"We have a school of artists here in the palace, Ambassador Khawksworth. This man, who directs the school, says this portrait's background is too dark, the eyes lifeless. And it is neither three- quarter nor full face, as is our proven convention. Consequently it gives no sense of your king's depth of character." Arangbar smiled. "He also says the portraits he and his men execute are far more difficult. They catch the soul of the man, not merely his physical likeness." "May it please Your Majesty, I cannot accept what he says." Arangbar translated to the artist, who replied quickly in Persian, casting a quick, contemptuous glance at Hawksworth. "He declares he could easily duplicate this simple portrait of your king, in a likeness so exact you could not tell his copy from the original." "Such a thing is not possible, Your Majesty. No man in the world could execute this exact painting, save the man who first put in on paper." Arangbar again translated for his painter, who replied animatedly. "My Chief Painter says he and his workshop could easily produce four copies of this, any one of which would pass for the original." "May it please Your Majesty, I say it is impossible. European painting is a centuries' old tradition, requiring years of apprenticeship and study." The men around Hawksworth had begun to shift uncomfortably. The Moghul was never contradicted. Yet he seemed to relish the dispute. "Then we'll set a wager. What will you wager me, Ambassador, that I can make this one painting of your king into five?" "I know not what to lay with so great a prince, nor does it befit me to name a sum to Your Majesty." Hawksworth shifted uneasily, unsure of the protocol of betting with kings. "Then if you'll not wager with me, wager with my painter." "Begging Your Majesty's pardon, your painter is no more suited to wager with an ambassador than I am to wager with Your Majesty." "Then wager with my prime minister." He turned to Nadir Sharif. "What will you lay?" "Five thousand gold mohurs, Majesty." Hawksworth swallowed hard, realizing the amount was almost ten thousand pounds English sterling, more money than he had ever seen. "Money is not an honorable bet among those who speak for great princes, Your Majesty." Hawksworth glanced about wildly, then an idea came. "But perhaps I could wager your prime minister a horse, a fine Arabian stallion." "Done." Arangbar beamed. "I'll have the paintings tonight." The painter stared at Arangbar in dismay. "It's not possible, Majesty. There's not time." "You'll find a way. Or you'll owe Nadir Sharif a horse." Arangbar passed the painting back to the painter and whirled with a flourish to leave. Around Hawksworth the nobles all bowed to the ground.