“The Prince Peroa, O King.”
The King frowned as though the name displeased him, then answered,
“Am I not greater than this Peroa and cannot I therefore shoot better?”
“Doubtless, O King of kings, and therefore how can I who shoot worse than Peroa, match myself against you?”
“For which reason I will give you odds, Shabaka. Behold this rope of rose-hued pearls I wear. They are unequalled in the whole world, for twenty years the merchants sought them in the days of my father; half of them would buy a satrapy. I wager them”—here the listening nobles gasped and the fat eunuch, Houman, held up his hands in horror.
“Against what, O King?”
“Your slave Bes, to whom I have taken a fancy.”
Now I trembled and Bes rolled his yellow eyes.
“Your pardon, O King of kings,” I said, “but it is not enough. I am a hunter and to such, priceless pearls are of little use. But to me that dwarf is of much use in my hunting.”
“So be it, Shabaka, then I will add to the wager. If you win, together with the pearls I will give you the dwarf’s weight in solid gold.”