princess
asks, running.
“Your father is in the harem,” Airagad
replies, “but I know they sent for him already.”
In the harem. The princess throws a glance
from the gallery, along which they are now running, toward the
elegant white stone building adjacent to the north wing of the
palace. She doesn’t really understand what a harem is, but her
mother explained to her that by law the sultan, unlike other
citizen of Dhagabad, is allowed to have not four, but only one wife
from a noble family. To compensate the sultan for the hardships of
such abstinence he is allowed to have as many women at his disposal
as he wants. These women are called by a strange name, concubines,
and they live in a building called a harem. The princess knows that
they are not allowed to leave this building, must always cover
their faces in the presence of strangers, and dwell in their
beautiful garden like exotic birds, seeing only one another and
their master, the sultan. The princess also knows that from seeing
the sultan these women have children which are never considered to
be of royal blood. They are called Chamari and Chamarat , sons and daughters of Chamar, and as they grow up
they join the lower ranks of the palace courtiers. By Dhagabad law
only the sultaness’s children are called princes and princesses,
and the elder of them is considered to be heir to the throne. The
princess knows that the heir is supposed to be a boy, but since she
has no brothers it is her place for now to take this role upon
herself. She was told that this means a lot of responsibility for
her, but she knows that so far this role only allows her to enjoy
freedom unheard of for any other girl in the palace, princess or
not. It seems to make her mother displeased, but this is something
the princess doesn’t understand.
Trying to keep up with Airagad, the princess
looks back to make sure that Hasan is following her. The djinn’s
face is still emotionless; he is walking lightly and noiselessly
over the stone floor of the gallery, effortlessly keeping three
paces behind the princess who is running with all her might. The
princess admires the frightening ease of his grace, like that of a
panther chasing its victim. Distracted, she almost bumps into
Airagad suddenly stopping in front of her.
“If we go down these stairs, we’ll find
ourselves right in the courtyard where the horse is being walked,”
Airagad says, throwing a cautious glance at Hasan. The princess
nods, and all three of them rush down the narrow winding stairs in
one of the side towers of the palace. In the dark the princess
carefully feels her way over the narrow, slippery steps that are
covered with smooth dips and bowls, worn in the stone by the
numerous feet walking those stairs during the past centuries. In
one place the princess stumbles and, to avoid falling, grabs a hand
offered to her. She pays no attention to the hardness of the muscle
under the silk sleeve or to the cold of the metal encasing the
wrist. Only when she finally pops out from under the stone vault
into the sunlit yard, she notices that Airagad is walking ahead,
and that all this time she was holding the arm of Hasan, smoothly
walking beside her. The princess looks at him with uncertainty and
carefully releases her grasp.
“Princess!” the sultaness shouts from a low
gallery across the yard. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see the stallion, mother!” the
princess says, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun with her
hand.
A short neigh and a snort behind startle her.
Turning, the princess finds herself face-to-face with the most
beautiful creature she has ever seen. Its shining raven-black coat
sparkles like a rainbow in the bright sunlight. Slender legs,
fluffy mane, arched neck—all these features, which to the experts
merely mean the unmistakable signs of a thoroughbred, create for
the princess a feeling of magic and wonder about this beautiful
creature. Its large brown eyes are looking straight at
asks, running.
“Your father is in the harem,” Airagad
replies, “but I know they sent for him already.”
In the harem. The princess throws a glance
from the gallery, along which they are now running, toward the
elegant white stone building adjacent to the north wing of the
palace. She doesn’t really understand what a harem is, but her
mother explained to her that by law the sultan, unlike other
citizen of Dhagabad, is allowed to have not four, but only one wife
from a noble family. To compensate the sultan for the hardships of
such abstinence he is allowed to have as many women at his disposal
as he wants. These women are called by a strange name, concubines,
and they live in a building called a harem. The princess knows that
they are not allowed to leave this building, must always cover
their faces in the presence of strangers, and dwell in their
beautiful garden like exotic birds, seeing only one another and
their master, the sultan. The princess also knows that from seeing
the sultan these women have children which are never considered to
be of royal blood. They are called Chamari and Chamarat , sons and daughters of Chamar, and as they grow up
they join the lower ranks of the palace courtiers. By Dhagabad law
only the sultaness’s children are called princes and princesses,
and the elder of them is considered to be heir to the throne. The
princess knows that the heir is supposed to be a boy, but since she
has no brothers it is her place for now to take this role upon
herself. She was told that this means a lot of responsibility for
her, but she knows that so far this role only allows her to enjoy
freedom unheard of for any other girl in the palace, princess or
not. It seems to make her mother displeased, but this is something
the princess doesn’t understand.
Trying to keep up with Airagad, the princess
looks back to make sure that Hasan is following her. The djinn’s
face is still emotionless; he is walking lightly and noiselessly
over the stone floor of the gallery, effortlessly keeping three
paces behind the princess who is running with all her might. The
princess admires the frightening ease of his grace, like that of a
panther chasing its victim. Distracted, she almost bumps into
Airagad suddenly stopping in front of her.
“If we go down these stairs, we’ll find
ourselves right in the courtyard where the horse is being walked,”
Airagad says, throwing a cautious glance at Hasan. The princess
nods, and all three of them rush down the narrow winding stairs in
one of the side towers of the palace. In the dark the princess
carefully feels her way over the narrow, slippery steps that are
covered with smooth dips and bowls, worn in the stone by the
numerous feet walking those stairs during the past centuries. In
one place the princess stumbles and, to avoid falling, grabs a hand
offered to her. She pays no attention to the hardness of the muscle
under the silk sleeve or to the cold of the metal encasing the
wrist. Only when she finally pops out from under the stone vault
into the sunlit yard, she notices that Airagad is walking ahead,
and that all this time she was holding the arm of Hasan, smoothly
walking beside her. The princess looks at him with uncertainty and
carefully releases her grasp.
“Princess!” the sultaness shouts from a low
gallery across the yard. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see the stallion, mother!” the
princess says, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun with her
hand.
A short neigh and a snort behind startle her.
Turning, the princess finds herself face-to-face with the most
beautiful creature she has ever seen. Its shining raven-black coat
sparkles like a rainbow in the bright sunlight. Slender legs,
fluffy mane, arched neck—all these features, which to the experts
merely mean the unmistakable signs of a thoroughbred, create for
the princess a feeling of magic and wonder about this beautiful
creature. Its large brown eyes are looking straight at
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