Sultan Salahuddin Ayoubi. . . ep 13


Sultan Salahuddin Ayoubi. . . ep 13

As soon as summer came, he bought a donkey and set off for Kirk. Ranjina Lud’s cruelty spread like a plague among Muslims. The corners of the white houses on Karak Hill were not yet visible when the sound of hoofs came from behind. He pulled the donkey aside. On the spear of a Christian soldier, a Muslim’s head was cut open like a melon, and his dead beard was stained with blood. A soldier saw him, crossed his chest, congratulated him with a song, and raised his eyebrows to his head.

“These poor people want to go to heaven. We rescued them from the trouble of Hajj and sent them straight to heaven.”

Sultan Salahuddin Ayoubi. . . click here to read episode 12

Then he laughed at his own joke so much that everyone else repeated it, and there was laughter from the mountain. This small army of a thousand spears entered Karak. He followed them too. The donkey went away. The army landed in front of the castle-like church of Karak, the spears were piled up in the fields, and many children and women fell on them and stumbled to the sound of their joy. For the first time in his life he saw Regina Rudd. He was a tall and handsome young man. His beard is brown, his hair swings over his shoulders, and his eyes sparkle like a wolf. He was wearing a saffron robe with a belt around his waist. Around his neck hung a golden cross, and on his feet were two leather socks and sheepskin boots. He looked at the pile of human heads, smiled, and looked at the soaked red ball with the tip of his sword. Then he looked up at the priest. He spoke in a pleasant voice, came and kissed his hand, and commanded the servants of the synagogue.

Don’t forget the Holy Father in today’s celebration. ”

And when he announced that he was born in Damascus and that he was going to Jerusalem, he was overjoyed and stood for a long time talking about Syrian politics. Then he grabbed the mane of a tall wild horse and rode out barefoot, and the church was full of festivities. Women, old people, and children would come, shake their hair and beards, noses, ears and eyes with their toes and claws, laugh out loud, then go back, replaced by a new audience, and repeat the same process. He’s been thinking about going back to his Damascus cell. At some point in the evening, the church servant grabbed the reins of his donkey and led him to the front door of the embarrassing brown-stone house in Regina Ryde, where another servant led him inside.

Upper columns were hastily hung in front of the wide porch, and heavy silver teak and ebony chairs were placed on the rough stone platform. In the middle of their large circle is a tall building. It is covered with a golden silk sheet, and the edges of the arabesque cords are decorated with silver threads.

There were small tripods in the middle of the chairs, and thick candles filled the palm groves of Mambat. Fragrant grass spreads from the beautiful amber burning in the copper fire. In the sickly yellow light sits the men of Mosul, Aleppo, Damascus and Cairo, with red faces, strong hands and feet, in velvet, Atlas and Sinjab, with bald beards dripping and dripping in their eyes blood. Regina Luther stood up and greeted him, introducing those named after the medical class and the Knights Templar and Hospitallers. They talk to each other in French and sometimes Lingo Franca. Then Regina Ludd applauded. He stood in front of her, with sharp text, yellow eyes, black hair, medium build, slender body, dirty, white and red naked woman. Rosebuds scattered all over him. In their hands they held sherbet jars, wine glasses, imitation boats, and small silver bowls with large mouths. He picked up his plate in front of everyone, poured a few glasses of red wine, and continued to endure the rude stares and awkward handcuffs of the party. Regina Luther pointed to the woman standing beside his chair.

“Holy Father, these are the daughters of wealthy Muslims whom Christ has made lawful for you.”

He smiled goodbye, leaning on the plate. Keep walking and Regina Ludd applauds twice. A servant with sore lips, a very finely trimmed beard, and a tamira robe on his forehead approached, standing with his hands tied. He got orders.

“Bring Maria.”

brought a girl. He is enthroned. Her clothes were taken off. Like the skin of a goat being pulled. As the candle light gets brighter. The party has forgotten the joy of women crushed on its side. Regina disappeared from sight, ignoring Luther’s voice.

The Holy Father is from Damascus, so you must know Arabic. She knows nothing but Arabic songs, but her voice is so sinister that even this sinister language has to endure. “

Then he pointed to the girls. One of them started playing rabah. The other took the lead, singing very sweet and pure.

Tears in my eyes once brought glory to the Pearl of Eden, but now the fountain of destiny dims as I read because I am a slave.

The ink of the fate of all the failed lovers of the past and of all the unloved lovers of the next centuries tormented in my black-haired web.

Because I am a slave. I…if I put on stones, they shine like diamonds…

If I wear apples, they start juggling like money.

But ah…

Where am I without camel mango and horse whip…because I am muslim.

The gold of my body, the pearls of my nails, the strength of my lips, the gems of my teeth, the sapphires and diamonds of my eyes. Pigs cleanse their impurities from it… because I am a slave.

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If I accidentally put a scale in front of the emperor, the princess of seven backs should pay homage to my shoes and learn civilization from me.

But I’m forced to sleep with a donkey shepherd because I’m a slave

I am the daughter of this country

If the hands of a people have not forgotten the smell of swords and stirrups, then from India to Egypt, from Samarkand to Africa, someone must have heard my cry.

But ah, my brother was a slave, he took his father’s “religion” and stabbed his mother in the stomach that gave birth to his “tongue”.

Alas, my brothers are slaves.

but why cry

There are not thousands of animals like me who live worse lives than me. I have hands. With feet, eyes, and speech, though I am a slave, alas, I am a slave.

The unfortunate singer left. The party went awry. He got up and left. He lay in the church room, but the lyrics of the song kept ringing in his ears. Her ears began to buzz. One by one the bones started throbbing and the crotch kept changing until morning. He went on to plan to seduce the oppressed Mutarabah’s brother with swords and clubs. (continue)

Sultan Salahuddin Ayoubi. . . click here to read episode 14


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