On the Prospect of Tantalizing Treasures, Hidden Away in the Darkest Depths of – Supposedly – Sorcerous Towers
"Ominous, tall and wide, with sorceries and mysteries buried deep inside! Built by the hands of our grand precursor for millennia the Tower of Galib the Great has stood in the middle of our great city of Galibia, sealing the evil within, for it is not only the trove of countless treasures of ages long past but a monument of a grand, heroic deed. A deed that, to this day, keeps us safe from the clutches of-"
Zelikman coughed forcefully, interrupting the Elder's tale.
"Then why not demolish the damn edifice and claim the plunder? Surely, the Caliphate knows better than to leave an old purposeless tower in the middle of one of its cities, knowing what lies inside at least (the ridiculous notion of sorcery notwithstanding). I also find the idea of a single man building a tower of such dimensions rather baffling an idea, more so than those ridiculous Greek myths-"
Amram shushed the Frank. "For god's sake Zelikman, let the man speak," he hissed through clenched teeth.
Zelikman huffed but complied with Amram's plea, ignoring the many irate glares bearing down on them both from the rest of the low-life caravanserai regulars (two of which towered over Amram's already hulking shape no less) and the cloaked, turban-wearing Elder sitting by the fireplace he had so rudely interrupted.
The bushy-browed Elder gave Amram a curt but brisk nod and resumed his story.
"Indeed, it may appear far too wondrous…for some, but the construction of the tower is far from Galib's only great deed, far from it so. Long ago a vile sorcerer threatened to plunge the land in eternal darkness and it was Galib and Galib alone who stood up to the man. With steel, raw wit and will, he braved through the sorcerer's underground lair, where deadly traps, illusions and demonic Djinni servants plagued every twist and turn. However, these proved no match for the Great Galib and though the Sorcerer himself proved a formidable foe when pushed to the last stand, it was Galib's guile and sword that came out victorious."
The audience murmured in awe during the Elder's dramatic pause. Zelikman on the other hand was more than ready to chime in but Amram quickly hushed him with a proper slap in the back of the head.
"…However, as you may all know, demons - hell-borne or self-made - are beyond the confinements of flesh and bone and so Galib began his next task, constructing a tower, covered in holy symbols where the sorcerer's soul, cursed treasures and all of his unholy powers would remain trapped for eternity. It is there where the darkness still lays, waiting for whatever fools dare step inside in foolhardy attempts to claim the bewitched riches!"
The audience applauded quietly to the end of the Elder's tale. Amram however, had other ideas. He stood up from his creaking chair and puffed up his chest. Zelikman turned a blind eye.
"Fools we must be then!"
Everyone but Zelikman gasped at Amram's words. The Elder, his eyes wide with disbelief, pointed a trembling finger at the foolhardy Abyssinian.
"Yes, what fools you be if you imply what we all here fear! Have you no sense of survival? Would you be so short-sighted as to try and brave the impossible dangers, where countless others have perished?"
"Impossible?" Amram chuckled. "Let us not jest ourselves. I truly mean no offense to your local legend, but while far from legendary heroes, I myself and my sharp-tongued companion are no less flesh, steel, wit and will than Galib himself," he ignored Zelikman's underhanded comment about the third of the virtues, "and two we are to the Great's - admittedly impressive - one. I know not of sorcery or demons, but I am no stranger to basic additions and logical conclusions. This is naught but a challenge waiting to be conquered, a treasure begging to be found."
The Elder nodded gravely. "If such are your wishes, then let it be so. As the lowly storyteller of a den of thieves and swindlers, then I can only hope that fate shines brightly upon you both. Perhaps then may a new chapter add itself the tales of grandiose this land has to offer."
Amram nodded back. "Rest assured, a new chapter shall be written! And once immortalized through all your attentive ears, we will celebrate the momentous occasion by spreading our spoils with the lower ends of the city, this fine caravanserai and all of its finer regulars included!"
The crowd whispered, some in hopeful approval, others with fright and a fair few spitefully skeptic (Zelikman included).
Unlike everybody else, however, the Elder sat quietly. There was an almost indescribable look on his face, still and waiting. He hummed thoughtfully and the murmurs died down.
"Brave you are, travelers. I wish you the best of luck…in this foul earth, you shall need it."
The climb to the top of the tower had been surprisingly easy so far. The night guards patrolling around the perimeter were far from incompetent, but their scheduling was simple enough to analyze for Amram and Zelikman. Not only that but also two, notably large guards left their posts soon after, leaving an even larger window of opportunity for them to take.
Now more than halfway up the symbol-covered tower, thanks in no small part to the generous amount of jutted-out bricks that aided them both, alongside their climbing pitons and without a soul on the ground taking notice, Amram decided to engage in some quiet chit-chat. If only to make the process of the nocturnal heist a tad more entertaining (for him that is).
He looked down. "Do you truly believe the tower holds some sorcerous power, Zelikman?"
"No."
A cold wind passed by, sending shivers down the Abyssinian's spine.
"…Is something the matter?"
Another chilling wind howled, though certainly not as cold as the Frank's indifference.
"…Alright, have it your way then, I shall speak to myself."
Zelikman sighed.
"Would you be so kind as to explain why you so pompously proclaimed our attempt at claiming the supposed treasures like some sort of flaunting, overfed peacock, or why you suddenly became oh so charitable and offered a considerable sum of the bounty? If you want us murdered by perfectly timed highwaymen on our way out of this pit then you should at least have the courtesy of telling me beforehand."
"Supposed treasures? Far too pessimistic of you, my friend. As to why I relayed such information, it is simple really. Better to have some of the ruffians at the caravanserai buying into our sense of solidarity with the fellow swindler than having everyone suspicious of us doing otherwise," he coughed, "and god knows there was no shortage of those, that is for sure."
Frown ever-present, Zelikman stuck his piton on a crack with more strength than necessary.
"I do not like your tone, Amram, nor what you imply."
Amram grinned. "A kind smile goes the far mile, Zelikman. You should try it sometime…if only sporadically. Besides, we all know we are not carrying all the treasures we may find, lest you have forgotten how unruly camels can be with far lesser loads."
Zelikman sniffed. "My attitude with unruly beasts alike you can point towards, I can concede to that, but I was not the one who purchased those gangly mounts at a suspicious enough bargain to begin with."
Amram shook his head. "Zelikman, please, whatever happened to your sense of adventure? So what if we found ourselves lost because our mounts ran off with most of our supplies? What difference does it make? We still have steel, wit and will and we both know little else is needed."
"I have had more than enough of overly dramatic heroic platitudes for one day, Amram, thank you very much," he quivered as yet another cold wind passed on by. "How much longer must we climb up this accursed tower anyway?"
Amram looked up and then looked down at his companion, beaming. He climbed aside and gestured Zelikman towards the large, elongated, symbol-covered window above. The sole, visible entrance to the Tower of Galib the Great.
"After you."
Zelikman shot him a glare and climbed up. He jumped inside with a thud that echoed through the obscured, circular chamber, dimly lit by the pale moonlight that crept in through the opening. He discerned very little of the place, beyond a few of the tower's symbols etched throughout and some odd shapes hanging by the ceiling, not that Amram's exaggerated grunts helped his inspection anyway.
"What do you see Zelikman?"
"Not much of-"
At that moment, Zelikman felt a twinge of fear creep up his spine, for he had seen something by the corner of his eye. There, piercing through the darkness with their sickly, unnatural hue of reddish-green, were a pair of glowing orbs, belonging to one of the shapes that hung by the ceiling. The shape it turned out was a statue, none other than that of an Arabian demon of old, a Djinni and the demon of carved stone, beyond all of Zelikman's notions, smiled at him.
Amram jumped inside, his comparatively louder entrance breaking Zelikman out of his stupor.
"What is it, Zelikman?"
Before Zelikman could have uttered a word however, a clicking sound came about from where Amram had landed (courtesy of his larger frame) and shortly after, the floor beneath them shifted aside, revealing a smooth, stone slide below. Unable to latch on to anything, for their trusty pitons all but slipped aside, the duo fell and slid down, plunged in total darkness.
After tortuous moments of slipping through cold stone and slamming into one another, Amram and Zelikman finally reached the end of their terrifying, painful ride, rolling and crashing into the bottom floor of the tower.
Amram groaned. "…Zelikman? Zelikman? Where are you?"
"…Confound me of your girth," Zelikman muttered.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," he moved aside and helped Zelikman up.
Zelikman stretched his back and glared at Amram's barely visible shape, his eyes yet to grow accustomed to the pitch-black darkness.
"Pardon? Pardon my-"
A loud, inhumane roar rumbled the chamber and as Amram and Zelikman brandished their axe and lancet respectively, several torches fixed on the hole-ridden ceiling ignited, showing them a macabre image of death.
At their feet, littered all over the stone floor, covered in skittering carrion bugs were bones, old, new, crushed, cracked and pierced. Above their heads, hanging and circling the roof, illuminated by the orange tint of the nearby flames, were a dozen statues of ever-watchful Djinni, their carved expressions contorted mockeries that unnerved the Abyssinian and frightened the Frank.
Noting Zelikman's dismay, Amram, skipping no beat, tried to reassure him but the rumbling returned twice as strong and the monstrous voice spoke.
"Who dares disturb my eternal prison? Speak now, mortals, lest I grow bored of your lethargy and devour your souls!"
Zelikman quivered uncontrollably, unable to recover the slightest bit of composure. Terrible thoughts plagued his poor mind as whatever sense of rationale left him astray. There would be no escape from this plight; he assured himself, no treasure or glory, only death and the horrors that awaited soon after.
Amram however, would have none of that fatalism. With a firm grasp on Zelikman's shoulder and a resolute gaze, he told his friend everything without the need of words. Slowly, but surely, Zelikman trembled no more and nodded, if with the tiniest hint of unease.
Smiling wide, Amram stepped forward, raised his axe and shouted defiantly.
"Pay heed to my words, Spirit! We have come here in rags but we shall leave rich, in life, coin and glory!"
The voice cackled grotesquely. "I admire your courage, I admire it indeed! So be it then. This one test you must pass, to see if you are worthy of leaving this tower alive! Entertain me, mortals, for as long as your wits deem fitting!"
Dry-blood-covered spikes slid out of the orifices and with a continuous rumble, the deathly ceiling began to make its descent.
Zelikman immediately scrambled about, searching for whatever patterns or mechanisms there could be, hidden along the circular wall. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. It was a vague, scrambled image, made of eight light, slid-able stone blocks, with one space left to move and rearrange them. With death's door descending and spike-covered, Zelikman cracked his knuckles, stretched his fingers and put his wits into work.
The intended image was not a camel. The spikes still loomed overhead.
Zelikman huffed and wiped the droplets of sweat off his brow. He made a shift here, a shift there and a couple more everywhere. Finally, a click. Had he done it?
No. It was most definitely not a three-humped camel. No secret door came to be and the spikes were still closing in.
Zelikman hyperventilated as he rearranged the pieces yet again. Surely this should work, right?
Unfortunately, upside-down camels were far from the desired result.
Now, spikes were one thing, for Zelikman could hunch over and close in his lithe frame to the wall, but when the descending ceiling claimed the first row of the sliding puzzle, then, he knew, it would all be over. Zelikman prayed and tried the brain-scrambling test once more, feeling every moment as if a grueling eternity.
Unfortunately, a loud impact of steel and the crumbling of stone ruined his precious concentration and the ceiling had now covered the sole space allotted to solve the puzzle. Zelikman screamed and screamed on, even when Amram had already dragged him out of the chamber through a hole of his own making.
The rumbling stopped and a loud impact shook the foundation of the tower.
"Zelikman!"
Zelikman stopped screaming and opened his eyes.
They were in an open space with a set of spiraling stairs nearby. Amram had not only made way through a particularly loose set of bricks on the wall with a blow of his trusty axe, but he had also taken one of the torches that had hung in the spike-covered ceiling.
Zelikman blinked, let go of his hat and rubbed his eyes.
"Is this hell?"
Amram snorted. "Come," he offered a hand. Zelikman took it.
Zelikman groaned and raised himself. "Up?" he asked nervously, as he shook off whatever live critters clung to his garments.
Amram flicked aside a scorpion on his shoulder and patted his friend on the back.
"I shall take the lead."
With Amram at the front, the duo arrived at the next floor of the tower, then, as Amram stepped inside the chamber, a very familiar clicking sound came about. The duo exchanged glances as the room rumbled and several roof-hung torches ignited just like before, revealing a room not too dissimilar from the one below, ridden with bones (albeit far fewer) and another mason's dozen worth of Djinni.
The Spirit of the Sorcerer boomed menacingly. "Insolent fools! How dare you play coy with your test of wit, have you no shame, no fear of my sorcerous powers? You shall suffer the dire consequences of your dishonesty, for all eternity!"
Amram looked at Zelikman and gestured him to take the lead. Zelikman raised an eyebrow and pointed at himself. Amram beamed and nodded. Zelikman shook his head. Amram kept on nodding. Zelikman sighed and cleared his throat.
"Spirit, we bested your test did we not? So what if it was through different means than those originally intended? Is thinking outside the given boundaries not a true testament of one's wits? An evil sorcerous spirit that you may be, even you cannot deny the solidity of my argument."
There was a pause. Zelikman shot Amram an inquisitive look. Amram shrugged.
"Spirit?" Zelikman harrumphed. "Spirit!"
Amram shushed his companion and signaled him to listen attentively.
Quiet whispers echoed throughout the room and they sounded oddly argumentative and numerous, with occasional words such as hate, scorpions, armor, difficulty of movement and something that ended with -isms. Was it perhaps the spirits of the fallen thieves, plotting against them? A discussion between the Sorcerer and whatever unruly, demonic minions he was trying to call forth to impede their progress? The notion of something else entirely, which they were beginning to fit together piece by piece, not unlike the sliding puzzle of the previous chamber?
Amram and Zelikman casually debated about these inquiries as the rambling continued.
Suddenly, the Spirit of the Sorcerer boomed. "Silence, fools, I shall hear no more of your insolence!"
Amram shouted back. "We meant no offense!"
"I am not talking about," the Spirit of the Sorcerer cleared his – supposedly - non-existent throat. "I am not to be taken as a fool! That was but the first of countless challenges, thieves, each one deadlier than the last!"
Zelikman sniffed. "That is certainly more than just the one challenge you mentioned, one we bested already, may I add! Are spirits, evil ones included, not supposed to keep true to their word?"
The Spirit of the Sorcerer chuckled. "Oh, witty are you not? I shall revel in adding your foul souls to my collection! Die!"
Perish they did not, though certainly not out of lack of creativity from the tower's many traps and tricks. Spiked pits, snake pits, spiked snake pits, pendulum blades, arrows, flaming arrows, poisoned arrows, springing poison needles, poisoned needle pits, steps covered in slippery oil and so forth. However, as stated earlier, all these ended up posing little threat to the duo, as did the Spirit's increasingly harsher, yet curiously desperate-sounding threats with every floor they bested.
With predictable patterns, (thanks in no small part to the tall tale signs of scratch markings, dried patches of blood and bits of bone before each and every death trap) ease of circumvention through self-made pathways and at times faulty mechanisms, Amram and Zelikman were well on their way to the top, much to the Spirit's infinite chagrin.
Giving the perilous tower credit where credit is due however, one of the traps did indeed claim another victim for its abattoir, the demise of which was nearly enough to bring Zelikman to a near-catatonic state, one floor away from the one before the top, Amram's reassuring words be damned. His precious, masterfully tailored hat now lay with the other remains of the fallen, consumed by the flames of the arrow that had pierced and flung it aside, away from his caring grasp.
Amram had no option but to carry his crestfallen companion with one arm and make the trek through the final set of death traps, while also holding the one torch and ignoring most of the profanities Zelikman directed at him as he went along. Once he finally reached the second to last floor, something both he and Zelikman could tell thanks to the freshness of the desert night air seeping in, Amram carefully placed him on the ground.
Amram huffed and stretched his back.
"Are you alright now, Zelikman?"
Zelikman muttered something about lack of foresight, treasure and headwear.
Suddenly, the center of the chamber lit up with an explosion of flame. Zelikman jumped and brandished his lancet, while Amram too assumed a combat stance with his axe.
Before them stood the statue of an enormous Djinni, its hollow eyes burning bright with the fires inside and by its side stood two, large sets of ancient armor. Each wielding a ceremonial sword of bygone eras, long and heavy enough to cleave a man in two in a single swipe. The Sorcerer's voice boomed from within the statue.
"So you have arrived at last, thieves, to your final test, or perhaps I should say, your demise!"
The living sets of armor began to shake and growl. Little by little, they regained movement long lost to time and pointed their elongated blades at Amram and Zelikman, with clear malicious intent. With heavy footsteps and menacing vociferations, the pair of hulking armors slowly approached the duo of thieves, as a pair of executioners would a couple of pickpockets with far too much coin in their hands.
That is until the Frank and the Abyssinian flung a dead scorpion inside of the darkened visor of each armor's helmet.
The large men dressed up in the ancestral equipment tossed their blades aside and fell into a panic, for they did not know the scorpions to be less than alive.
"No! Absat, Hamdum, you fools! Watch your-"
The warnings of the voice came to an abrupt halt, due to the gurgles and gasps from the now-dead men that laid on the floor, cleaved and skewered by the Abyssinian's axe and the Frank's lancet, respectively. The duo kicked aside the dead men's helmets, revealing the supposed servants of the sorcerous spirit to be none other than the two same large men from the caravanserai and as both inferred by process of elimination, the very same tower guards that left their nightly posts far too early.
The voice from the statue stuttered.
"W-Well, it…it appears that you have bested my minions! Bravo! Bravo-"
Amram and Zelikman stared right into the dimly lit eyes of the Djinni statue, silencing the voice immediately.
After a short pause, the sounds of hasty footsteps, haggard breaths, clanging metal and other curious contraptions echoed from inside the statue and then, from behind it, appeared an old man, an Elder Amram and Zelikman easily recognized. The Elder stopped before he could have left through the now less than secret passage on the wall and looked back with a nervous smile.
"I must say I am thoroughly impressed, why, I even returned into my long lost mortal coil, out of the sheer awe of witnessing such magnanimous exploits-"
"That is well enough," Amram chimed in as he wiped the blood off his axe.
"I…," the Elder sighed, placed his hands behind his back and lowered his head in defeat. "Pray tell, how did you manage to look past my tricks?"
Zelikman scoffed and twirled his lancet. "Those less than subtle arguments between you and your henchmen echoed rather...unsubtly through those hollow statues," Zelikman gestured towards the stone Djinni. "A quaint detail and one most practical I must admit, (despite the horrid quality of the décor) amplifying your voice tenfold through the hollow stone and igniting multiple torches for added effect. Very clever indeed, a trick meant for those weakest of mind."
Amram mischievously cleared his throat. Zelikman feigned ignorance.
Amram shook his head and grinned at the Elder.
"That and the clanging footsteps of your overly armored henchmen as they moved and prepared the traps of each floor from behind the spaces between the stone did not do any favors, without taking your loud orders into consideration of course. I no doubt their inability to keep pace with our growing ability to circumvent your deathly snares was, in no small part, to blame for their own cumbersome equipment."
The Elder nodded slowly.
Amram beamed. "Still, were I to give you a piece of advice," he gave his axe a testing swing, "futile as that may be at the moment, it would be to not don your minions in such armor until absolutely necessary. Who knows really, perhaps then these two would not have been so fatigued as to fall for such lowly a trick as a pair of dead scorpions."
The Elder managed a weak, almost apologetic smile.
"I commend you, truly. You are the very first who have bested all the trails-"
"Enough of your nonsense!" Zelikman shouted, taking a step towards the Elder.
Amram grasped Zelikman's shoulder. "Come on, Zelikman! Let the man speak, what else can he do at this point? Besides, every man deserves the privilege of some last words, be it an ode, gasps, or gurgles. What better way to show solidarity to the fellow swindler than by letting him speak to his heart's content before we repay him in kind that is."
Zelikman turned around, glaring daggers at Amram. "You," he shook off Amram's hand and pointed at his hat-less head, "shall pay for this!"
"Of course I will," he waved at the Elder to continue, "as you were saying."
The Elder bowed. "It has been many a generation since anyone has come so far, you have my due respect. True it is that this legend is nothing but a ruse, a trap for those overly interested in the promise of easy riches. My ancestor Galib the Great found this old tower when he first took hold of the land through his own…unscrupulous deeds, one of many actually and soon after reworked the building to fit his unique vision."
The Elder sighed. He paced about the edge of the circular wall, looking around the chamber with sadness in his eyes.
Zelikman nearly jumped at the Elder, but Amram held him from doing so.
The Elder stopped. "…So it has been the tradition of my family to continue on with Galib's manufactured legend and the handling, as well as proper maintenance, of his tower of tricks. With it, we keep our own vaults safe from the prying eyes of opposing thieves, those who seek to make a legend out of themselves, without renown, without hard work, without guile."
Zelikman tapped his foot. "Are you done?"
The Elder chuckled. "Oh, do forgive me. It is only the nostalgia speaking before my belated demise," he gave one last look at the place where he stood and held his arms open wide.
"I am ready now…"
"Good," Zelikman shook off Amram's hand and took a brisk step. A clicking sound came about.
"Zelikman no!"
Amram leaped and tackled Zelikman, right before dozens of zipping arrows could have skewered the Frank into a bloody mess. As they fell to the floor, they heard the taunting laughter of the Elder as his footsteps echoed from above, having already escaped through the secret passage on the wall with surprising spryness for one his age and well on his way to escape his comeuppance.
"Ha, you fools! Pay heed to my words, for you shall regret meddling in the affairs of Galib the Great, the XVIII!"
Not a second after, Galib XVIII's ascent came to a halt. He stuttered, whimpered and then screamed in pure terror.
Amram and Zelikman stared flat-eyed as they rose. Whatever it was Galib XVIII had seen was enough for him to run, trip and fall down the stairs and crawl towards the reach of the Abyssinian's axe and the Zelikman's lancet.
Galib XVIII reached for a confused Zelikman and pulled on his garments.
"Please, you must help me, I beg you. I will tell you all of my secrets, my family's vaults all the treasures taken from kingdoms, rivals and thieves alike, the treachery that has yet to fall upon you, everything! Please, If all else, kill me now!"
Amram scratched the back of his head. "Would you mind explaining your sudden change of heart?"
Galib hyperventilated. "A demon, I saw it! In the floor above, just before I could have slid down all the way back to the underground entrance at the bottom of the tower," he gulped. "It…it stared at me, with those…those eyes, the devil's eyes," Galib slumped over on the floor, shivering. "It pierced my soul, I feel it piercing still…oh…for the love of God, save me!"
Amram shrugged. "Alright, Zelikman, let us go and verify the man's delusions so we can continue on with more important matters…Zelikman?"
"Oh…o-of course," said Zelikman after a noticeable enough pause.
Amram raised a brow.
Zelikman managed a haphazard frown. "What?"
Amram smirked.
"Come, Zelikman, you hold his greatness in the proper place while I take the lead. None shall hurt you, my dearest friend, flesh or otherwise, for as long as I draw breath."
Zelikman frowned still. "…Pompous ass."
The climb up the hidden set of stairs was quiet and tension-filled, except for Amram. He was as calm as a cloudless sea, compared to Zelikman and the lancet-point Galib XVIII's tempestuous waters. In fact, not long before the hidden opening to the upper floor, the Frank and the namesake inheritor stopped altogether, a fact that the Abyssinian enjoyed tremendously and would no doubt enjoy reminding to his companion for years to come.
Nonchalantly, Amram stepped inside and looked around the chamber. He chuckled.
"There is nothing here. Nothing to fear!"
Zelikman poked Galib XVIII on the back with his lancet. Galib XVIII looked back and shook his head. Zelikman nodded. Galib XVIII shook his head further. Zelikman nodded further and nearly skewered the man's back.
With a yelp, Galib XVIII leaped inside. He immediately cowered on the floor and covered his eyes with his turban. Feeling a light tap on the head and hearing the Abyssinian's cough, Galib XVIII slowly removed his headwear and glanced at the very same Djinni statue that had made him wish for death's grasp moments ago. Its eyes shone no more. After all, it was only a statue.
Galib XVIII let out a sigh of relief. Zelikman peeked in.
"Bless you so! You have expunged the evil!" Galib exclaimed as he knelt before Amram's feet. Suddenly his eyes lit up with realization and he smiled sheepishly at the Abyssinian.
"Ahem, surely you must understand the deliriums a man can blather after his mind plays tricks of such vile nature. I can safely tell you know however, that you indeed have part of my word, the rational one at least. Hear me now, follow my guidance and no harm will fall upon you-"
Galib XVIII's life of lies and luxury flashed before his eyes as his words died in his mouth, for in the blink of an eye Amram had swung his axe, soundless as a scorpion's sting. The cold steel hung mere inches away from his jugular, catching the droplets of cold sweat that fell from his numbed cheeks.
Amram smirked. "Now, as you were saying?"
With every bit of valuable information taken from Galib XVIII, Amram and Zelikman proceeded to swipe the most valuable artifacts of the lord's vaults, steal off two of the most prized of steeds from the man's stables and the garments of two unassuming night guards (unfortunately, there were no head garments of Zelikman's liking). Fully disguised, (turban included, much to Zelikman's chagrin) they had little trouble galloping through the watchful eyes of both the night patrol and the many caravanserai regulars stationed by the outer ring of the city, none other than hired thugs working under Galib's name.
Few days after a servant found Galib XVIII tied and gagged in a stable long overdue of cleanup, a new legend arose from the ensuing gossip. It told the tale of two unlikely comrades, who not only bested the terrors of the tower but also took it upon themselves to make their night all the more grandiose by stealing from Galib XVIII himself, leaving the city unharmed and its ruler ridiculed. So popular this tale grew amongst the common folk in fact, that it soon outdid the deeds of Galib the Great himself, as it was told in lands far and wide.
However, one legend did remain just as notorious in the land of Galibia, as it always had in the form of a children's lullaby and the duo's escapades only strengthened its presence in the collective mind. Galib XVIII could never go to sleep without a lit candle from that fated day onward, nor would he ever uncover any of the windows of his palace that allowed a sight towards the tower in the middle of the city. However, if there was one thing he could never escape no matter how hard he tried, it was the children who sang this little rhyme, with glee and always before his bedtime.
Never wake, never let it know you do!
For if you gaze upon the tower, it will know, it will come and you will see it too.