"Craig Shaw Gardner - Arabian 3 - The Last Arabian Night" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gardner Craig Shaw)

words had come from her mouth, his sword was out and her head was
off.

Certainly, he thought thereafter, he might have acted too quickly with
this particular maiden. And yet, when one was a king, one could not be
too careful. There would be other nights, and other maidens.

So it proceeded, night after night, maiden after maiden, beheading after
beheading, until the king seemed to be performing these rituals out of
force of habit.

It is at this point that I enter the story.

I was but a young maiden at this time, some two years prior to today.
And I lived with my sister, Dunyazad, within the fine apartments of my
father, the grand vizier, who was that same Aziz whom I have
mentioned earlier within my tale.

So it was that one morning I chanced upon my father in a state of great
worry, for as I approached he wrung his hands repeatedly, only
pausing in these actions to pull upon his beard, and further did he seem
to take no notice of me when I entered the room, although in the
normal course of events my arrival would always be rewarded with a
word or a smile.

"Father," I therefore asked. "What vexes you so?"

My question caused him to look upon me at last, and he attempted a
smile which his worry would not allow. "O my daughter!" he replied. "I
am faced with the most perplexing of difficulties. Three hundred days
and nights have passed since our king returned from his travels and
decided to change his habits. Alas! Every marriageable and even some
not-so-marriageable woman in the kingdom has fallen to our ruler's
curse! And now, if I can find no one to occupy the great king's bed this
evening, I fear I shall fall beneath his head-shearing blade myself!"

To this worried exclamation, I could but smile, and gently remark, "But,
Father, you have two fine daughters yourself."

"Scheherazade?" he whispered, as if the thought had never occurred to
so protective a father. "Dunyazad? No, never shall I expose either of
my daughters to such a fate. It is better that I be beheaded!"

"Nonsense," I replied. "There may be a certainty that I shall enter the
king's chambers, but I am not certain in the least that I shall lose my
head."

Still did my father protest, giving me many fine examples and stories of
the difficulties that I might endure, for it was always the custom within
my family to illustrate our concerns with the telling of tales. But still was