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know whole families who
     have been ruined honouring visitors or the needy, but you will never hear them boast of it. The fountains you have seen on
     every street corner, filled with sweet water to slake the thirst of passers-by of which there are more than two thousand in
     this city made of tile, copper or porcelain have all been provided by the people of Samarkand. But do you think that a single
     man has had his name inscribed on one to garner gratitude?’
    ‘I must confess that I have nowhere met such generosity. Would you allow me to pose a question which has been bothering me?’
    The
qadi
took the words out of his mouth, ‘I know what you are going to ask: how can people who so esteem the virtues of hospitality
     be capable of violence against a visitor such as yourself?’
    ‘Or against a poor old man like Jaber the Lanky?’
    ‘The answer I am going to give you is summed up in one word – fear. All violence here is born of fear. Our faith is being
     attacked from all sides by the Qarmatians in Bahrain, the Imamis of Qom, the seventy-two sects, the Rum in Constantinople,
     infidels of all denominations and above all the Ismailis in Egypt who have a massive following right in the heart of Baghdad
     and even here in Samarkand. Never forget that our cities of Islam – Mecca, Medina, Isfahan, Baghdad, Damascus, Bukhara, Merv,
     Cairo, Samarkand – are no more than oases that will revert to being desert if neglected for a moment. They are constantly
     at the mercy of a sand-storm!’
    Through a window to his left the
qadi
expertly calculated the sun’s passage. He stood up.
    ‘It is time to go and meet our sovereign,’ he said.
    He clapped his hands.
    ‘Bring us some fortification for the journey.’
    It was his practice to supply himself with raisins to munch on his way, a practice much imitated by those around him and those
     who came to visit him. Hence the immense copper platter which was brought in to him piled high with a mound of these pale
     treats for everyone to stuff their pockets.
    When it was Scar-Face’s turn, he grabbed a small handful which he held out to Khayyam with the words, ‘I suppose that you
     would prefer me to offer these to you as wine.’
    He did not speak in a very loud voice, but as if by magic everyone present fell silent. They stood with bated breath, watching
     Omar lips. He spoke.
    ‘When one wishes to drink wine, one chooses carefully one’s cupbearer and drinking companion.’
    Scar-Face’s voice rose a little.
    ‘For my part, I would not touch a drop. I am hoping for a place in paradise. You do not seem anxious to join me there.’
    ‘The whole of eternity in the company of sententious
ulema?
No, thank you. God promised us something else.’
    The exchange stopped there. Omar hurried to join the
qadi
who was calling him.
    ‘The townspeople must see you ride next to me. That will dispel their impressions of yesterday evening.’
    In the crowd gathered around the residence, Omar thought he could make out the almond-seller concealed in the shadow of a
     pear-tree. He slowed down and looked around for her, but Abu Taher badgered him.
    ‘Faster. Woe betide you should the Khan arrive before us.’

CHAPTER 4
    ‘Since the dawn of time astrologers have proclaimed that four cities were born under the sign of revolt, Samarkand, Mecca,
     Damascus and Palermo, and their words are truth! These cities have only ever submitted to government through force. They follow
     the straight path only when it is traced by the sword. The Prophet reduced the arrogance of the Meccans by the sword and it
     is by the sword that I will reduce the arrogance of the people of Samarkand!’
    Nasr Khan, the master of Transoxania, a bronzed giant in flowing embroidered robes, gesticulated standing in front of his
     throne. His voice caused trembling amongst his household and visitors. His eyes sought out amongst those present a victim,
     a lip that might dare to tremble, an insufficiently contrite