Azzam: The Sword of Samarkand

Chapter 3

A short fat man wearing a silken robe reclined like a lazy cat on a golden throne. He was sipping wine from a large golden cup. 

“Do you know how many years I have dreamed of sitting here, in the Palace of Samarkand?” He clasped his hands together bringing them under his left cheek, like a little girl dreaming of her first pony.

“And now its trrruuuee…” he could barely contain his childish excitement.

“I, Furat ibn Faheem ibn Samir ibn… uh.. um… what was great-grandpa’s name again? I can’t remember… no matter… ahem… am the Sultan of Samarkand!” he was half drunk and mumbling. But he stood up all the same, unsteady on his legs, cup in hand, and bowed to the empty court spilling some of his drink over the marble floor. And then he sat back down, exhausted. 

“Why is it so damned quiet over here?” he screwed up his face, his wide brown eyes darted around looking for a servant or two.

The call to prayer sounded out from the tallest minaret of the Central Mosque.

“Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar”

The sound of the adhan echoed across the chambers.

Furat dropped his cup and stuck both his fingers in his ears. “No.. no.. I’m not listening,” He shook his head vigorously. He got up and stomped around like a petulant child till the adhan was over. 

“That’s it. Where are my servants?” 

Pairs of feet scurried into the throne room, heads bowed hands tightly fastened at the waist.

“Your grace, we are here at your servant. What does your heart desire?”

“Music. Music. Music. Dancing Girls.” 

I don’t want this throne room to be silent, ever. And I don’t want to hear the mosque in here ever again. Cover the windows. I want the heaviest curtains you can find!

Do you understand? Do you?

The head servant nodded vigorously. 

“Yes, my master. Yes. Yes.”

“But… but..” whimpered the servant.

“But what?” screamed Furat.

“There are no dancing girls in Samarkand. And no musicians either. There haven’t been for a very long time.”

“How can there be no dancing girls? Isn’t there some shop that sells dancing girls? 

“I don’t care what you have to do. I don’t care if you have to bring musicians from other kingdoms or kidnap girls from the streets. 

Now get lost you miserable wretch.”

“GONG! GONG!”

The servants scurried away and the large throne room door opened wide.  

“Who is there? What do you want?”

A herald cried out aloud, “Commander Shahbaz”

The commander marched in, his head upright. The guards behind the throne stepped out to adopt a defensive position in front of the new Sultan. 

Shabazz glared at the two but stopped right in front of them. He got down to one knee to address the Sultan.

“What news of the boy?” spat Furat. 

“The tracker was able to locate him west of Ashmunein. A secret shelter hidden amongst the desert, its not on any map.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Furat. “Where is the boy’s head? I want to see it, now!!”