He was one, our not too articulate young man, to take things as they came and not to require, even east of Suez, the spice of romance with his daily bread. His last days, moreover, had been too crowded for him to ruminate over their taste. But it was not every day that he squatted on the same rug with a scarlet-bearded old cutthroat of a mountain chief. So it was that his more or less casual lark visibly took on, from the perspective of this castle in Luristan, as he unrolled a gaudy emblazonment of eagles at the top of the parchment, a new and curious color. For below the eagle he came upon what he darkly made out to be a species of treaty, inscribed neither in the Arabic nor in the Roman but in the German character, between the Father of Swords and a more notorious War Lord. And below that was signed, sealed, and imposingly paraphed the signature of one Julius Magin. Which was indeed a novel aspect for a Brazilian, however versatile, to reveal. He permitted himself, did Guy Matthews, a smile. "You do not kiss it?" observed the Father of Swords. "In my country," Matthews began-- "But it is, may I be your sacrifice," interrupted the Father of Swords, "a letter from the Shah of the Shahs of the _Firengis_." It was evident that he was both impressed and certain of impressing his hearer. "He has promised eternal peace to me and to my people." The Englishman in Matthews permitted him a second smile. "The Father of Swords," he said, "speaks a word which I do not understand. I am a _Firengi_, but I have never heard of a Shah of the Shahs of the _Firengis_. In the house of Islam are there not many who rule? In Tehran, for instance, there is the young Ahmed Shah. Then among the Bakhtiaris there is an Ilkhani, at Mohamera there is the Sheikh of the Cha'b, and in the valleys of Pusht-i-Kuh none is above the Father of Swords. I do not forget, either, the Emirs of Mecca and Afghanistan, or the Sultan in Stambul. And among them what _Firengi_ shall say who is the greatest? And so it is in _Firengistan_. Yet as for this paper, it is written in the tongue of a king smaller than the one whose subject I am, whose crown has been worn by few fathers. But the name at the bottom of the paper is not his. It is not even a name known to the _Firengis_ when they speak among themselves of the great of their lands. Where did you see him?" The Father of Swords stroked his scarlet beard, looking at his young visitor with more of a gleam in the dull black of his eyes than Matthews had yet noticed. "Truly is it said: 'Fix not thy heart on what is transitory, for the Tigris will continue to flow through Baghdad after the race of Caliphs is extinct!' You make it clear to me that you are of the People of the Chain."