The chief executioner was a tall and bony man, extremely ferocious.  “Give me good hard fighting,” he was accustomed to declare; “let me have my thrust with the lance, and my cut with the sabre, and I want no more.  We all have our weaknesses—­these are mine.”  This terrible man accompanied the Shah in his campaign, and I and the others went along with him, in the army that was to expel the Muscovite infidels from Georgia.  Having heard that the Muscovites were posted on the Pembaki river, the chief executioner, with a large body of cavalry and infantry, proceeded to advance upon them.

On reaching the river, we found two Muscovite soldiers on the opposite bank.  The chief put on a face of the greatest resolution.  “Go, seize, strike, kill!” he exclaimed.  “Bring me their heads!”

Several men dashed into the river, but the Russians, firing steadily, killed two of them, whereupon the rest retreated; nor could all the chief’s oaths, entreaties, and offers of money persuade anybody to go forward.

While we were thus parleying, a shot hit the chief executioner’s stirrup, which awoke his fears to such a degree that he recalled his troops, and himself rode hastily away, exclaiming, “Curses be on their beards!  Whoever fought after this fashion?  Killing, killing, as if we were so many hogs!  They will not run away, do all you can to them.  They are worse than brutes!  O Allah, Allah, if there was no dying in the case, how the Persians would fight!”

On our return to the camp, a proclamation was issued announcing that an army of 50,000 infidels had been vanquished by the all-victorious armies of the Shah, that 10,000 of the dogs had given up their souls, and that the prisoners were so many that the prices of slaves had diminished a hundred per cent.

When we went back with the Shah to Tehran, a horrid event occurred which plunged me in the greatest misery.  I heard that Zeenab was ill, and unable to dance before the Shah; and, knowing the royal methods of treating unsatisfactory slaves, I feared greatly for the consequences.  My fears were warranted.  I was ordered, with others, to wait below the tower of the royal harem at midnight and bear away a corpse.  We saw a woman struggling with two men at the top of the tower.  The woman was flung over.  We rushed forward.  At my feet, in the death-agony, lay my beloved Zeenab.  I hung over her in the deepest despair; my feelings could not be concealed from the ruffians around me.

I abandoned everything, and left Tehran next day determined to become a real dervish, and spend the rest of my life in penitence and privations.

III.—­Among the Holy Men

As I was preparing next night to sleep on the bare ground outside a caravanserai—­for I was almost destitute—­I saw a horseman ride up whom I recognised.  It was one of the nasakchis who had assisted in the burial of Zeenab.  I had been betrayed, then; my love for the king’s slave had been revealed, and they were pursuing me.