then the girl had walked on.

I watched her, a vague yearning filling my soul.

Mea-lah’s eyes were very beautiful, her skin was as softly white as snow. Her soft, dark hair rippled down over her slim, snowy shoulders. She tripped lightly along on dainty feet that seemed scarcely to touch the ground.

She was going toward the sea-shore and presently I saw her slight form outlined against the cloud-flecked sky. She was standing upon a great rock, gazing sea-ward, her rippling hair floating in the sea-breeze.

A dainty, lovely thing, scarce more than a girl-child – and she was to marry the son of the chief.

Had those beautiful eyes seen in me more than a common artizan of the village? Had there been a certain wistfullness in their gaze?

I, but an ordinary Pictish tribesman, he, the son of the chief of the tribe – yet I had seen her shrink from him.

He was a cruel man, was Neroc, son of the chief and Mea-lah was made to be caressed and used tenderly. But her father was councilor –

I shrugged my shoulders and bent to work on the spear.

But now and again I looked up, to gaze at Mea-lah, standing on the rock by sea-shore.

From the sea came merchants, in those days, and traders. Tyrians and Phoenecians from Spain.

We were not a sea-faring people, but to us the sea was all that was strange and romantic, for the merchants and traders told us of lands afar off and of strange people and strange seas.

Mea-lah had always spent much time on the sea-shore, playing with the wavelets, tripping about the beach or lying upon the sand, gazing toward the blue haze that marked the far horrizon, dreaming dreams.

And I watched the girl dumbly, dreaming my own dreams, yearning for her.

And one I came to the door of my wattle hut, to see strange, long, black ships sweeping in from the sea. Long oars and sail swept them them swiftly forward. And they were crowded with men strange to us, huge, fierce men, with winged helmets and fair hair and long, fair, beards, who shook spears and long swords and roared strange, heathen, war-cries.

The ships swung inshore. These were no Phoenecian traders, no African merchants. They were warriors, pirates, from the far North.

They were Norsemen, Vikings. Some of the first of the fierce races that harried the coasts of Britain for centuries after.

They swept down on the Pictish village with fire and sword.

The Picts were not warriors. They could not stand before the giant Vikings with their iron and bronze armor and their great swords.

We fled from the village, men, women and children, the men but seeking to cover the retreat of the women and children.

The Norsemen took the offensive, ever, hurling themselves into the battle with a recklessness that the Picts had never seen equalled. The Picts, on the other hand, fought only on the defensive, ever retreating, and when the women and the children had found safety in the forest, the Pictish men broke away and fled in every direction. Many of them were cut down, among them Neroc, the chief’s son.

I was making for the forest, with some speed, glancing back from time to time toward the village, where the Norsemen were tearing the wattle huts to pieces in search of loot and women who might be hiding.

Some of them were leaping and branishing their weapons in some kind of a wild dance, others roaring uncouth war-songs, others applying the torch to the huts.

Nearer to me were scattered groups of warriors, pursuing the fleeing Pictish men and any Pictish women who had not dissapeared into the forest.

The screams of women rose above the clash of swords and the savage war-cries.

And then I heard my name called.

“Merak! Merak!”

And I saw who called me. Mea-lah struggled in the arms of a huge Norseman who carried her as if she was an infant.

Her beautiful dark eyes were wide, her lovely face white with terror and the horror of fear. Her soft arms were out-streched to me, appealingly, imploringly.

And I saw the red mist of rage and charged the Norseman, silently, savagely.

The Norseman, turning, saw but a Pict armed with a long bronze dagger, rushing at him.

With a roaring laugh, he shifted the struggling girl, and holding her helpless under one mighty arm, with the other raised a great sword to exterminate the presumptious Pictish fool that dared to charge a Norseman.

He was arrogantly over-confident and could not have gaged the speed at which I was coming. The great sword had scarcely reached the highest point of its upward arc, when I darted in under his arm and stabbed him thrice, driving the dagger through crevices in his corselet of iron.

With a bellow he staggered backward, his sword spinning from his grasp. He crashed to the ground, his thick, yellow beard pointing upward, the girl dropping from his arms as he fell.

I snatched her up and pushed her toward the forest. Without pausing to see whether sh made for it or not, I turned to meet the rush of three other Norsemen, who were charging down upon me with savage shouts.

But I had learned one thing. I was much quicker than the Norsemen and lighter on my feet.

As they swept down upon me, I ducked under the side-swing of a sword and tripped the wielder so that he fell sprawling. The flat of another’s sword struck me a staggering blow across the head but I rallied and lunging forward, I plunged my dagger to the hilt in the Norseman’s breast, wrenching it out as he fell.

The other Viking had stopped several yards away and was poising a long spear over his shoulder to throw.

I flung my dagger with all my force against his breast. As he lunged forward he hurled the spear but the shaft only struck me a glancing blow on the forest.

I staggered and someone caught me, supporting me. It was Mea-lah.

My senses were reeling, but I caught her by the hand and we fled into the forest.

The Norsemen did not care to follow the Picts into the thick forest and soon we were safe.

Then I leaned against a great tree, spent and weak, but happy.

And then I felt soft arms about my neck, soft hair falling about my face and rippling down over my shoulders, a soft, slender, girl-ish form clinging and nestling in my arms, soft lips against mine. Mea-lah.

I was Lakur the archer in the land of Kita. We were a war-like people and many and many a time have I marched through the great gates of Carchemish, with hundreds and sometimes thousands, of bowmen and swordmen and spearmen and chariot drivers.

We fought in defense of our country, for the most part, and we had wars enough at that.

Sometimes the armies came back through the great gates of Carchemish, straggling, defeated; more often with long trains of loot-filled wains and captives, strong men, handsome children and young women for slaves.

In the first-mentioned event, old men and women and the soldiers of the city manned the wall and prepared to hold the city.

In the latter, the whole great populace turned out and made a gala day and the loot was distributed and the slaves sold.

Speaking of slaves, there was a proverb, “Better a slave among the Hittites than a free man in Assyria.”

For we Hittites were famous for our mild treatment of prisoners and slaves. Fierce and savage we were in war, but in peace we were a fair and just people. We had none of the Semitic cruelty, and we were of a different race than the other tribes of Canaan.

It is not recorded in history that captives taken in war begged to be sold among the Hittites but it is the truth.

It was no law that caused the indulgence of slaves, but the leniency of the Hittite nature. I cannot explain why the Hittites were more kindly disposed than the other tribes of Canaan but the fact remains that they were.

Once we marched through the gates of Carchemish to oppose a mighty army that came from the East across the desert, laying waste the country as they came.

Assyrians they were, the warriors of of the fiercest and most war-like nation that early Asia ever knew.

They were led by a great general, a mighty man of valour, whose skill was so great that few tribes dared resist his army, and whose savage cruelty surpassed his skill and valour.

Where e’re the Assyrian army went, looting, murder, fire and rapine were. They slew men, women and children, sparing only the most beautiful of the young women for slaves and concubines.

They were, for a time, the lords of Asia, except for the Hittites.

We marched to meet the Assyrian army and we met it leagues from Khita. Such was the custom of the Hittites, never to fight a battle within their boundaries, and thus spare the people of Khita the horrors of an invading army, and in case of defeat to give them time to gain walled cities.

We did not join battle at once with the Assyrians. Our camp was pitched on a slope, theirs on the plains; and the plain was white with their tents.

They greatly outnumbered us, but we held the stragetic position, for at the foot of the slope whereon we camped, were many ravines and gulchs and huge boulders.

The Assyrians did not care to attack us there until they had supplied themselves with provisions and had looked to their weapons. Not for nothing had the Hittites held their own against all hostile nations for more than eight hundred years.

Nor did we care to sally out against them so we rested and raised fortifications and strung bows and sharpened swords and the Assyrians looted and ravaged on the plain and the smoke of burning cities and villages rose to the skies with the screeches of murdered men and children and the screams of women.

With the coming of the dark Asian night, many scouts and spies stole forth from the Hittite camp to spy among the Assyrians, to learn their numbers and if possible their plans.

I, Lakur the bowman, was one the spies.

It was a difficult business and full of risk for the spies. The Assyrians had many sentries stationed about the camp and some of the Hittites were discovered and went down, fighting, beneath the Assyrian sword.

But some of them gained the Assyrian camp and among them, I.

I entered the camp stealthily, now gliding noiselessly from shadow to shadow, now creeping forward on my hands and knees, now lying flat, scarcely daring to breathe as an Assyrian passed close by.

At last I found myself close to a large tent which seemed the pavilion of some chief.

I crept close to it, keeping ever in its shadow and daring greatly, cut a small slit in the cloth with my dagger.

Peering in with great caution, I saw that the tent was occupied by three or four women, one of them a captive, the others slaves but Assyrian women.

There was a stake driven into the dirt floor of the tent and beside this the captive woman crouched, her wrists bound to the stake. She was little more than a girl, a slender, beautiful girl, who, for her aristocratic features and daintiness, might have been the daughter of a great chieftain or a king.

Her eyes were wide with terror and her golden hair fell in confusion about her bare shoulders. Her single, robe-like garment was torn in places and a bruise showed on her soft round arm, showing that she had been roughly used.

As I watched, the tent-flap parted and an Assyrian warrior strode in. He was a chief, a tall, large man, heavily bearded, with a harsh, cruel face. The captive girl shrank away from him with a low cry of fright.

He smiled cruelly and drove the slave women from the tent.

Then he approached the girl and unbinding her hands, raised her to her feet.

I could not understand their language but I could tell that she was pleading frantically, piteously. The Assyrian only laughed at her.

He drew her close to him and kissed her roughly, again and again. Then he thrust her from him with such force that she fell prostrate on the tent-floor. She lay there, her slim form shaken with sobs. The Assyrian sneered and lifting her again in his arms, crushed her to him, gazing lustfully into her eyes, ignoring her weeping and pleas.

I wondered how any man could find it in him to mis-use so dainty and helpless a girl as she.

But cruelty was a predominant trait of the the Assyrians. The Assyrian was but playing with her as a cat plays with a mouse.

The girl’s hand, pushing against her captor, as she struggled in his arms as her bore her to a couch in the corner of the tent, touched the hilt of a dagger in his girdle.

Instantly she snatched it out and tried to stab the Assyrian with it. But he was too quick for her. He wrested the dagger from her hand and flung it across the tent. Then, his expression changed from sneering laughter to cruel rage, he hurled her to the tent-floor at his feet.

He snatched up a chariot-whip and with one savage jerk, tore the girl’s garment from her body, and brought the whip down across her soft, snowy shoulders. A red welt appeared upon her dainty skin but she did not cry out. She only hid her face in her hands and waited, shuddering, for the next blow.

The Assyrian’s treatment of his fair captive had angered me, but I had interfered for I felt I could not chance discovery by the camp. But now my rage was too much.

Gloating over the girl and deciding where the whip would strike next, the Assyrian did not hear the cloth of the tent part as I ripped a seven foot slash. He did not me as I charged silently across the tent. I was nearly upon him before he turned.

His eyes went wide and then narrowed to slits as he saw me.

“A Hittite!” he hissed as he snatched a short sword from his girdle. Before he could use it, my dagger glittered in the light of the tent as I struck once.

The Assyrian swayed and pitched backward, his sword falling from his hand.

A moment I stood over him, alert for any sound. But I heard none except the sound of the warriors gambling and revelling in other tents or by the great camp-fires.

I turned to the girl. She was still crouching, gazing first at me and then at the body of the Assyrian. Her eyes lighted as she saw he could harm her no more, and then filled with doubt as she looked at me.

I raised her to her feet and spoke reassuringly to her and though she did not understand my language, some of the fear faded from her lovely face. Then she glanced at herself and her cheeks went crimson and she averted her eyes with shame.

A long cloak such as Assyrian chiefs wore lay on a couch and I picked it up and draped it about the girl.

Then I went to the front of the tent and peered out. No one was near. Replacing my dagger and drawing my short sword, I took the girl by the hand and motioning for silence, led her through the slit I had made in the tent. Her presence would hamper my escape, but what sense or right would there have been to have rescued her from one Assyrian and to have left her in the power of several thousand of them?

Silently we made our way in the direction I led. I had seen groups of horses tied here and there within the camp and it was toward some of them that I was making my way.

We had much a-do to avoid the warriors and stay out of the lights of the fires but at last we reached a place where several horses were tethered. Two Assyrians sat near, dicing.

Chancing all upon one cast, I caught up the girl with one arm and landed amongst the horses with a single panther leap.

They reared and plunged but the tethers held and in an instant I was on the back of one, holding the girl close. With three slashes of my sword I parted the tethers and the next moment was doing my best to keep my seat as my horse stampeded wildly across the camp with the others.

The Assyrians had sat, gaping at me, almost dazed by my sudden appearance and swift actions. But now their presence of mind returned and they sprang up, shouting wildly.

In a moment the whole camp was in an up-roar. Men rushing about, shouting, (as I learned after) some that there was mutiny in the camp, some that the Hittites were upon them.

Men slashed at me with swords and a few arrows were aimed at me. But fire-light is deceptive and I passed through the entire Assyrian camp without having received a scratch. Neither had the horse nor the girl.

As I dashed past the last line of tents, I was aware that someone was close behind me, on a horse and riding like the wind.

Half turning I raised my sword but the horseman swept up beside me and I could see he was unarmed.

“Keep your sword for Assyrians!” he shouted, in the tongue of Khita, “I am your friend whether you are Hittite, Bashanite, or devil! All I ask is to accompany you.”

I could tell he was no Assyrian.

“Come if you wish.” I answered.

That was a ride! I shall never forget it.

A ride worth remembering, it was, sweeping along on a horse scarce less swift than the night-wind that struck against my face, blowing about my face and my shoulders the soft hair of the girl I carried before me; and and the strange horseman riding at my elbow.

A wild ride and the stranger made it still wilder by chanting a barbaric war-cry until I bade him be silent lest he betray us to the Assyrians.

I had no desire to recieve an arrow from a sentry of my own nation nor did I wish to throw the camp into a panic.

So instead of riding straight for the Khitan camp, I sheered off and circled about it, stopping at a point some distance from the camp and a greater distance from the Assyrian camp, of course, though not as distant as I could have wished.

I dismounted and lifted the girl from the horse. She clung to me and I knew she was frightened. I tried to reassure her as best I knew and then spoke to the stranger, “We will await here until dawn and then enter the Hittite camp.”

“Good.” he answered.

We staked out the horses and then made ourselves as comfortable as we could among a group of great boulders that afforded warmth from the chill night air as well as a hiding place from the Assyrians.

The stranger and I sat facing each other, with our backs against a boulder. The girl huddled close to me, shuddering at every faint sound that came from the distant Assyrian camp. The poor child was very much afraid but she seemed to have perfect trust in me.

In the darkness I could not see the features of the stranger and I wondered what manner of man he might be. We talked in low tones.

“Whoever you are,” he said with a chuckle, “and what your mission was in that camp of Assyrian devils, I doubtless owe you my life. Indeed, an Assyrian was lifting his sword against me when those horses bolted through camp, knocked down the Assyrian and scattered the others who held me. So I leaped on the back of one of the horses, first knocking down two or three Assyrians so they would remember me, and and rode for it. I percieved you riding out of camp at a speed which seemed to indicate that you were not greatly welcome, so I decided to throw in my lot with you. For the time being, at least.” then with a slight change of tone, “The pretty little Assyrian seems to come willing enough or have you frightened her into submission?”

I saw that he thought the girl was an Assyrian woman whom I had carried off forcibly.

“The girl is no Assyrian,” I answered, “nor did I abduct her. She was a captive of the Assyrians and I rescued her, slaying her captor.”

“Good.” he applauded softly, “You are a Hittite, I percieve from you speech.”

“Yes, I am Lakur, a bowman of Carchemish. And you –”

“My name is Ammon,” he replied, “and I am an Amalekite.”

“An Amalekite? Then what do you so far north?”

“I am something of a wanderer.” he replied, whimsically, “I have always a craving to see new places and strange lands. I was fighting in the army of of Babylon when I was captured by those Assyrian devils.”

And so we talked, telling each other tales of war and camp-life and cities and nations, speaking in low tones so as not to awake the girl who slumbered in my arms.

I told him of the great nation of Khita and the mighty city of Carchemish and he told me of his land which lay on the border of the desert of Shur. He told me of wars with the Philistines and the Amorites and the Canaanites and Midianites. He told me of the Salt Sea in the land of the Amorites and of the Gulf of Akaba and of the deset of Zin on whose borders dweldt the the Canaanitish giants. He told me of the cites of Horeb and Kadesh and Gaza and Askalon and Babylon.

He was not boastful in his speech, although he had traveled farther and seen more sights and strange lands and had taken part in more battles than any other man I had ever seen.

He had the gift of speech, likewise, and in the mere telling of a tale he made it so plain that his listener straightway had a picture in his mind of what the Amalekite related.

He was a North-Amalekite, one of the tribes who dwell in Canaan, between the desert of Shur and the desert of Zin. The South-Amalekites had their home in the mountains of the desert of Paran, north of the land of the Midianites. I had heard of the Amalekites but Ammon was the first I had met. I had heard that they were wild tribesmen, savage in battle but peaceable if let alone.

As dawn began to lighten the rugged land-scape of the desert, we made ready to go to the Hittite camp. In the light I saw that Ammon was fairly tall, lithe built man, with a true fighting-man’s build, broad of shoulder, narrow of hip and long of arm. His forehead was high and broad, showing a high intellect and his eyes were clear and seemed dancing with merriment and good humor. Altogether Ammon the Amalekite was a handsome man and I had never seen a man whose appearance I liked better.

We awoke the girl. She started up, a look of fright in her lovely eyes, but smiled when she saw me and held out her hands to me like a trustful child. She stared curiously at Ammon the Amalekite.

“Truly she is no Assyrian.” he commented, “Nor is she Hittite, Bashanite nor Babylonian.”

He spoke to her in several different languages and at last it seemed he used one she could understand. Her face lighted and she answered. They conversed for awhile and then Ammon turned to me.

“She is a princess of Cilicia.” he said, “She was journeying to Agade, to wed the lesser king there, when she and her escort were set upon by a raiding band of Assyrians. She was captured and brought along with the Assyrian army.”

So the girl I had carried before me on a half-wild Assyrian horse, the girl who had slept in my arms, was a princess. I marveled that I, Lakur, a common archer in the army of Carchemish, should been priveleged to so much as touch a person of royal lineage. I felt diffident about carrying her as I had but there was no other way so soon we were under way, the girl sitting the horse sideways, her arms about my shoulders. And when she smiled I felt strangely at ease.

Without incident we reached the Hittite camp. The princess I gave in charge of a general, who was pleased to aid her, as by doing so we might gain an alliance with Cicilia.

Then I sought out the company of archers of which I was a member.

Ammon expressed his wish to join in the battle so I asked him, “With whom do you wish to fight? Are you a bowmen, spearman or what?”

“Give me a sword,” he responded, “a sword and a horse and let me fight among the horsemen.”

I had him accompany me to my captain, Gurom, to whom I told Ammon’s wishes.

“A horse you shall have.” Gurom answered, “When the Assyrians march against us we will need stout warriors, I think. As for swords, take your choice.”

And he motioned to a rack filled with weapons. Ammon’s eyes sparkled as he examined the weapons rapidly. He selected a long, narrow-bladed, double edged sword, a Midianite sword, I think it was.

With an exclamation of satisfaction he whirled the sword until it sang and seemed a circle of glittering steel.

The Assyrians advanced with a blair of trumpets and a clashing of armor. There were thousands on thousands of them. The heavily-armed footmen came first, flanked on either side by the heavy cavalry. Behind these came the chariots of war and the lighter-armed footmen. Light-armed horsemen skirmished about the plain.

Slowly the great army surged forward like waves of steel.

Not a shout from the Hittite army, not a a trumpet-blast. Not an arrow was discharged, not a spear was hurled until the Assyrians had almost reached the great boulders at the foot of the slope. Then, in answer to an order given in the form of a spear flashing in the air, the air was filled with arrows raining upon the Assyrians. Still they came on, raising their shields against the arrows. They reached the boulders and the formation was broken as the first ranks of the army entered the gulchs and ravines. And then upon them leaped the Hittite spearmen and swordsmen who had lain concealed there.

Leaping and advancing and retreating to advance again, the Hittites plied swords and battle-axes and hurled heavy spears at close-range while higher up on the slope the light-armed footmen hurled javelins and throwing spears and still higher the bowmen, shooting high over the heads of their people, rained down flight after flight of arrows upon the Assyrians.

Unused to such fighting, the Assyrians gave way. They fled from the slope and reforming on the plain, advanced again. Horsemen and chariots were useless among the boulders so it was only the footmen who could be sent against us. And again and again our men broke the Assyrian power and drove them back. At last scouts came with the news that part of the Assyrian army was making a detour to mount the slope at a point distant from the battle-field and thus attack us from the rear. Then while the Assyrian army was divided, the king of Khita made his bold stroke.

He gave the order to form for a charge. Swiftly the boulders blocking the roads we had built were rolled away. Arriving before the Assyrians, and working under the cover of night, we had in a fashion, smoothed and levelled out roads down the slope which would allow chariots and horsemen to descend. The Assyrians were not aware of this for we had blocked the roads with great boulders. They thought we were no more able to hurl the full strength of our horsemen and chariots against them than they were us.

Thus it was with the utmost amazement that they saw the whole Hittite army careering down the slope toward them, at reckless speed.

The archers followed swiftly, discharging flights of arrows as they ran. A band of horsemen whirled past my company. Among them, riding like a whirlwind was Ammon the Amalekite. He had been fighting with the Hittites among the boulders and his sword was already red.

“Ho!” he shouted as he whirled past me, swinging his sword, “This is the way to fight! Not like foxes among the rocks!”

Coming as they did down that slope, at a speed like that of the wind, the chariots and horsemen of Khita struck the Assyrian army. Many a horse and rider went down, many a chariot plunged downward on that slope but the chariots that remained drove right through the Assyrian ranks and the Hittite horsemen swept in behind them.

Behind them came the heavy-armed footmen, then the light-armed footmen, then the archers.

That was a battle! For the Assyrians, rallying under the orders of that fiendish general of theirs, fought like devils and almost turned defeat into victory.

From two ranked battle-lines the battle became a surging, mingled mélee, in which chariot, horsemen, footmen and archers were mingled without order or formation.

I found myself in the midst of the battle, fighting with short sword and dagger. Such close, hand-to-hand fighting was not to my liking and I was getting the worst of the conflict, being hemmed in by three Assyrian swordsmen when a tall, pantherish warrior, smashed his way through the battle-press. With three flashing, lightning-quick thrusts he disposed of the three Assyrians and I saw it was Ammon the Amalekite. His sword was red from point to hilt, his shield and helmet were dented and battered and he was bleeding from sword-cuts about his arms and a slight cut on his cheek. But his eyes were dancing with enjoyment.

“A great battle!” he shouted swinging up his his shield in time to catch a descending sword and thrusting the Assyrian through. A spear he turned aside with his sword and at the same time dashed his shield into the face of the Assyrian who wielded the spear with such force that man pitched backward.

“That devil of a general begins to rally the Assyrians!” he shouted, “We are lost unless we can smash this part of the army before the other part comes down the slope upon us.”

For a moment the space about us was cleared as the battle swirled away.

“Look!” shouted Ammon seizing my arm, “See the Assyrian fiend?” he pointed at a chariot some distance away. In it I saw a man. A chief he was, dressed in costly armor, with a long black beard and a look of such malign cruelty that even at the distance I shuddered.

“’Tis he!” Ammon shouted, “It is the Assyrian general!”

There were a few arrows left in my quiver. I selected one with care but hastily.

Sighting along the smooth shaft, I drew with all my strength. I loosed. Far and fast sped the arrow, upon it resting the rescue of the Hittite nation.

And the Assyrian flung wide his arms and plunged headlong from his chariot, as the arrow parted that long black beard and drove through his corselet of iron and bronze.

“Ho!” shouted Ammon the Amalekite. He whirled his sword high in the air.

“Ho!” he shouted again, “A wonder! A noble bowman are ye, Lakur the Hittite!”

And from the Assyrian ranks rose the shout, “Flee! The general is slain! The terrible Seni-Asshur is slain!”

“Rally, men of Khita!” shouted Ammon, “Rally and smite these Assyrians!”

And he leaped into the battle-press, his sword whirling and leaping like a flame.

The annals of Khita will tell you how the Hittites rallied under the commands of their general. How they hurled themselves with reckless valor against the wavering Assyrians and drove them back across the plain, defeated, their army shattered. How then the general of Khita swung the army about and met the charge of the other Assyrian army that was careering down the slope, and hurled back that army in defeat.

The annals of Khita will tell you how the remnants of that mighty and terrible Assyrian army fled back across the plain in swift retreat and how the Hittite warriors marched back through the great gates of Carchemish with many prisoners and rich plunder, while the people rejoiced and made a gala day of it.

They will tell you of the cunning and daring of the Hittite general, of the might and daring of the warriors of Khita.

And all that is as it should be, for no mightier warriors, no more sagacious general, ever lived than the warriors and the general of Khita.

But I say, and say it without vainglorious boasting, that it was the arrow of I, Lakur the bowman, who won that battle for the Hittites and so says Ammon the Amalekite.

CHAPTER 2,
THE VIKING.

I dwelt in a land far to the north. It was cold there, with snow and driving sleet and screeching blizzards.

My people lived on the shores of a great sea and were a sea-faring folk. We were tall and strongly made, with flowing fair hair and the men wore heavy, fair beards. We were a war-like people and people who roamed the sea.

My name was Hakon and I differed from most of my tribe in that my hair was black and my eyes were grey.

I was a fair-sized man, but no giant such as were many of my people.

When a young man I went to one of the fiercest and most powerful sea-captains of that time, one Tostig the Mighty.

And mighty he was, a great, yellow bearded giant of a man, a terrible warrior and a man whose wish was his only law.

He towered inches higher than I, his winged helmet adding to his height, his hand resting, as if by habit, on the hilt of his great sword.

“You wish to join my crew?” he stared at me rather contemtously, “As you will, but do not join unless you are willing to fare far and fight many battles.”

He had two dragon-ships. He commanded one himself and the other was captained by a viking named Ragnar.

Swift, fierce-fought battles and rich plunder were ever for Tostig’s men. We sailed recklessly out into the great seas, our long, low galley tossing like a chip on the waves but riding the highest seas stanchly.

Ships were not over-numerous upon the seas in those days, but we took every one we could over-haul and who was not too strong for us.

Phoenecian and Italian traders and merchants, other pirate ships, any ship was loot to us.

Nor were we averse to raiding inland. Many a village we looted in Alba, in Hibernia and in Britain.

There was a fierce old viking who had a skalli on the coast of Jutland. Every ship that passed that part of the coast was forced to pay toll.

Our dragon-ships swung around the out-jutting promontory where the old viking’s skalli was.

Instantly a long, low dragon-ship came sweeping around the point of land and swept toward us.

Our two ships closed in on it and after a short skirmish at long range, the dragon-ship turned and made for the small bay from which it had come. We could see the viking’s skalli upon the highest part of the promontory.

“After them!” thundered Tostig, “By Odin and Thor! We will sack the skalli!”

“Slowly, Tostig, slowly.” quoth old Rane, “Perchance it is some trap. Erling is as cunning as a fox and ’tis well known that he posseses five dragon-ships. We have seen only one.”

But Tostig was carried away by the lust of battle and the prospect of loot.

“I care not if old Erling hath an hundred dragon-ships crowded with men!” he shouted, “Steer for the bay, helmsman!”

Into the bay we drove, and there upon the beach where they had dragged her, lay the dragon-ship. But she was deserted.

“When we have looted and burned the skalli,” quoth Tostig, “we will take the ship with us for she is a sound ship and a handsome one.”

“But where are her men?” asked Sigurd, “And where are the other ships of Erling?”

“This’s ship’s men have doubtless gone to defend the skalli.” answered old Rane, “As to the other ships, I have no idea.”

“They have fled.” Tostig answered, “They have all fled for they learned that Tostig the Mighty was coming to loot the skalli and the village.”

And just so many people fled at the coming of Tostig.

Little use it is to relate that battle at Erling’s skalli. We quit our ships and charged up the slope, yelling our war-cries.

The warriors and house-carls in the skalli fought boldly but we out-numbered them and we swarmed over the skalli-walls and in a short time our enemies were prisoners or had fled and a number were slain.

In the great hall of the skalli old Erling confronted us.

He had been disarmed and his hall was thronged with the armed vikings of Tostig the Mighty, but he glared at us defiantly and with haughty pride.

“But that my other four dragon-ships and most of my men were off on a raiding cruise, our places would be changed, Tostig.” said Erling.

“Ho, ho!” laughed Tostig, gustily, “High words for a captive! Had all your ships and all your vikings been here, I would have conquered just the same! I am Tostig, Tostig the Mighty and I am unconquerable!”

Erling glared at him with hate. Just at that moment a girl, Erling’s daughter, rushed into the room, pursued by some of Tostig’s men. She ran to her father and clung to him.

Tostig gazed at her.

“A fair girl.” he said, “I will take her.”

“You would not!” Erling cried.

“Why not?” queried Tostig, “I am Tostig the Mighty. What I wish, I take.” Then craftily, “What will you pay for your freedom and the girl’s?”

Erling was beaten and he knew. He spoke an order to a house-carl and presently slaves came into the hall, bearing hampers and armloads of treasure.

They dumped it all down on the long table. There were gold ornaments, bracelets, armlets, rings, there were piles of golden and silver coins, there costly weapons and armor and rich clothing.

“It is the wealth I have gathered from years of raiding and looting.” Erling said, “Take it all and depart.”

“Aye, we will do so.” said Tostig coolly, “It is a fair dower for your girl, Erling.”

The girl cried out and clung to her father. She was not like most of of our Norse women, for she was small and slender with a timid air and large, pleading violet eyes.

Erling glared at Tostig. “Villian!” he exclaimed, “You will take all this great treasure and break your vow? You are forsworn!”

“Nay,” Tostig said coolly, “I took no vow and you shall go free, Erling.”

And at that moment Sigurd dashed into the skalli.

“Away, away!” he shouted, “The ships of Erling are upon us! To sea!”

Instantly all was confusion. Tostig’s vikings rushed toward the door of the skalli, releasing the prisoners and snatching at whatever loot was handiest. Erling’s vikiings and house-carles fell upon the men of Tostig with shouts and war-cries, seeking to snatch weapons.

I had been edging toward the table where the loot was and I happened to be nearest to it. The house-carles leaped like tigers on Tostig and Erling caught up the girl and retreated toward the rear of the skalli.

“Hakon!” bellowed Tostig, scattering his assailants right and left with sweeps of his great sword, “Seize the girl and bear her away!”

“Fenris seize the girl and you also!” I yelled, springing to the table. Erling, backing away, swung the girl behind him, shouting for his men to rally about him. I paid no attention to him. I had no time for girls when loot was to be had. I snatched up a hamper filled with loot and fled for the door of the skalli.

Erling’s vikings sought to seize me and struck at me with swords and spears, but I ducked and side-stepped and avoided every blow. Out of the skalli door I leaped, and fled down the slope toward our galleys with the rest of Tostig’s vikings, Tostig among them.

For we could plainly see four long, low galleys sweeping in from the sea and outnumbered as we were, we only wished to get aboard our galleys and flee to the sea. Not even Tostig cared to stay and fight against such odds. The galleys tried to hem us in the bay, but we made it out into the open sea. For several leagues they followed us, but finally turned and sailed back to Erling’s bay.

All of Tostig’s vikings were in an ugly humor, Tostig no less. For vikings were not used to running from enemies and there was fighting and fleeing and no loot. I smiled as I watched the vikings.

“No loot.” said Holgar, angrily, “Not a trinket, not a coin.”

“We might have had plunder by boat-fulls had not Tostig tried to seize the girl.” Einar added.

That was the talk I was pleased to hear. I had hidden my hamper of loot under some furs. Now I lifted it and bore it to the middle of the deck. All the vikings watched me, perplexed.

“Here are some few trinkets.” I said, “Had I obeyed Tostig’s order and carried off the girl, we should not have this now.”

I took from the hamper a golden-hilted dagger in a golden sheath and a handful of bracelets and rings.

“Divide the rest amongst yourselves.” I said, with a wave of my hand toward the hamper.

“By Thor!” swore Lodbrog with amazement, “Such generosity I have not met with for long! Unless my eyes belie me, there is in that hamper a silver sword-sheath I would fain possess.”

I watched them, a slight smile on my face, as with many a hearty oath, they divided the loot. Their respect and esteem for me was going forward by leaps and bounds, as I intended it should.

Then came old Rane, to announce that Tostig commanded me before him at once. I went forward to the quarter-deck, where Tostig was.

Tostig was in a fine rage, cursing all Jutes in general and Erling in particular.

He glared at me furiously, his hand playing with his sword-hilt.

“I ordered you to seize the girl and bear her away.” he said, furiously, “You disobeyed my command.”

“That I might bear away some of Erling’s plunder and men should not say the raid was for naught and that we fled empty-handed.”

“What care I?” he thundered, “Your place is to obey.” And he sent his fist with all his power against my face. I caught the blow on an up-flung arm but the force was enough to knock me from my feet and send me rolling along the deck.

From the vikings came a murmur of dissaproval.

Half-stunned, I got to my feet. I turned to the vikings.

“You see,” I said, “How Tostig deals with those who disobey his commands. By seizeing the loot for all of us, instead of the girl, I went against Tostig’s orders. Now ye know that Tostig must be obeyed.”

Thus I spoke craftily, and Tostig glared at me, not sure whether to smite me down or not. Then he could see, that though they said nothing, the vikings were clearly on my side. I believed I could have started a mutiny there and then but such was not my intention. Tostig’s eyes blazed and he stepped forward, his fingers closing around the hilt of his sword.

But before he could speak I skillfully turned aside whatever he might say, by seeming to acknowledge his supremacy.

“See that you obey Tostig’s commands in all things.” I said, still adressing the vikings, “I did wrong in not seizing the girl for Tostig. Knowing that we all would share in the loot, I took it. But Tostig is our chieftain and it is for him to say whether or not we shall take plunder. Why should I disobey Tostig and take loot for ourselves when he commands me to seize a woman for Tostig? With all submission to you, Tostig.” I added humbly and walked away, leaving Tostig glaring after me uncertainly, and the vikings with puzzled looks on their face. I smiled to myself. Oh, I was crafty, I, Hakon the Norseman.

Tostig and the vikings were puzzled. Craft meant little to them. All save one. I saw Sigurd watching me and a faint smile was on his lips. No word passed between us but glances of understanding.

The hamper of loot had been a large one and filled to the brim with much costly plunder. I had scarcely managed to carry it, and there was not a viking on the ship that did not recieve his share.

Unseen myself, I heard two of the vikings discussing the loot and myself.

“Tostig did wrong in smiting Hakon.” quoth Erik, “Had it not been for Hakon, we should have come away from Erling’s skalli empty-handed.”

“But if Hakon had carried off Erling’s daughter, as Tostig ordered,” argued Garulf, “we might have had all of Erling’s wealth as ransom.”

Erik laughed scornfully, “Think you Tostig would have given her up for ransom? Besides if Hakon had carried her off, Erling would have followed us with his five dragon-ships and slain us all. No, Hakon did as he should have done.”

“Doubtless you are right.” agreed Garulf.

Cunningly, without speaking against Tostig and giving him an excuse to slay me, craftily, without drawing suspicion of any sort to myself, I turned the vikings against Tostig, against his arrogance, his over-bearing ways, his cruelty. Many of them hated Tostig anyway, so it was not such a difficult matter. For Tostig was arrogant and selfish and cruel, ruling with a hand of iron.

Ragnar’s ship, that had become separated from Tostig’s ship in the flight from Erling’s bay, met us again.

The two ships swept along-side and the vikings shouted to each other.

“What loot have ye?” Holgar yelled sarcastically. The answer was a torrent of curses, directed mostly at Erling and his Jutes.

The men on Tostig’s ship waved their plunder and shouted taunts.

“You have no man like Hakon on your ship!” shouted Lodbrog, “He alone had the swiftness and wit to bring away any loot.”

Later when Ragnar came aboard the “Kraken” as Tostig’s dragon-ship was called, and was told, by Tostig with many curses, of my feat, the viking chief looked at me appraisingly. I was appraising him likewise. Ragnar was not so famed in battle as Tostig, yet he was close behind the chieftain in fame and he was shrewder and more skilled in council. I decided I could use Ragnar.

“We will sail for Bretland.” said Tostig, “There should be much plunder along the coast.”

So for Bretland we sailed. Tostig scorned to hug the coast and we sailed straight out across the sea.

Not far off the coasts of Orkneyar, the Orkney islands, we sighted two dragon-ships. They tacked to meet us and soon we saw that they were Angles, the vikings of Gathlaff who was as fierce and cruel a chieftain as Tostig. There was little friendship between Norseman and Angle and and the vikings joined battle instantly. Straight for Gathlaff’s dragon-ship drove the “Kraken”, hurled through the water by long oars that bended in the rowers’ hands as they drove the ship forward, the vikings crowding the rails of all the ships, brandishing their weapons and yelling savage war-cries. Tostig stood in the bows of the “Kraken”, his long, yellow beard streaming down over his corselet, his voice booming battle-cries and curses, wild and gusty as the sea-winds, his great sword glittering in his hand.

The ships struck with a crash and in an instant were fastened together with swift-thrown grappling irons and the ship-rails were crowded with battling men, and was a din of clashing swords and bucklers as each crew sought to board the other ship. A swift glance cast over my shoulder showed the other Angle ship and Ragnar’s ship, grappled together in the same manner.

For awhile the struggle on the ships-rail was undecided and then, with a berserk shout, Tostig cleared a space with a terrific sweep of his sword and leaped over the rails onto the the deck of the Angle ship.

The Angles wavered for a moment and then gave back a few steps before a determined rush of the Norsemen and some score of us managed to clamber over the rail and join Tostig on the deck.

In an instant the whirlwind of battle shifted from the ships-rails to deck of the Angle’s ship.

The deck was a swirling sea of glittering swords and battling vikings. Tostig and Gathlaff were striving to come near each other and their men were seeking to aid them, but the battle-press was too great.

A man could scarce find room to swing a sword and spears had been discarded as useless. It was the kind of hand-to-hand fighting I liked best. I was not so tall or so large as most of the men, and I fought crouching low, depending mostly upon stabbing and thrusting, my shield held above my head and shoulders. Most vikings preferred to stand erect and swing their long swords with all their power and with full reach, so such close fighting encumbered most of them.

A long sword crashed down upon my upraised shield, bearing me to the deck. The wielder of the sword was Gathlaff. I sprang from the deck, stabbing as I leaped, but my sword was turned aside by the Angle’s shield and in turn I side-stepped his sword as it swished down.

Then I leaped in and my sword gashed Gathlaff’s arm as he struck it aside. In another instant the battle had swirled away, separating the Angle and I. The battle raged fiercely on the quarter-deck.

I saw Sigurd’s foot slip and he went down on the deck. An Angle sprang forward, sword lifted. With an over-hand stroke I struck the Angle down and dragged Sigurd to his feet with the other hand. The Angles pressed in on us and we fought back to back until a space was cleared.

Tostig and Gathlaff met in the prow of the dragon-ship. All about them the battling vikings drew away and left a space clear.

The two chieftains were well matched, both skilled and savage fighters, both blond giants.

Their swords whirled glittering in the air and clashed deafningly as they smote and warded.

Back and forth they swayed and battled, blow after blow they struck and warded with lightning swiftness.

Then Gathlaff’s sword crashed down on Tostig’s winged helmet. The Norseman staggered, reeled, and with one swift thrust drove his sword through Gathlaff’s iron corselet.

Gathlaff flung his arms wide and pitched backward over the ship-rail. Tostig reeled and then tumbled to the deck, his sword falling from his hand.

For a moment both Norsemen and Angles stood, astounded at the fall of both chieftains.

Then I saw my chance. I leaped forward, waving my sword.

“Rally, vikings!” I shouted, in ringing tones, “Gathlaff has fallen! Sweep the decks! One effort and we have conquered!”

A berserk yell went up from the Norsemen. Yelling they surged forward and swept the Angles back and back until they were hemmed against the ship-rail. They fought like devils but the Norsemen hewed them down and hurled them over the rail until I sprang in and stopped them. I had to use my fists and the flat of my sword but Sigurd saw what I intended and aided me and presently the Norse vikings drew back reluctrantly and lowered their swords. Some twenty Angles stood at bay against the ship-rail, their swords red and notched, their armor rent and battered. But indomitable courage showed in their bearing. They showed no fear as they faced us.

Along with several other accomplishments not usually possessed by vikings, I could speak a number of languages besides my own. Angle was one of those languages and using that language I addressed the Angles.

“Throw down your arms.” I said, “It is useless to fight longer. You are surrounded by many times your number, Gathlaff, your chieftain, is slain. And see,” I continued, pointing to the other ships, “your other ship is taken.”

On its deck a few Angles, at bay against the main-mast, stood off Ragnar’s victorious Norsemen. I bade Sigurd hail Ragnar and stop the battle.

“If you will throw down your arms you shall be spared.” I went on, “I offer you the choice of entering our ships and becoming part of our company, on the same footing as the Norse vikings.”

Angles and Norsemen stared at me in astonishment. Such offers were not over common, then.

“We will never join with you, we will not go aboard your ships.” an Angle answered briefly, “Slay us if you will; at least we will go down fighting.”

The Norsemen moved restlessly, shifting their weapons. I motioned them back.

“Your long-boat has not been touched.” I said, “It should hold all of you. The dragon-ship will not float to land. Take the long-boat and go. The islands of Orkneyar are not far. You should be able to reach them safely.”

“You mean we are to go free?” asked an Angle, hesitatingly.

“Yes.”

They could scarcely comprehend the fact. Such things were uncommon on the North Sea.

The Norsemen muttered dissaproval.

“What child’s play is this?” grumbled old Rane.

“The act of a weakling!” shouted Wigstan, “What, will you let these Angles, our foes, depart in peace with their boats and their weapons! What say, ye, vikings?”

“Ye have heard my command.” I said, swinging about to face the grumbling Norsemen, my sword in my hand, “And here I stand to back my orders.” I looked full into the eyes of the Norsemen and they gave back, abashed. I noted Sigurd standing near, a mocking smile on his face as he watched the vikings, his hand resting on his sword-hilt.

There were some twenty Angles from the other dragon-ship, whom Ragnar realeased with their weapons at my word, though he raised his brows and then shrugged his shoulders.

The two long-boats from the Angle ships held the men easily and they embarked, setting their course for the shores of Orkneyar, which were just visible on the far horrizon.

Just before they pushed off, a tall, keen-eyed Angle who had done most of the speaking, addressed me, “What do men call you?” he asked.

“Hakon.” I answered.

“I am Oslaf of the White-sword.” he answered, “And I will remember.”

With those words, he swung down into one of the long-boats and took the tiller. The Angles bent to the oars and soon the two long-boats were speeding toward the distant Orkney islands, lifting to the waves.

Tostig, it turned out was not slain. Gathlaff’s sword descending on his bronze helmet, had merely knocked him unconcious. He came to, cursing savagely, and wishing to renew the battle.

He cursed more when he found that the battle was over.

“Were any prisoners taken?” he demanded.

“No.” replied Sigurd.

“They were all slain?”

“All but some twenty on each ship.” Wigstan said, “And those Hakon sent away with their boats and weapons.”

Tostig was furious. “You take much upon yourself, Hakon.” he thundered, “I am chieftain here.”

I gazed at him with a calculating eye. It was in my mind to draw sword and decide the chieftainship then and there but I decided it was not time. Too many men were still for Tostig.

We found much plunder in the Angle galleys. The Angles were fierce, far-ranging pirates and they had taken many ships and sacked many villages.

The loot we took from the two ships more than paid them for taking them, the Norsemen considered.

The Angles had fought bravely and skillfully and some twenty Norsemen had been slain.

But to fight, to slay and be slain was the Norsemen’s idea of life. They cared for no other.

We salvaged the two dragon-ships and having repaired them, manned them with men from the “Kraken” and from the “Cormorant”, Ragnar’s ship.

Later we sold them to the Juts at Brunanbuhr.