Sinbad and The Eye of the Tiger Read Online Free PDF

rush of water past the wooden hull was like the hiss of a hundred tongues. The shouting of the sailors died down as the ship steadied into the wind and moved out toward the open sea. There was the bite of salt in the brisk evening wind. Lanterns had been lit and hung about the deck and from the sailors’ cabin came the murmuring voices of men telling the tale of the night’s curious adventures.
    In Sinbad’s cabin Farah looked around, shivering against the chill of the night in her wet clothes. There was only moonlight illuminating the cabin and Farah could see the dark, unlit bulk of Charak behind them, merging into the night sky, barely discernible against the stars. Glints of moonlight came from the tower tops and bulbous minaret domes. She gave a start as Sinbad spoke from behind her.
    “Wrap yourself in this,” he said, pulling a rough blanket from the bed. “And give me your clothes.”
    She took the blanket and Sinbad turned away, stirring the faint coals of a brazier into flame. With the light Farah could make out that the cabin’s furnishings were few; expensive and beautiful, but simple. There was a plain table, a low bunk, a rack of swords and knives—each a masterpiece of the swordmaker’s art and for use, not show—and a single lantern, hung from a bight and swaying with the wind, which Sinbad was now lighting with a coal from the charcoal brazier.
    Farah began disrobing, first taking off her necklace and rings, which flashed in the flickering light from the brazier. She added several bracelets to the pile, then pulled off the clinging wetness of her clothes. With a glance at Sinbad’s back she wrapped her nude, damp body in the coarse blanket. She rubbed the blanket against her, clearing her throat significantly.
    Sinbad grinned at her and bent to pick up her pile of sodden clothing, which he draped across a line above the glowing coals of the brazier. She sat down on the edge of the bed, gave a shiver, then watched him with trusting eyes. Sinbad poured a goblet of wine from a leather skin, then set it aside. Plucking a dagger from the rack, he stuck its blackened blade into the coals.
    “Lie back,” he said to Farah and she obeyed, sinking into cushions and mattress gratefully. Sinbad pulled the knife blade from the fire and plunged it into the goblet of wine. The wine steamed and hissed and when it had stopped Sinbad pulled the blade from it and handed the cup to the girl.
    “Drink this.”
    As she took it Sinbad expertly flicked the dagger across the cabin, where it stuck quivering in the wood stanchion next to the sword rack. Then he turned back to look at Farah with searching eyes.
    “You were searching for me—why?”
    “I was told of your return,” she said, taking a sip of the wine. She had raised up on one elbow to drink and the blanket had slipped down to expose her flawless shoulders and the upper slopes of her perfect breasts. “I need help desperately,” she said between gulps. “My brother is in great danger . . . !”
    Sinbad frowned. “Prince Kassim? I owe him my life.” He gestured around him. “And my ship and crew!”
    Farah nodded. “A spell has been cast upon him.” A shadow of fear and loathing crossed her face. “My uncle Balsora will tell you.”
    “Why not you?” Sinbad asked. He reached up and tucked the blanket higher around her shoulders to eliminate the distractions of her tempting flesh.
    Farah grabbed at his wrist. “Please, I beg you . . . ! Do not leave Charak.” Her dark eyes were pleading. “Trust me . . . for my brother’s sake.”
    Sinbad straightened. “For him I would risk my life.” His impudent grin dissolved his sternness. “For you I would give it.”
    Farah seized his hand and kissed it, and Sinbad blinked, somewhat disconcerted. Beautiful women were no novelty to the bearded adventurer, but princesses who kissed his hand certainly were.
    He covered his momentary confusion with a hard-voiced question. “I was told there was a