"No, for you were too intent on wickedness," the old man said sternly. "You shame me, Dil Assa. I have broken bread with the ferengi and find him to be an honorable man. If you slay him, my curse will be upon you and your tents."
Dil Assa blanched. "You have never protested when we take slaves among the Persians, majesty," he said feebly. "Indeed, you graciously accept a tenth of all our spoils."
"That is entirely a different matter," the khalifa said with dignity."A Turkoman raider does not take the lives of his captives, but treats them as tenderly as a father, for dead they are worthless. Besides, Persians are Shiites, and to fight them is a greater blessing than making a pilgrimage."
Murad, who as a Persian was a Shiite, drew closer to Saleh, who was a Sunni like the Turkomans. Ross found it ironic that Abd Urrahman was more tolerant of a Christian than of a fellow Muslim, but was too grateful for the khalifa's intervention to point out any inconsistencies of logic.
Abd Urrahman continued, "I want your word that you will never again try to harm this ferengi, his servants, or his friends." The old man's piercing gaze swept the other Turkomans. "I want the same promise from all of you here, and all the kinsmen in your tents."
Dil Assa swallowed hard. "You have my word, majesty, and I shall convey your wishes to the rest of the tribe."
"Very good." The khalifa's face softened. "It is well that you fear God, Dil Assa, for I know that you fear no man."
Taking the words as a compliment, Dil Assa brightened a little, though his expression was still ferocious when he turned to Ross again. The Turkoman glared like a tomcat; Ross was reminded of his early days at Eton, where boys felt compelled to prove themselves to each other.
A dangerous smile lit Dil Assa's dark eyes. His gaze swept around the gathered watchers, for as was usual in the East, everything happened with an audience. "As a gesture of friendship to the ferengi, I will invite him to share in one of the glories of Turkoman life." He paused for dramatic effect. "Tomorrow I shall hold a special bozkashi match in his honor. Not only that, the ferengi shall play with us."
After he said bozkashi, the crowd began murmuring with excitement, repeating the word over and over. Ross had heard the term and recognized it as a game played on horseback, but knew nothing more. Distrustfully he asked, "What is bozkashi?"
Dil Assa gave a wolfish smile. "It is the great game our ancestors have played since time immemorial. The name means 'goat catch,' for men on horseback contend for the headless body of a goat. The carcass must be carried around a distant post, then brought back and hurled into the circle of justice. Whoever throws the goat into the circle is proclaimed the winner. Of course, it is not to be expected that a ferengi might actually win, but still I will allow you to play with us."
It didn't take a genius to guess how much violence the brief description concealed. Unenthralled, Ross said, "You honor me, but I have no horse, nor any understanding of the game."
"No matter," Dil Assa said airily. "Bozkashi is so simple, even a ferengi can learn. I will lend you one of my own horses."
Ross glanced around at the expectant faces of the other caravan members. He had garnered a fair amount of goodwill among them, but refusing to play Dil Assa's barbaric game might dissipate that. There was no graceful way out; even the khalifa looked approving. "Then I shall be pleased to join you."
"Splendid!" Dil Assa swung onto his horse. "Come to our tents tomorrow when the sun has risen halfway to its zenith. And bring your friends so they can admire your riding prowess." With flamboyant showmanship he reared his horse, then wheeled and galloped away, followed by his men.
After mentally conceding that Dil Assa had won this round, Ross turned and bowed to the khalifa. "Many thanks for your intervention, majesty. I see God's hand in the chance that brought you to our fire."
Abd Urrahman's black eyes twinkled. "It was not entirely chance, though assuredly you were under God's hand. This morning a camel driver came to my house to tell me of the wickedness of you and your Tuareg servant. He wanted me to order that you both be stoned, but I thought it best to judge you for myself. I also guessed that Dil Assa might seek you out when he heard that a ferengi was in Merv, for his brother was killed by the British in Afghanistan. He is a good lad, Dil Assa, but impulsive." The old man inclined his head graciously. "I enjoyed our discussion, Khilburn. Your theology is novel, but the product of a reverent heart. Enjoy the bozkashi match tomorrow."
Even after the khalifa left, Ross's fire was the center of attention among the members of the caravan, who came over to enthusiastically describe bozkashi matches they had seen. The prospect of a game the next day put everyone in high spirits.