'I will hold some parley with him before he
dies.' The favourite minister entreated his sovereign to be content;
but the royal beard grew so red, and the royal eyes flashed forth such
terrible sparks of fire, that even the favourite minister at length gave
way.
The trumpet sounded, the criers called silence, and the voice of Alp
Arslan was again heard.
'Thou dog, dost see what is preparing for thee? Dost know what awaits
thee in the halls of thy master Eblis? Can a Jew be influenced even by
false pride? Is not life sweet? Is it not better to be my slipper-bearer
than to be impaled?'
'Magnanimous Alp Arslan,' replied Alroy in a tone of undisguised
contempt; 'thinkest thou that any torture can be equal to the
recollection that I have been conquered by thee?'
'By my beard, he mocks me!' exclaimed the Karasmian monarch, 'he defies
me! Touch not my robe. I will parley with him. Ye see no farther than a
hooded hawk, ye sons of a blind mother. This is a sorcerer; he hath yet
some master spell; he will yet save himself. He will fly into the air,
or sink into the earth. He laughs at our tortures.' The King of Karasme
precipitately descended the steps of his throne, followed by his
favourite minister, and his councillors, and chief captains, and the
Cadis, and the Mullahs, and the Imams, and the principal personages of
the city.
Pages:
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362