Here indeed was
nobility of blood, breed, speech, if anywhere!
"Fighting-men, all," the Master repeated, while Leclair listened
with keen enjoyment and the Legion stood attentive, with the
white-burnoused horsemen giving ear to every word--astonished, no
doubt, to hear Arabic speech from the lips of an unbeliever. "We have
traveled far, from the Lands of the Books. Is it not meritorious, O
Sheik? Doth not thy Prophet himself say: 'Voyaging is victory, and he
who journeyeth not is both ignorant and blind?"'
The old man pondered a moment, then fell to stroking his beard. The
act was friendly, and of good portent. He murmured:
"I see, O Frank, that thou hast read the Strong Book. Thou dost know
our law, even though thou be from Feringistan. What is thy name?"
"Men know me only as The Master. And thine?"
"_Bara Miyan_ (The Great Sir), nothing more."
"Dost thou wish us well?" the Master put a leading question.
"_Kull'am antum bil khair_!" (May ye be well, every year!) said the
old Sheik. The Master sensed a huge relief. Undoubtedly--hard as this
was to understand, and much as it contradicted Rrisa's prediction--the
attitude of these Jannati Shahr folk was friendly.
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