Christ in heaven! But why deny my own eyes? In the throbbing, glowing rosy-amber jar was the shapely form of Djenane Hanoum! Faintly distorted by the refraction of the curved surfaces of the urn and the attar, but nevertheless and beyond any mistake, that was the Gurjestani girl. I stared, fascinated. Then looked behind the jar, hoping … ridiculous hope … to find that she was standing on the other side, and that I had seen her through, and not in, the urn.

It is strange how in such a moment one notices trifles.

“La illah illa allah … wa Muhammad rasul allahi …” came the murmuring accents of bin Ayyub, very low, but distinct.

Even in the grip of that horribly lovely sight, I had distinctly caught the Moslem’s “There is no God but Allah …” And then, scarcely perceptible, “Djenane …”

My movements must have been those of a mechanical toy.

As I caught the curtains on the hilts of the simitars hanging at each side of the alcove, I noted that the fine, hard-woven cord of silk was missing. And then I found myself wondering what poison the blue cup of mourning had contained.

Not until fully a minute later did it dawn on me why bin Ayyub’s eyes had flamed with immeasurable despair when I had reminded him that since I had returned the throne-rug of Saladin, he had no cause to concern himself about the thief.

That awful sweetness was rolling from the uncovered jar, strangling me with its richness. I wondered how a girl in the heart of an ocean of perfume could endure its fragrance … and whether the silken cord was chafing her throat.

Bin Ayyub’s drawn features were now overlaid with a shadow of a smile.

“If it were given me to elect the manner of my death, I would choose to be drowned in that perfume …” he had once said. So instead of covering the jar, I left Ilderim Shirkuh bin Ayyub enthroned on the rug of Saladin and facing the loveliness which he had imprisoned in attar.

Revell was still frothing when I returned and tossed his Anatolian silk rug on the floor.

“I’d have committed murder for that throne-rug,” he growled. “And now—”

Someday I’m going to tie an anvil to Revell’s ankles and then kick him into Lake Michigan.

The Dog-Eared God – Frank Belknap Long, Jr.

-1-

The Egyptians’ gods are shaped like beasts, but why they represent them in this way I had rather not mention. —Herodotus

What do you think of it?” asked Professor Dewey.