Marching Sands
"You know the name of the ancient khan of the Wusun—Awang Khan?"
Gray hazarded a bold stroke, on his knowledge of the legend of Prester John of Asia. Timur considered.
"The name is not in our speech," he announced.
Bassalor Danek looked up sagely.
"You speak of faith, O One-Who-Kills-Swiftly. Is that a word of a priesthood?"
"Yes."
"Then," said Bassalor Danek gravely, "it is clear that your talisman is not like to this. Nay, for the only priesthood is that of the false Buddhists."
"Our faith is different from theirs—even as a grain of sand is different from a drop of clear water."
The Gur-Khan's hand swept in a wide circle.
"Nay. What can we see from Sungan save the grains of sand? Everywhere, beyond, is the Buddhist priesthood. We have seen this thing. It is true." He lifted his head proudly. "Behold, youth, here is the talisman of a warrior. From chieftain to chieftain, it has been handed down. It is the token of a chieftain. Of one who safeguards his people. None can wear it but myself, or another of royal blood who has fought for his people."
For the first time he showed Gray a smaller cross, fashioned from gold which hung from a chain of the same metal across his chest under the cloak.
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