Doc Savage: The Ice Genius (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 12) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray
Tags: action and adventure
Ads: Link
will be needed. While you await Chinua’s return, double-check every tent. Make sure there remains nothing that can produce fire.”
The Mongol looked disappointed, for he had not slept very long before being aroused. But he did as the strange new Mongol bid him, for he believed it was the command of his chieftain.
That matter settled, Doc Savage walked off into the steppe, and was soon lost from sight. Satisfied that he was not being watched, the bronze giant doubled around and made his way back up to the top of the hill where he had earlier landed.
Doc waved to Johnny. Johnny waved back in recognition of his return.
Then they hunkered down to await the return of Chinua and his bandit band, and the terrible thing dragging behind his train.
Chapter XI
SOLEMN PROCESSION
CHINUA THE BANDIT chieftain was leading his men in song. It was an old Mongolian song about a young bowman in love with a beautiful maiden.
Every man knew this song, so when Chinua started to sing, his followers quickly joined in.
It was necessary to sing their way through the night, for the going was slow and arduous, with only two shaggy ponies pulling the cumbersome chunk of ice in which was imprisoned one of the greatest Mongol chieftains in recorded history.
The song helped them trudge along, lightening their load—even if it did not increase the pace of the horses, who could only go as fast as the slowest pack ponies.
From time to time, Chinua—that was the only name by which he was known, since Mongols did not give their children last names—wheeled his horse around to examine the cube of ice as it was being sledged across the dry steppe.
Despite the coolness of the night, friction was taking its toll on the underside of the frigid block. Pieces of chipped ice from the rough edges had been scraped off, further eroding the icy extrusion.
Chinua frowned. If this kept up, he knew, the translucent cube might break or be sundered by the monotonous punishment it was receiving. He did not wish for this to happen. Chinua wanted only to bring the great warlord Timur back to his camp, there to discuss the disposition of the find. It was possible that authorities in the capital of Ulan Bator would pay a handsome ransom for this find. Or perhaps the leaders in Samarkand would pay more. Chinua envisioned an important auction for this great prize.
He called a temporary halt to the caravan, and his men dismounted as they gathered around the great frosty block.
The figure deep within the rippled frozen matrix had remained intact. They examined him from all angles, attempting to see the entombed individual more clearly. This was impossible, due to the roughness of the ice. It obscured most details.
Yet, touched by moonlight, pale yellow eyes could be perceived. Chinua again looked into them, and felt the chill deep into the marrow of every bone in his sturdy skeleton.
These were the eyes of Tamerlane the Great. Chinua had no doubt of this. Although every Mongol knew Tamerlane was entombed under a slab of black jade in an impressive temple in faraway Samarkand, the warning inscribed upon the ice block told a different story.
IF I STILL LIVED, MANKIND WOULD TREMBLE
“Is it really him?” murmured one Mongol.
Chinua nodded firmly. “It is him. The Great Champion, the Iron of Samarkand. He was found in a spot not far from where Emir Timur is said to have perished on the march to China.”
This was a lie, for they were many miles from that faraway spot west of Mongolia.
But Chinua’s uneducated followers did not know this.
That simple logic was enough for the Mongol nomads. That this was a great Mongol conqueror, they had no doubt. It was an amazing, miraculous thing. And looking into the canine yellow eyes of the long-dead conqueror, they started to suspect that he was not so dead after all.
“Might he yet live?” asked another Mongol.
“Reindeer meat when it is frozen, tastes fresh after it is thawed,” replied Chinua sagely. “It might be
The Mongol looked disappointed, for he had not slept very long before being aroused. But he did as the strange new Mongol bid him, for he believed it was the command of his chieftain.
That matter settled, Doc Savage walked off into the steppe, and was soon lost from sight. Satisfied that he was not being watched, the bronze giant doubled around and made his way back up to the top of the hill where he had earlier landed.
Doc waved to Johnny. Johnny waved back in recognition of his return.
Then they hunkered down to await the return of Chinua and his bandit band, and the terrible thing dragging behind his train.
Chapter XI
SOLEMN PROCESSION
CHINUA THE BANDIT chieftain was leading his men in song. It was an old Mongolian song about a young bowman in love with a beautiful maiden.
Every man knew this song, so when Chinua started to sing, his followers quickly joined in.
It was necessary to sing their way through the night, for the going was slow and arduous, with only two shaggy ponies pulling the cumbersome chunk of ice in which was imprisoned one of the greatest Mongol chieftains in recorded history.
The song helped them trudge along, lightening their load—even if it did not increase the pace of the horses, who could only go as fast as the slowest pack ponies.
From time to time, Chinua—that was the only name by which he was known, since Mongols did not give their children last names—wheeled his horse around to examine the cube of ice as it was being sledged across the dry steppe.
Despite the coolness of the night, friction was taking its toll on the underside of the frigid block. Pieces of chipped ice from the rough edges had been scraped off, further eroding the icy extrusion.
Chinua frowned. If this kept up, he knew, the translucent cube might break or be sundered by the monotonous punishment it was receiving. He did not wish for this to happen. Chinua wanted only to bring the great warlord Timur back to his camp, there to discuss the disposition of the find. It was possible that authorities in the capital of Ulan Bator would pay a handsome ransom for this find. Or perhaps the leaders in Samarkand would pay more. Chinua envisioned an important auction for this great prize.
He called a temporary halt to the caravan, and his men dismounted as they gathered around the great frosty block.
The figure deep within the rippled frozen matrix had remained intact. They examined him from all angles, attempting to see the entombed individual more clearly. This was impossible, due to the roughness of the ice. It obscured most details.
Yet, touched by moonlight, pale yellow eyes could be perceived. Chinua again looked into them, and felt the chill deep into the marrow of every bone in his sturdy skeleton.
These were the eyes of Tamerlane the Great. Chinua had no doubt of this. Although every Mongol knew Tamerlane was entombed under a slab of black jade in an impressive temple in faraway Samarkand, the warning inscribed upon the ice block told a different story.
IF I STILL LIVED, MANKIND WOULD TREMBLE
“Is it really him?” murmured one Mongol.
Chinua nodded firmly. “It is him. The Great Champion, the Iron of Samarkand. He was found in a spot not far from where Emir Timur is said to have perished on the march to China.”
This was a lie, for they were many miles from that faraway spot west of Mongolia.
But Chinua’s uneducated followers did not know this.
That simple logic was enough for the Mongol nomads. That this was a great Mongol conqueror, they had no doubt. It was an amazing, miraculous thing. And looking into the canine yellow eyes of the long-dead conqueror, they started to suspect that he was not so dead after all.
“Might he yet live?” asked another Mongol.
“Reindeer meat when it is frozen, tastes fresh after it is thawed,” replied Chinua sagely. “It might be
Similar Books
