in time, kobra continued, the crone, whose name was yima, became a great friend to me and a loyal follower, to whom i owe much. in fact, when the revolution triumphs i plan to make her minister of information or perhaps minister of education.
for kobra remembers and will reward his friends, as surely as he remembers and will destroy his enemies.
at this the bandit took another gulp of his brew, and gazed fixedly at the innkeeper over the top of his foaming mug.
where was i? at my first encounter with yima, when she evinced some amusement at my request for books on theology.
despite the humor she found in the situation, she was agreeable enough to get up from her comfortable chair and find me some weighty tomes , explaining to me as she did so that as the library had no books in the subject written expressly for the young, i would have to make do with those written for scholars and enthusiasts.
i was amenable to this, and accepted the books she found for me with as much grace as my undiplomatic young self was capable.
the books astonished me. no doubt my destiny would have unfolded in any case, as it is written in the stars, but they were the first hints i had of a world other than that described in the pieties and tales of my mother and my schoolteachers.
at this kobra paused, and the innkeeper began to hope that he would lapse into reverie and silence, as he often did, and that he, the innkeeper, might be released to return to his bed.
but the bandit continued.
i had, of course, assumed that “theology” applied to the church of my mother and her ancestors, so what was my bewilderment and astonishment at being introduced to the entirely different views of the cosmos of the great ozymandian sage barkus, and the even greater tamerlanian philosopher mardo.
the writings of barkus and mardo, as well as some of their cohorts and explicators, opened my eyes to the great struggle unfolding in the universe - the great cosmic war and struggle which will culminate with the arrival of the great hero who will bring the war, and history, to a close.
the hero who is, of course, none other than myself - kobra!
and the bandit again stared at the innkeeper as if daring him to even hint at questioning or contradicting him.
the innkeeper had no thought of doing any such thing, but smiled and urged kobra to continue his fascinating account of himself.
but the innkeeper did wonder, as he often had before, at exactly what kobra’s game was, and why he continued to arrive at the inn at all hours of the night, even when, as tonight, he did not seem to have any particular favor to ask, or task for the innkeeper to perform.
when kobra had first introduced himself to the inn, and continued to return to it, the innkeeper had supposed that he had the same object in mind as so many other wayfarers who passed through - the innkeeper’s beautiful daughter.
the same daughter who had so entranced the four travelers introduced at the beginning of our story, that they had resolved to fight to the death for her favors on the coming morn.
the same daughter who was even then regaling the poor fool, one of the four original aspirants, with her own tale…
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