The grimy hunchback smiled crookedly.
"To the Isfayan Gate, saidi," he suggested, as the Shareef took the lead.
At the gate the sentries challenged them, but recognizing Sayyid Yussuf, permitted them to pass.
The beggar muttered a few words to the sentry.
"I have kept it safely, saidi," replied the sentry, as he unbuckled from his waist a belt and scimitar which he handed the beggar.
"I ride unarmed. Sayyid Yussuf, be kind enough to carry my sword."
"Allah, and again, by Allah!" marveled the Shareef as he accepted the blade, and noted the sentry's respectful address. "Saint or beggar, or both ... but who are you, old man?"
"You would be amazed, my lord," was the evasive reply. "Ride on yet a way. Let me lead."
This time the Shareef followed in the wanderer's trace. And as he rode, he fingered the hilt of the beggar's scimitar, and wondered at the cool, unblinking sapphires that adorned the pommel, and the cunning workmanship of the embroidered belt.