All around, as far as eye could range, not a palm, nor a plant, nor a blade of grass was to be seen. From one end of the horizon to the other, nothing on which the rising sun could cast a shadow! There was only a small hillock in the centre of this desert, and against this a man was resting, spreading out his hands upon the square stone which stood upon it. He had either just risen from sleep or from the recital of prayer, and, kneeling, he greeted the rising sun. His dress was similar to that of an Eastern mendicant, for he was covered with a long woollen cloak, and one could see through his wide-hanging sleeves the wounds on his arms which had been scorched by the sun. He was short, and lame with a crippled foot, and, although his hair and beard were already white, his face, which was ruddy and youthful, belied his age, for on his forehead no wrinkles were to be seen, and his eyes were bright and sparkling. The expression of his face was as grave and gentle as that of a philosopher or a pilgrim.
To the eastern horizon of the desert, along the stony plain of Szivasz, a red pyramid arrested the sun's rays, and appeared through the morning mists like a red shadow, whilst westward, a long black streak of cloud seemed to hover, which the morning breeze was powerless to agitate and the light of dawn could not kindle into colour. Throughout the whole extent of the plains not a human voice was to be heard, but in the melancholy quietude some continuous and dismal sounds attracted the ear, proceeding apparently from the interior of the earth. Far and wide as the waste extended were these heartrending and distressing noises to be heard. It seemed as though the earth were sobbing, or as though one could recognise the sighs and groans ascending from lost souls in purgatory, numbed into faint echoes in their transit from the depths below. Or even as though the air were filled with the loud screams of evil spirits, coming and going one knew not whence or whither. On the face of the lonely wanderer no expression of fear was visible. He did not shrink shudderingly from the phantom of the plain, nor from the desolate picture spread before him. If he could pass the night alone amidst these ghostly surroundings, was it likely that he would be afraid in the sunlight?
He knelt once again upon the hillock, touching the stone with his forehead, speaking in low murmurs as though into the sand:
"Oh! Wisdom beyond all wisdoms! grant to me to acquire thy knowledge that I may wander throughout the world, and accomplish what Thou hast left unfinished."
Whilst saying this he rose, and, with dignified mien, gazed around the expanse of plain. These plains were the blessed soil of Irán. But yesterday it was the fourth paradise of Asia, while to-day it is a desert.
The little hillock was the sepulchre of Abu Mozlim who killed half a million of people in his fierce and continuous fights.
The philosopher, wanderer, and mendicant who rested upon it was Timur (the man of the iron sword), nicknamed also Timur Lenk (the lame), who in the language of flatterers was called Gurgan (the high and mighty lord), Szabil Kirán (the master of all time), or Djeihangir (the conqueror of the world)—one of the greatest of all conquerors. On his head rested the crowns of twenty-seven countries, and from the Indus to the Volga twenty-seven nationalities groaned under his yoke.
It was he himself, the dreaded Tamerlan. The red pyramid to the east was a pyramid of skulls, which had been piled up from the heads of 90,000 soldiers captured during the war, whilst the immovable cloud towards the west was the smoke rising from Szivasz, which only two days ago was inhabited by 100,000 people and to-day held as many graves!
The hollow murmuring from the centre of the earth was caused by the cries of 4000 Armenians, whom the victorious conqueror had caused to be buried alive in one vast timber-lined grave, so that their screams could be heard for some time. It was their moans which came from beneath the earth, whilst the cripple rested on his club, made from the horn of the buffalo, and gazed with a satisfied air around the desert wastes which, yesterday a paradise, had been battered down by his horses' hoofs into a dismal plain. What he saw and heard was delight to his heart. The air of the desert mourned, and the earth moaned in concert.