The river of Akhalkalaki, or the Toporovan river, as it is sometimes called, enters the valley from a little north of east. It appeared to us to contain as much water as the Kur, into which it swirled. [34] The united streams for a short space pursue a westerly direction until they settle to a normal course towards the north. The affluent washes the northern side of the castled rock, which protects a tongue of alluvial ground at its southern base. On this land is situated the little township, embowered in leafy groves. The castle dates from a remote period; and even the present structure is ancient, although it belongs to different epochs. The citadel with the little chapel, occupying the summit of the perpendicular rock, is a work of the middle of the fourteenth century, when the Georgian atabegs were the lords of the land; the remaining portion, with its several towers, is more modern. [35] We ourselves were unable to visit the edifice, which we were never tired of admiring from the river-bed. Behind it soar the walls of volcanic material, where the younger have been forced through the older lavas and have produced fantastic contortions of the rocks. [36] September 1.--From Khertvis we made an excursion up the valley of the Kur to the crypts of Vardzia, situated on the left bank, some nine miles above the confluence with the Toporovan. For the greater part of the journey, which is performed on ponies, you follow the right bank of the river, along a path which in many places becomes a mere track. We had soon left the shady groves behind us, our clever little ponies often obliged to pick their footsteps, where an outcrop of rock or blocks of fallen stone obstructed the margin of level ground. On either bank, beyond this margin, high hills enclose the narrow valley; here and there with naked crags, more generally with stone-strewn slopes, harbouring a scanty growth of parched grass. No oasis, not a sign of a human being, no visible animal life. The landscape streaming with light, and the brawling Kur breaking over the boulders which encumber its bed. But the climate was delicious, and the blue zenith was flaked with luminous cloud. After over an hour's ride in this confined valley, we reached the ruins of a fort, or small castle, and issued upon more open ground. The valley expands on the right bank of the river in an irregular series of hill and dale. We passed the rush-grown banks of a little lake, so blue and clear that it lay like a jewel on the waste. It is called Sülük, or lake of leeches; and Hasan Bey, our guide, told us that leeches abound. In a hollow on the further side of this lake we came upon the gardens of the Mussulman village of Margistan. Beyond this oasis, and beyond the open ground about us, we could see the valley contracting, the river flowing through a gorge, overhung by perpendicular cliffs; and we were shown our path climbing the side of the cliff and entering the jaws of the gorge.