“I light my candle from their torches.” . . . Robert Burton.
When the twelfth century was nearing its end, a kurultai in the city of Karakorum came to its conclusion and only the formal charging of the Orkhons was left before the horde embarked on a giant sweep to the south and west.
Genghis, the Kha Khan, the Perfect Warrior, Master of Thrones and Crowns, then in full sway of his mighty power, sat on the dais facing the south in the white felt pavilion before which was planted his standard bearing the nine white Yak-tails.
On his bended knee, each of the eleven Orkhons headed by the fiery Chepe Noyon, the infallible Subotai, and the crafty experienced Muhuli awaited final direction and permission to withdraw from the Presence.
“The Tumans are ready!” The great Khan spoke. In his inflection there was no semblance of question, no hint of command, there was merely an utterance he knew to be factual and accurate.