I found him in a great three-sided room, or summer portico, which opened upon the roof of the entrance lobby and some rooms attached thereto. From the open side a magnificent view of Shahr-i-Zur and the Azmir Mountains spread before one, clear and rose-coloured in the morning light. Round the portico were ranged wide, high benches, upon which it is possible to sit, dangling a leg that does not reach the ground, or to squat in the Oriental fashion. Carpets were spread upon the ground and over the benches, and just outside, on the roof, a number of armed Kurds stood in attendance. Tahir Beg sat meditating, upon a bench covered with a fine rug, apparently oblivious of an old sayyid, a scowling priest in a great turban, and a Turkish bimbashi in full uniform. He was a wild-looking man. His heavy eyebrows shaded the bulging blue eyes of an opium-smoker, but the vacillating expression was mitigated by the strong aquiline nose and firm chin. His mouth was concealed by a heavy, fair moustache. He wore the usual Kurdish garments--long, flowing, striped silk robes--and in his belt carried a Colt repeating pistol and a great dagger. His headgear was that of a Jaf chief--fringed silk handkerchiefs wound in a turban broader at the top than at the base, and the fringes hung about his ears and forehead, giving him a wild and ferocious appearance. [Sidenote: A JAF CHIEF] He had been informed of my arrival, and replied to my greeting in perfect Persian, without a trace of Kurdish accent, inviting me to a seat beside him. He asked a few questions, whence had I come, and where going, and did I speak French, answering to my affirmative with “Et moi aussi, je sais un peu,” a surprising utterance from a Kurdish chief who has never quitted his native hills. As if this effort were too much for him, he subsided into silence, and thus we sat for a space, the quiet unbroken save for the service of coffee “à la turque,” which the servants handed round. Once he conferred a mark of his favour upon me by handing me a cigarette from his box, and lighting it for me himself. Presently another Turkish official, arrived from Khaniqin _en route_ for Sulaimania, came in, and being a loquacious fellow, insisted on carrying on a conversation, which was confined to short Turkish monosyllables on Tahir Beg’s part. He cut the interview short by suddenly rising and retiring to a private room, whereupon we dispersed.