side, Daoud saw
curving lines of mounted Mamelukes stretching until they disappeared
around the edges of the packed Tartar mass.

What had happened? Baibars's refusal to abandon the field and the
greater numbers of the Mamelukes must have tipped the scales. Daoud's
heart pounded with joy as he realized that they had ground down the
numbers of the Tartars and surrounded the survivors.

Baibars, down the Mameluke line, called out, "Finish them. One by one.
Hand to hand."

He still held high the banner of the orta. He raised his curved saif and
pointed it at the Tartars.

He turned toward Daoud for a moment, and Daoud saw the exaltation in his
face. Baibars's face was coated with gray dust. His gold khalat was
streaked with blood, and none of it, Daoud was sure, was his. An angel
must be riding on his shoulder.

With another wave of his saif Baibars charged into the mass of Tartars.
Howling in an ecstasy of fury, the rest of the Mamelukes rushed after
him.

Daoud reached over his shoulder and pulled his curving, double-edged
saif from its leather-covered scabbard. He tried to ride near Baibars,
but a wall of Tartars rose up between them. While he fought for his own
life, Daoud could only pray that God would protect Baibars.

And then he was no longer fighting many Tartars, but just one. They had
chosen each other out of the struggling multitudes, like partners in a
dance.

Daoud saw his man as vividly as if he had been staring at him for hours.
Red ribbons fluttered from the sides of his fur-trimmed iron helmet. The
ends of his black mustache hung down on either side of his mouth like
whiplashes. His cheeks and chin bore the ridges of thick scars he seemed
to have cut into his flesh. His nose had been crushed in some past
battle, and it was a shapeless lump between his jutting cheekbones. His
eyes were hard and expressionless.

Daoud rode at the Tartar eagerly, rejoicing that for now the battle was
between himself and this one man. For him now this Tartar was all
Tartars.

The scarred brown face was utterly concentrated on a single purpose, to
kill Daoud. The Tartar reminded Daoud of a tale told by a storyteller in
a bazaar at El Kahira of invincible bronze warriors, statues brought to
life by a magician.

Daoud's Yemenite stallion leapt at the Tartar as Daoud brought his saif
down.

The Tartar raised his round leather-covered shield and easily caught the
blow of Daoud's sword while swinging his own scimi