"Fighting-men, all," the Master repeated, while Leclair listened with keen enjoyment and the Legion stood attentive, with the white-burnoused horsemen giving ear to every word—astonished, no doubt, to hear Arabic speech from the lips of an unbeliever. "We have traveled far, from the Lands of the Books. Is it not meritorious, O Sheik? Doth not thy Prophet himself say: 'Voyaging is victory, and he who journeyeth not is both ignorant and blind?"'
The old man pondered a moment, then fell to stroking his beard. The act was friendly, and of good portent. He murmured:
"I see, O Frank, that thou hast read the Strong Book. Thou dost know our law, even though thou be from Feringistan. What is thy name?"
"Men know me only as The Master. And thine?"
"Bara Miyan (The Great Sir), nothing more."
"Dost thou wish us well?" the Master put a leading question.
"Kull'am antum bil khair!" (May ye be well, every year!) said the old Sheik. The Master sensed a huge relief. Undoubtedly—hard as this was to understand, and much as it contradicted Rrisa's prediction—the attitude of these Jannati Shahr folk was friendly. Unless, indeed, all this meant ambush. But to look into those grave, deep eyes, to see that furrowed countenance of noble, straight-forward uprightness, seemed to negative any such suspicion.
"We have come to bring ye wondrous gifts," the Master volunteered, wanting to strike while the iron was hot.
"That is well," assented Bara Miyan. "But never before have the Franks come to this center of the Empty Abodes."
"Even Allah had to say 'Be!' before anything was!" (i.e., there must be a first time for everything).