Isfmis bowed his head and said, “It pleased the Lord to give it to one of Pharaoh's bondsmen.”
The king guffawed and said, “I see you speak well. It is with sweet words that your people seek to gain our sympathy and our cash. Seth, in his wisdom, gives the sword to the strong master and glibness of tongue to the weak slave. But what has this to do with you? Our friend Khanzar has told me that you bear us a gift from the lands of Nubia. Show us your gift.”
The youth bowed his head and moved aside. He made a signal to his men and two of them approached with the ivory casket and placed it before the throne. The youth went up to it, opened it, and drew forth a pharaoh's double crown of pure gold, studded with rubies, emeralds, pearls, and coral. As he lifted it, it attracted all eyes and the people, dazzled, broke out in a clamor of astonishment and admiration. Apophis, for his part, stared, his eyes bulging and avaricious, and unthinkingly he removed his own crown and took the new crown between his large hands and placed it on his bald head, so that he appeared clothed in new majesty. The king was jubilant and his face glowed with satisfaction. He said, “Trader, your gift is accepted.”
Isfmis bowed respectfully. Then he turned to his men and gave them a special sign and they drew aside the closed curtain of the litter, revealing the three pygmies seated and clinging to one another. Their sudden appearance caused great astonishment among all the people. Most of them got to their feet and craned their necks. The young trader called to them, “Bow to your lord Pharaoh!” and the three pygmies jumped down as one and formed a line, then approached the throne with firm, deliberate steps, made a triple obeisance before Pharaoh, and then stood silently, their faces expressionless. The king exclaimed, “Trader, what might these creatures be?”
“They are people, my lord, whose tribes live in the furthest reaches of southern Nubia. They believe that the world contains no other peoples than themselves. If they see one of us, amazement ties their tongues and they call to one another in wonder. These three I raised and I have trained them well. My lord will find them a model of obedience and a form of entertainment and recreation.”
The king shook his large head and laughed his mighty laugh, saying, “Anyone who claims to know everything is a fool. You, young man, have brought joy to our hearts and I grant you my favor.”
Isfmis bowed his head and then retraced his steps, walking backward. When he reached the center of the hall, he found someone barring his way and grasping his arm. Isfmis turned to look at the owner of the thick hand and saw a man in fine military clothes with a beautiful beard and thick moustaches, his veins throbbing with rage. His flushed face, and the flash of madness in his eyes, indicated how drunk he was. He greeted his lord and said, “I have no doubt that it pleases our lord to witness the arts of valiant combat at our national feasts, as our sacred traditions require. I have saved up for my lord's sacred person a bloody duel that will delight the onlookers.”
Lifting the glass to his thick lips, the king said, “How delightful that the blood of warriors be spilled on the floor of this hall to dispel our boredom! But who is the happy man whom you have honored with your enmity, Commander Rukh?”
The drunken commander pointed to Isfmis and said, “This, my lord, shall be my opponent.”
The king was amazed, as were many of the nobles, and he asked, “How has this Nubian trader attracted your anger?”
“He rescued a peasant woman — she had had the impudence to direct an insult at my person — from punishment, by paying fifty pieces of gold to ransom her.”
The king laughed his mighty, ringing laugh and asked the commander, “Are you willing to have a peasant as your opponent?”
“My Lord, I see that he is well-built and his muscles are strong. If his heart is not that of a bird, I will close my eyes to his lowly origin, to please my lord and make my contribution to the joy of the feast.”
Governor Khanzar, however, would not contemplate a duel and had fixed his brother Judge Samnut with a reproachful glance, realizing that it was he who had alerted the commander to Isfmis's presence, without heed for the situation, while he, for his part, thought what a waste it would be should Rukh's sword deny him the precious treasures of Nubia. Going up to Commander Rukh, he told him firmly, “It is inconceivable that the decorations you wear should be scratched in a fight with a peasant trader, Commander.”
But Rukh replied, forestalling him, “If it is shameful for me to fight a peasant, then it is disgraceful for me to allow a slave to challenge me without exacting upon him the punishment that he deserves. But when I saw Pharaoh grant this trader his favor, I preferred to treat him fairly and give him a chance to defend himself.”
Those who heard the commander thought that what he said was right and just; they hoped earnestly that the trader would agree to fight, so that they could watch the duel and bring their feast-day pleasure to its climax. Isfinis was at a complete loss and could think of no way out. At one moment he would feel the eagerness of the people to hear his response and the look of challenge and contempt directed at him by the stubborn, drunken commander, — which made his blood boil in his veins. Then he would think of the advice of Tetisheri and Latu, and how, if that gross commander were to kill him, the fruits that he was so close to plucking would be lost and this favorable opportunity would pass his family by; at this his blood would cool and his resolution grow numb. Dear God! He could not refuse and he could not flee, for if he did so the commander would despise him, all eyes would look at him with contempt, and he would leave the place with his tail between his legs and his heart broken, even if he did thus obtain his noble goal. At this point he heard the commander say to him, “You have challenged me, peasant. Are you ready to face me?”
Isfinis was silent, feeling crushed and numb. Then he heard a voice say, “Leave the boy! He knows nothing of fighting.” And another voice said, “Leave the boy! A warrior fights with his soul, not with his body.” At this, rage took possession of him, and he became aware of a hand on his shoulder and a voice saying to him, “You are not a warrior, and it is no disgrace if you excuse yourself.” He looked and saw Khanzar, and felt a shudder pass through his body at the touch of the hand that slew his grandfather. At that dreadful moment, he glanced toward the throne, and saw Princess Amenridis regarding him with interest. Anger overcame him and, unaware of what he was doing, he said in a clear voice, “I thank the commander for condescending to fight with me and I accept the hand that he has extended to me.”
The people were overjoyed and the king laughed and drank another cup, as heads on all sides turned to look at the two opponents. The commander's face relaxed and he smiled a vengeful smile. He asked Isfinis, “Do you fight with the sword?”
He bowed his head in assent and the other gave him a sword. Isfinis removed his cloak to reveal his upper garment and trousers. His tall, strong body attracted looks, as did the slenderness and rectitude of its form and the beauty of his face. He was given a shield and he grasped the sword in his right hand and put the shield on his left, standing at one arm's length from the commander like one of those statues on — which the doors of the temples had closed.
The king gave the word for the fight to start and each unsheathed his sword. The angry commander was the first to attack, directing at his enemy a murderous blow that he imagined would be fatal, but the youth avoided it with amazing alacrity and it struck the air harmlessly. The commander allowed him no respite but, quick as lightning, aimed a still harder blow at his head. With a quick movement, however, the youth received it on his shield. Cries of admiration arose from every part of the hall and the commander realized that he was fighting with a man who knew well how to parry and thrust. He took heed and the fight started once more, following a new plan: they attacked, clinched, and separated, and feinted and turned back to the fight, the commander furious and violent, the youth amazingly calm, warding off his enemy's attacks with easy deftness and confidence. Every time that he parried a blow with his amazing skill, his enemy grew more agitated and crazed in his anger. Everyone realized that Isfmis was well able to defend himself and scarcely moved onto the offensive unless to thwart a strategy or make a blow miscarry; his skill was plain for all to see and he excelled his opponent in this and in agility to a degree that caught the enthusiasm of the audience, whose delight in the fight had caused them to forget the difference of race. Rukh became frantic and attacked him again and again, violently and strongly, never tiring or flagging, aiming blow after blow at him, some of which Isfmis warded off with his shield and some of which he skillfully avoided, remaining unhurt, serene, and full of boundless confidence, neither losing his temper nor discarding his insouciance, like some impregnable fortress. Despair started to overcome the exasperated commander and, as he became aware of how delicate and embarrassing was his position, he was driven to take risks. He raised the arm with which he held his sword and gathered all the strength and resolution he could muster to deliver a mortal blow, confident that his opponent's strategy was limited to defending himself. To his surprise, however, Isfinis directed a brilliant blow at the hilt of his sword, the point of his sword wounding the commander's palm. His hand lost its grip and the youth struck the sword a second blow that sent it flying, to fall close to Pharaoh's throne. Rukh was left defenseless, the blood dripping from his hand, and unable to contain his fury, while the audience hooted with pleasure, delighted at the trader's valor and the exquisite manner with which he refrained from pressing his advantage. The commander yelled at him, “Why don't you get on with it and finish me off, peasant?”