Then the truth flashed upon him, and he groaned aloud. The tall Baluch he had rescued from the men of Raab and escorted safely to the plains of Melin was none other than Prince Ahmed himself, and Kasam’s folly in interfering with his uncle Agahr’s plans had resulted in his own undoing!
They were at the palace now.
Dirrag held Kasam’s horse while he dismounted and then escorted the young man into the courtyard and through several winding passages. Soon they came to a small chamber, the entrance to which was guarded by the Arab slave Memendama, who allowed them to pass at a word from Dirrag. Here were more attendants and slaves, richly dressed in the crimson, white and purple of the House of Ugg. Kasam looked uneasily upon the expressionless faces, and cast himself upon a divan to await the summons to the Khan’s presence. It came in a few brief moments, and Dirrag led the Prince through still another passage to a marble balcony, where two men were seated at a small table and a third stood at the carved rail looking into the gardens below.
Kasam glanced at the two who were seated and failed to recognize them. One was Merad, the Persian physician; the other the sirdar of the tribe of Ugg.
The man at the rail turned about, and Kasam knew him at once. He had been Dirrag’s companion in the desert.
“I am glad to welcome you, Prince Kasam,” said the khan, courteously. “Pray be seated.”
He motioned toward a chair, but Kasam stood erect.
“Tell me first,” said he, “whether I am to consider myself a guest or a prisoner.”
“Surely not a prisoner, my cousin. I may use that title, may I not, since we are related?”
“The relation is distant,” said the other, proudly. “I am of the Tribe of Raab, and for seven generations my ancestors ruled all Baluchistan.”