The sultan twice clapped his hands.
Amru reappeared, and received orders: two horses at the Ispahan Gate, an hour after evening prayer; horses meanly equipped and poorly caparisoned.
But before Amru could leave, Ismeddin interposed: "A moment, oh father of all wazirs!"
And then, to the sultan: "What is to be done must be done quickly. Let Maksoud meet us at Atlânaat, so that the wisdom of the Lord of the World will not have time to cool in our ears."
The sultan nodded, then spoke very briefly of four tongueless, black mamelukes, and of Maksoud who was to accompany them; and this cavalcade was to leave the city by a small gate which had no name.
An hour's ride from the Ispahan Gate brought Ismeddin and the sultan to the edge of the jungle in whose depths brooded the foundations of prodigious Atlânaat. They halted for a moment to gaze at the uncounted domes and minarets that towered high above the jungle and muttered secret words to the stars as they crept out one by one. Then Ismeddin took the lead, the sultan following in his trace.
How strange, pondered the sultan, that he should ride alone in the jungle, following a white blur that was the dirty djellab of an old man who was so entirely at home in unsavory places; and how much stranger yet that he should step from his throne to seek aid from a darvish who lived in a cavern and pitied the futility of kings.
Then the sultan thought of his vengeance, and wondered at the terrific words the Lord of the World would speak....
The darvish finally halted at the edge of a clearing. Before them loomed the incredible bulk of the outer walls of Atlânaat, walls that had for ages mocked the age-old trees that sought to reach their parapet.