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Updated: May 7, 2025
"Give, hazoor and the mercy of God shall be upon the Heaven-born for ten-thousand years!" Now "Heaven-born" is flattery properly reserved for those who sit in high places. Amber turned and eyed the man curiously, at the same time dropping into the filthy, importunate palm a few annas.
"I seek," he said distinctly in Urdu, and not without a definite note of menace in his manner, "the man calling himself Rutton Sahib?" Very deliberately Rutton inclined his head. "I am he." "Hazoor!" The babu laboriously doubled up his enormous body in profound obeisance. Having recovered, he nodded to Amber with the easy familiarity of an old acquaintance.
Two-thirds of the way across the Virginian surrendered to his mistrust and drew his pistol. "Dulla Dad," he said gently; and the man ceased paddling with a shudder "Dulla Dad, you're taking me to the palace." "Yea, hazoor; that is true," the native answered, his voice quavering. "Who awaits me there? Answer quickly!"
"What deviltry's this?" Amber demanded sharply, with a threatening gesture. But the native neither attempted to free himself nor to evade the pistol's mouth. "Have patience, hazoor," he begged earnestly, "and make no disturbance. It is late and the sepoys sleep; if you will be circumspect and are not afraid " "Who are you?" "I was to say, 'I come from you know whom, hazoor." "That all?"
The Virginian could have predicted the outcome confidently, believing as he did in his friend. It came eventually on the heels of a movement of the babu's; unable longer to hold his pose, he shifted slightly. And Rutton awoke as from a sleep. "The Voice has spoken, babu," he said, not ungently, "and I have heard." "And your answer, lord?" "There is no answer." "Hazoor!"
"Keep that for me, David, please," he said. And Amber, catching it, dropped the ring into his pocket. "My lord is satisfied with my credentials, then?" the babu persisted. "It is the Token," Rutton assented wearily. "Now, your message. Be brief." "The utterances of the Voice be infrequent, hazoor, its words few but charged with meaning: as you know of old."
Without a sound a door at Amber's elbow that had escaped his cursory notice, so cunningly was it fitted in the wall, swung open, and a remembered voice boomed in his ears, not without a certain sardonic inflection: "Welcome, my lord, welcome to Khandawar!" Amber swung upon the speaker with a snarl. "Salig Singh!" "Thy steward bids thee welcome to thy kingdom, hazoor!"
"To the Gateway of Swords, hazoor." "Oh, yes; to be sure. But where in thunderation is it?" "That my lord doth know." "You think so? Well, have it your own way. But suppose I decline the invitation?" Salig Singh looked bored. "Since thou hast come so far," he said, "thou wilt go farther, hazoor." "Meaning by force?" "Of thine own will.
"Hazoor!" It was Dulla Dad's voice, sleek with fawning. For all the repulsiveness of the accents, Amber was not sorry to hear them. At least the native was human and ... this experience wasn't, hardly.... He leaned toward the man, eyes aching with the futile strain of striving to penetrate the blackness. He could see nothing more definite than shadows.
"It pleases my lord to jest," he complained; "but am I a child, to be played with?" "I'm not joking, Salig Singh, and this business is no joke at all. What I'm trying to drive into your head is the fact that you've made the mistake of your life. I'm not Rutton and I'm nothing like Rutton; I am an American citizen and " "Pardon, hazoor, but is this worth thy while?
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