Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 20, 2025
With some smattering of Arabic, she may have caught something of the sense of this offer. But the Master, unmoved by this second offer of Olema's, merely shook his head again, saying: "No, Bara Miyan. We seek other rewards. Therefore will I ask thee still another question." "Thy question shall be answered, O Frank!"
But as that night aboard Nìssr, when he had laid a hand on the woman's cabin door, something unknown to him seemed drawing him to her, making her welfare and her life assume a strange import. "Come, O Frank!" Bara Miyan was saying. The Olema's words recalled the Master to himself with a start. "Such food and drink as we men of El Barr have, gladly we share with thee and thine!"
But have care not to be led into committing sin, as with these birds for remember, thou hast shed blood and life hath not returned again, and El Barr is sacred from the shedding of blood!" His tone was well calculated to make the lesson sink well to the Olema's heart a valuable lesson for the Legion's welfare. But the Olema only replied: "The blood of believers is meant. Not of animals or Franks!"
The sharp click of a switch on the control-board sounded as the imams picked up the little, red-dripping bundles. Silently they threw these into the air and all three dropped back to earth again, just as they had risen. A growl burst, involuntarily, from the Olema's corded throat. The growl echoed through the massed horsemen.
The Olema's gaudy burnous crimsoned swiftly. "Got him!" shouted Bohannan, firing again, again, into the tangle of sub-chiefs and Maghrabi men. Adams pitched forward, cleft to the chin by a simitar. The firing leaped to point-blank uproar, on both sides. The men of Jannati Shahr numbered more pistols, but the Legionaries had quicker firers.
"Nay, it is as I have already told thee; let the cut jewels of the Caliph el Walid suffice!" "It is well spoken. Let us descend." In silence, again, they left the gruesome gallery and went down the stairway with the Olema's torch leaving vague, fantastic wreaths of odorous smoke curling up along the polished, dull-yellow slant of the pyramid.
For a moment the two men eyed each other silently. "Strike, son of the Prophet!" cried the Master. Up whirled the Olema's blade, flickering in the sun. The metallic click of the brass switch synchronized with that sweep; Brodeur shifted the reflector by the fraction of a degree. Bara Miyan's arm grew rigid, quivered a second, then dropped inert.
Men who have suffered and bled, risked all, seen their comrades die, and even now stand in the shadow of death hoping some vast, tangible loot are not proper material for discussion of literary values. "Yafta Allah!" the Master exclaimed, with emphasis equal to the Olema's. "No, Bara Miyan, this cannot be." "Our dancing and singing maidens are like a flame of Paradise.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking