I had sent my servant for my pistols.
I gave one to the viscount and advised him to hold himself ready
to fire, for, after all, Erik might be waiting for us behind the wall.
We were to go by the Communists' road and through the trap-door.
Seeing my pistols, the little viscount asked me if we were going
to fight a duel. I said:
"Yes; and what a duel!" But, of course, I had no time to explain
anything to him. The little viscount is a brave fellow, but he
knew hardly anything about his adversary; and it was so much
the better. My great fear was that he was already somewhere near us,
preparing the Punjab lasso. No one knows better than he how to throw
the Punjab lasso, for he is the king of stranglers even as he is
the prince of conjurors. When he had finished making the little
sultana laugh, at the time of the "rosy hours of Mazenderan,"
she herself used to ask him to amuse her by giving her a thrill.
It was then that he introduced the sport of the Punjab lasso.
He had lived in India and acquired an incredible skill in the art
of strangulation. He would make them lock him into a courtyard
to which they brought a warrior--usually, a man condemned to death--
armed with a long pike and broadsword.
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