The flourish of trumpets, the clash of cymbals, and the wild beat of the
tambour, announced the arrival of Alp Arslan from the Serail. An avenue
to the circle had been preserved through the multitude. The royal
procession might be traced as it wound through the populace, by the
sparkling and undulating line of plumes of honour, and the dazzling
forms of the waving streamers, on which were inscribed the names of
Allah and the Prophet. Suddenly, amid the bursts of music, and
the shouts of the spectators, many of whom on the terraces humbled
themselves on their knees, Alp Arslan mounted the throne, around which
ranged themselves his chief captains, and a deputation of the Mullahs,
and Imams, and Cadis, and other principal personages of the city.
The King of Karasme was tall in stature, and somewhat meagre in form. He
was fair, or rather sandy-coloured, with a red beard, and blue eyes,
and a flat nose. The moment he was seated, a trumpet was heard in the
distance from an opposite quarter, and it was soon understood throughout
the assembly that the great captive was about to appear.
A band of Karasmian guards first entered the circle, and ranged
themselves round the cord, with their backs to the spectators.
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