a warrior amongst the warriors, swift as a snake, keen as a tiger, and shrewd as a bull elephant in spring.
The Armenian's final plea that the country needed the safety of the western road, that the caravan men were afraid of robbers, that traffic with Persia, Khiva, and Bokhara had practically stopped and with it the tax receipts. Hector dismissed by asking the other to develop the eastern trade.
“There is Afghanistan,” he said, “and India, both ready to buy our produce, and a good road leads there, the Darb-al-Sharki, 'The Eastern Highway,' and our kafilas can trade there as easily and as profitably as they used to with Persia. All that is needed is a little pluck, a little persistency, and a great deal of initiative—and I rely on thee, friend Gulabian, to supply all three!”—a broad flattery which fully served its purpose and sent the Armenian on his way, as pleased with Hector as Koom Khan had been.
“A clever man is Al Nakia,” the old nurse said that night to Aziza Nurmahal. “He does not draw the sword of foolish audacity, nor does he throw away the scabbard of precaution, and it has indeed been said by a very wise man that the brain, not the body, is the proof of love. The body? The face? By the red pig's bristles!—am I a fool or a moon-sick virgin of thirteen to call a thing made up of impure matter a face, to drink its charms as a drunkard swallows the ardent liquor from his cup? Not that Al Nakia is ugly. For there is a hidden fire of passion in his eyes that promises—ah!—promises!”
