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Updated: June 26, 2025
His clean-shaven head unmistakably showed that he, too, was a Lama. Indeed, he belonged to a very high order, probably the first rank after the Dalai Lama of Lhassa. Katas were distributed after this performance to all the Tibetans present, who folded them and stowed them away in their coats. The Pombo came out of his gaudy tent. I told him that the dance was beautiful, but I was very hungry.
The beast intently watched Maharrion hurling up bubbles that are every one a season of spring in unknown constellations, calling the swallows home to unimagined fields, watched him without even turning to look at Pombo, and saw him drop into the Linlunlarna, the river that rises at the edge of the World, the golden pollen that sweetens the tide of the river and is carried away from the World to be a joy to the Stars.
There were about a hundred red Lamas in the centre, with bannermen whose heads were covered by peculiar flat fluffy hats, and an equal number of soldiers and officers in their gray, red, and black tunics some two hundred horsemen in all. The Pombo, in his yellow coat and trousers and his queer pointed hat, sat on a magnificent pony in front of the crowd of Lamas and soldiers.
The Pombo, nevertheless, fully appreciated the offer, and came personally to thank me. In a way the rascals were gentlemanly enough in their manner. I could not help admiring their mixture of courtesy and cruelty, either of which they could switch on at a moment's notice regardless of the other. They had now reached the bottom of a water-tight case.
With the little money the Pombo had permitted me to keep we were now allowed to purchase food enough to provide us with more frequent meals. While we ate, the soldiers removed our handcuffs, which they temporarily placed round our ankles. With utensils lent us by our guard, we were able to cook some food. It seemed delicious. We used flat stones for dishes.
Halfway between the voices and Maharrion, whom he now saw standing out from the world, covered in rainbow halos, he perceived the weird grey beast that is neither cat nor bird. As Pombo hesitated, chilly with fear, he heard those voices grow louder in Lonely House, and at that he stealthily moved a few steps lower, and then rushed past the beast.
A number of Lamas were still anxious to have us beheaded, whereas the Pombo and the others had the previous night almost made up their minds to send us back to the frontier. Unluckily, it appears that the Pombo had a vision during the night. A spirit told him that, if he did not kill us, he and his country would suffer from a great calamity.
The Pombo, who was furious at my declining to kneel before him, addressed me in words that sounded violent; but, as he spoke classical Tibetan, and I only the colloquial language, I could not understand a word he said. I meekly asked him not to use such fine words, as they were unintelligible to me. The great man was taken aback at this request.
Pombo the idolater had prayed to Ammuz a simple prayer, a necessary prayer, such as even an idol of ivory could very easily grant, and Ammuz has not immediately granted it. Pombo had therefore prayed to Tharma for the overthrow of Ammuz, an idol friendly to Tharma, and in doing this offended against the etiquette of the gods. Tharma refused to grant the little prayer.
We set off again on our wild career, this time followed not only by the guard, but by the Pombo and all his men. Once or twice I could not help turning round to look at them.
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