Then he went on, on--travelled little, travelled much, travelled as far as a frog can jump--until he came at last to a country where he had never before been, and where he was himself unknown, and entered the capital city of a great king. It was already growing dark, and Naznai was beginning to wonder where he should spend the night, when he heard not far away the sound of fifes, drums and singing. "That's the place for me," he said to himself: "there's nothing worse than a dry throat and an empty stomach." So he went in the direction of the music. When he came to the place he looked, and there stood a great building surrounded by a spacious courtyard, all full of men and women who were eating, drinking and singing. "Will you receive a guest?" inquired Naznai, entering the courtyard. The servants rushed up to him, took his sabre, led him into the house, gave him the seat of honor, and made him eat and drink until he was full up to the very nostrils. The house was the palace of the king's vizier, and they were celebrating that night the wedding of his son. When Naznai had eaten and drunk all he could--enough to last him for a month, the clever rascal!--the vizier asked him, "Where do you come from, guest? Where is your city? Of what country are you? Are you buying or selling?"--"Why should I talk about myself?" replied Naznai. "Look at my sabre: that will tell you who I am." The vizier unsheathed the sabre, looked at it, stared first at Naznai and then at the weapon, and finally rushed, sabre in hand, straight to the king. The king was even more astonished than the vizier. He sent for all the eloquent fools in the city, called together all the wise men who hadn't any judgment, and held a great council. They all said to the king, "You must take the hero Naznai from the land of Daghestan into your service, no matter at what cost, no matter how much you may have to reward him: so long as he lives you will be as safe as if you were behind an iron wall." Then the king sent for Naznai, and the vizier brought him in. "Hero Naznai from the land of Daghestan," said the king--"first I, then you, I the father, you the son--take my only daughter: live with me and defend my kingdom."--"Hard as it is for me," replied Naznai, twisting his moustache, "I will do as you desire." That very night he married the king's daughter, and went to sleep in her arms on a bed from which if one should fall out not even so much as one's bones could ever be gathered together again.[3]