The first act of the new Nap was to decide who, at the established time, would accompany him in death. The Nap chose these companions from among those who were dearest to him. Sometime earlier, a king from the Far East had sent a man over the sea to Naphta who was famous for his skill as a storyteller. The man’s name was Far-li-mas. That was how Far-li-mas had arrived at the Court of Nap along with some slaves. King Akaf had seen him. And King Akaf liked Far-li-mas. And King Akaf said: “This man will be my first companion. For all of the time I have left before my end, he will entertain me with his stories. And he will also cheer me after my death.”

When Far-li-mas heard the king’s decision he was not afraid. He just said to himself: “God wills it.”

At that time it was the custom in Naphta to keep a fire perpetually burning, as is still done in the remote lands of For. The priests chose a boy and a girl to keep this fire always alight. They had to guard the fire and lead a chaste life. And they, too, were killed, not with the king, but when the new fire was lit. At the moment when the new fire was lit for King Akaf, the priests chose the new king’s youngest sister to keep the fire. Her name was Sali (at least that was what they called her—her full name was Sali-fu-Hamr). When Sali heard the choice had fallen on her, she was afraid. And then Sali felt a great fear of death.

For a certain period the king lived happily and full of joy; for he enjoyed the wealth and splendor of his country; he spent each evening with friends, and with foreigners who had come as ambassadors to the land of Naphta. But one evening God sent him the thought that each of those joyful days was taking him one day closer to certain death. The king was afraid. The king tried to banish the thought. But he couldn’t. King Akaf became very sad. And then God sent him a second thought: that he should send for Far-li-mas and get him to tell a story.

Far-li-mas was called. Far-li-mas came. The king said: “Far-li-mas, the day has arrived when you must cheer me. Tell me a story.” Far-li-mas said: “No sooner said than done.” Far-li-mas began his story. King Akaf listened. The guests listened. The king and the guests forgot about drinking. They forgot about breathing. The slaves forgot about serving. Far-li-mas’s story was like hashish. When he had finished, all were swathed in a benign unconsciousness. King Akaf had forgotten his thoughts about death. None of those present had realized that Far-li-mas’s story had lasted from the evening to the morning. When the guests left, the sun was already high.

Next day King Akaf and his guests were impatient for evening to arrive, for Far-li-mas to begin his story. Now Far-li-mas had to tell a story every evening. News about Far-li-mas’s tales spread around the Court, the capital, the country. But the tales of Far-li-mas were better every night. And each day the king gave him a fine robe, the guests and the ambassadors presented him with gold and precious stones. When he wandered through the streets, he was followed by a swarm of slaves. The people loved him. The people began to bare their breasts before him.