Read Online Alamut by Vladimir Bartol - Free Book Online

vizier ordered beheaded many years ago.”
    The captain looked at him half in surprise and half in disbelief.
    “Are you telling the truth?”
    “Why should I lie, sir?”
    “If this is so, then know that your grandfather’s name is written in gold letters in the hearts of all Ismailis. Our Master will be pleased to count you among his warriors. That is why you’ve come to the castle?”
    “Yes, to serve the supreme commander of the Ismailis and to avenge my grandfather.”
    “Good. What have you learned?”
    “Reading and writing, sir. Also grammar and verse making. I know almost half the Koran by heart.”
    The captain smiled.
    “Not bad. How about the military arts?”
    The grandson of Tahir felt at a loss.
    “I can ride horseback, shoot with a bow, and I can manage with a sword and spear.”
    “Do you have a wife?”
    The young man blushed deeply.
    “No, sir.”
    “Have you indulged in debauchery?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Good.”
    Captain Manuchehr turned to the sergeant.
    “Abuna! Take ibn Tahir to dai Abu Soraka. Tell him that I’ve sent him. Unless I’m completely mistaken, he’ll be glad to have him.”
    They both bowed and left the captain’s chamber, and shortly they were back in the courtyard. The pillar to which the man being flogged had been bound was now free. Only a few drops of blood testified to what had happened there. Ibn Tahir still felt a faint shudder, but now he was filled with a sense of his own safety, since clearly it meant something to be the grandson of the martyr Tahir.
    They turned up the steps leading to the center terrace. To their right was a low building, perhaps a barrack. The sergeant stopped in front of it and glanced around, as if looking for someone.
    A dark-skinned youth in a white cloak, white trousers and white fez came hurrying past. The sergeant stopped him and said politely, “The captain has sent me with this young fellow to his worship dai Abu Soraka.”
    “Come with me,” the dark-skinned youth grinned broadly. “His worship the dai is just now teaching us poetry. We’re on the roof.” And, turning to ibn Tahir, he said, “Are you here to become a feday? There are quite a few surprises in store for you. I’m novice Obeida.”
    Ibn Tahir followed him and the sergeant without having quite understood.
    They came out onto the rooftop, the floor of which was covered with coarsely woven rugs. Some twenty youths, each of them dressed in white just like Obeida, sat on the rugs, knees and feet to the floor. At their knees they each held a tablet on which they wrote down whatever was dictated by an old man in a white cloak sitting in front of them with a book in hand.
    The teacher rose when he saw the newcomers. His face knitted into ill-tempered wrinkles, he asked the sergeant, “What do you want from us at this hour? Can’t you see a lesson is underway?”
    The sergeant coughed nervously while novice Obeida imperceptibly blended in among his companions, who were curiously inspecting the stranger.
    Abuna said, “Forgive me for bothering you during instruction, reverend dai. The captain has sent me with this young man, whom he wants you to have.”
    The old missionary and teacher studied ibn Tahir from head to toe.
    “Who are you and what do you want, boy?”
    Ibn Tahir bowed respectfully.
    “My name is Avani and I’m the grandson of Tahir, whom the grand vizier had beheaded in Sava. My father has sent me to Alamut to serve the Ismaili cause and to avenge the death of my grandfather.”
    The old man’s face brightened. He ran to ibn Tahir with outstretched arms and heartily embraced him.
    “Happy eyes that see you in this castle, grandson of Tahir! Your grandfather was a good friend of mine and of Our Master. Abuna, go and thank the captain for me. And you, young men, take a good look at your new companion. When I tell you the history and struggles of the Ismailis I won’t be able to bypass the famous grandfather of this young man, the Ismaili Tahir, who