Read Online THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) by Graham Diamond - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Graham Diamond
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playing this role while waiting for his mark.
Backstepping slowly, her hand reached to the pocket of her cloak and she clutched tightly at the scimitar. The razorsharp blade felt as cold as ice. She was ready to use it if the need arose, and not in the least bit reluctant.
The writhing man caught sight of her and stuck out his arm, fingers groping in the air as if to grab her. Mariana sidestepped him and drew the blade, ready to plunge. Then, as her arm rose and the blade glittered in the starlight, she froze. A pair of small tortured eyes peered sharply at her; tormented, sad eyes, bloodied and bruised.
“Az’i!” she cursed, the whispered word rolling off her tongue.
The man on the ground cleared his throat and tried to speak. A rasping, labored and pained. “Mariana …”
“Vlashi! Sweet paradise! Is that you? What’s happened? Who did this?”
The pickpocket tried to lift himself and Mariana kneeled down beside him, using her handkerchief to wipe away some of the drying smears of blood.
Vlashi struggled to his knees, holding onto the girl’s arm for balance. “Ramagar,” he rasped, “where’s… Ramagar?”
Mariana’s eyes began to flood and she felt the terror rising inside her again as it had all day.
“I—don’t know,” she replied. “I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Must find him,” Vlashi grunted. “Must find him and warn him. Danger, terrible danger…”
Feeling pity for the injured man, she tried to soothe and assure him. “Shh, Vlashi. Leave it to me. You must rest, find some shelter, and tend your injuries.”
His hand grasped her shoulder and she winced, feeling his fingernails dig through the cloth into her flesh. “You don’t understand, Mariana. There is … no time. Ramagar must be found and warned—before it’s too late.”
The girl drew back, her eyes now narrowing and searching his. Vlashi, unable to meet her gaze, hung his head on his chest and put his hands to his eyes. And to the dancing girl’s surprise, he began to sob.
Mariana took hold of his shoulders and forced him to look at her. “Tell me what’s happened, Vlashi,” she said calmly. “I can’t help any of us if I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
Tears rolled down the pickpocket’s cheeks, mixing with the grime and dirt. His normally tanned face was white and his eyes hollow and vacant. He took a deep breath and drew his courage. “Forgive me, Mariana,” he implored. “I didn’t mean to do it. But I had no choice, no choice at all. I would have been killed if I didn’t tell everything…”
Mariana shuddered, fearful of what he was going to say. “Who, Vlashi? Who forced you? The soldiers?”
Vlashi clutched at his aching ribs and moaned while the girl waited in exasperation. Then he shook his head, forcing the words to come, aware that now he must admit the truth—no matter what the cost. And he told her how the beggar found him and beat him, forcing him to tell that Ramagar was now the owner of the precious scimitar. Mariana listened in shock.
It was hard for her to accept what she had heard, hard for her to accept the pickpocket’s treachery. The laws that governed the Jandari were simple; when a man betrayed a friend, when a thief betrayed another thief, he himself would be forever marked, disgraced, and scorned, with no hope of ever redeeming himself in the eyes of his peers. Vlashi knew this as well as the dancing girl. He knew Ramagar had the right to kill him for his deed, and half expected the girl to commit the act in his place.
Mariana stood over him, trembling. She wanted to hate the little weasel of a man for what he had done, but all she could feel was pity.
Vlashi reached out and tugged at her sleeve, his eyes red and watery. “This beggar will stop at nothing to regain his prize,” he sniveled. “He will kill Ramagar to get it back. Kill him without a second thought. Find him first, Mariana, I beg you. And tell… tell Ramagar that I’m
Backstepping slowly, her hand reached to the pocket of her cloak and she clutched tightly at the scimitar. The razorsharp blade felt as cold as ice. She was ready to use it if the need arose, and not in the least bit reluctant.
The writhing man caught sight of her and stuck out his arm, fingers groping in the air as if to grab her. Mariana sidestepped him and drew the blade, ready to plunge. Then, as her arm rose and the blade glittered in the starlight, she froze. A pair of small tortured eyes peered sharply at her; tormented, sad eyes, bloodied and bruised.
“Az’i!” she cursed, the whispered word rolling off her tongue.
The man on the ground cleared his throat and tried to speak. A rasping, labored and pained. “Mariana …”
“Vlashi! Sweet paradise! Is that you? What’s happened? Who did this?”
The pickpocket tried to lift himself and Mariana kneeled down beside him, using her handkerchief to wipe away some of the drying smears of blood.
Vlashi struggled to his knees, holding onto the girl’s arm for balance. “Ramagar,” he rasped, “where’s… Ramagar?”
Mariana’s eyes began to flood and she felt the terror rising inside her again as it had all day.
“I—don’t know,” she replied. “I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Must find him,” Vlashi grunted. “Must find him and warn him. Danger, terrible danger…”
Feeling pity for the injured man, she tried to soothe and assure him. “Shh, Vlashi. Leave it to me. You must rest, find some shelter, and tend your injuries.”
His hand grasped her shoulder and she winced, feeling his fingernails dig through the cloth into her flesh. “You don’t understand, Mariana. There is … no time. Ramagar must be found and warned—before it’s too late.”
The girl drew back, her eyes now narrowing and searching his. Vlashi, unable to meet her gaze, hung his head on his chest and put his hands to his eyes. And to the dancing girl’s surprise, he began to sob.
Mariana took hold of his shoulders and forced him to look at her. “Tell me what’s happened, Vlashi,” she said calmly. “I can’t help any of us if I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
Tears rolled down the pickpocket’s cheeks, mixing with the grime and dirt. His normally tanned face was white and his eyes hollow and vacant. He took a deep breath and drew his courage. “Forgive me, Mariana,” he implored. “I didn’t mean to do it. But I had no choice, no choice at all. I would have been killed if I didn’t tell everything…”
Mariana shuddered, fearful of what he was going to say. “Who, Vlashi? Who forced you? The soldiers?”
Vlashi clutched at his aching ribs and moaned while the girl waited in exasperation. Then he shook his head, forcing the words to come, aware that now he must admit the truth—no matter what the cost. And he told her how the beggar found him and beat him, forcing him to tell that Ramagar was now the owner of the precious scimitar. Mariana listened in shock.
It was hard for her to accept what she had heard, hard for her to accept the pickpocket’s treachery. The laws that governed the Jandari were simple; when a man betrayed a friend, when a thief betrayed another thief, he himself would be forever marked, disgraced, and scorned, with no hope of ever redeeming himself in the eyes of his peers. Vlashi knew this as well as the dancing girl. He knew Ramagar had the right to kill him for his deed, and half expected the girl to commit the act in his place.
Mariana stood over him, trembling. She wanted to hate the little weasel of a man for what he had done, but all she could feel was pity.
Vlashi reached out and tugged at her sleeve, his eyes red and watery. “This beggar will stop at nothing to regain his prize,” he sniveled. “He will kill Ramagar to get it back. Kill him without a second thought. Find him first, Mariana, I beg you. And tell… tell Ramagar that I’m
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