“I was castrated by a just man, my birthright was denied by great men and I lived my youth in captivity alongside a gentle man, and now you judge me for taking my sword against those who call themselves righteous?

Aqa Mohhamad Khan Qajar.

Kerman 1794

The pale moon was to be the mute witness of a tragedy. For many a distressing month, the walls of the city of Kerman endured an implacable siege by the “Usurper Eunuch’s” armies, whose cannons and muskets gave no rest to its overwhelmed inhabitants. It was soon to be their darkest hour; their resistance, heroic yet useless.

A scheming traitor had under the cloak of night, held the great gates of Kerman wide open, allowing for the passage of their besiegers who promptly seized the walls. Defenders of the true monarch of Persia were quickly surrounded by the curved sabers and musket barrels that blinded their brave lives, and the streets flooded with an angry mob, thirsty for blood and plunder. Such cruelty had never before been witnessed by one who aspired to sit on the throne of the peacock. It was this very battle that would come to define the dominance between the two kings, and the usurping eunuch, a man of Qajar lineage, defeated the noble son of the house of Zand.

And in the midst of the crimson chaos that enveloped the streets and squares, a young king fled from his adversary in to the mountains knowing that the battle had been lost, a pair of horses of good blood crossed a discreet exit between the walls, their horsemen, wrapped in black cloaks that fluttered in the night wind, they looked like ghosts soon engulfed by darkness, hiding them from their relentless pursuer.

They did not stop in their mad flight, leaving behind the walls that sheltered their just resistance, crushed and stained by bitter betrayal, the screams of euphoric violence mingled with the anguished laments of innocents who will soon feel  the excessive anger of their executioner, that weighed on the heart of Lotf Ali Khan, who felt his royal pride wounded,  knowing how powerless he was to flee like a thief from his own domain.

He fled to fight another day, but he desired a brave death with sword in hand, now clinging to the fragile hope that his faithful vizier, Mirza Hossein had planted in his downcast spirit. They rode for hours leaving the city of Kerman behind, entering paths that only goat herders traveled. These winding and steep roads that led to deep gorges resembled the roads that lead to hell, but in a turn, at a crossroads, a dozen men around a bonfire sat waiting, which turned around with their muskets in hand. seeing the two horsemen approach, but when Lotf Ali revealed his beautiful face to the gloomy men, they bowed respectfully. He was still their king to them.

The other rider descended heavily from his horse, it´s face showed the weight of defeat, his long gray beard and wrinkles around his face gave him a sick appearance barely hidden under the fine clothes he wore. A man from the crowd, who looked like some high ranking commander from his appearance, asked to the old man:

-What has happened? The usurper's army has withdrawn from Kerman?

-Kerman has fallen -said Loft Ali gloomily before Mirza Hossein answered-Right now that Qajar dog is walking in the royal pavilion with his soldiery, he will soon send his people in search of me, What happened to my family? Are they still captive in Shiraz?

The high-ranking man paled at the question, and in a wavering voice that betrayed his regret, he answered to the fugitive monarch.

-King of kings, the usurper ordered his family to be transferred to the village of Tehran where his armies and slaves are working day and night to turn that slum into a city. He dreams of making it the new capital of Persia. Rumor has also spread that all the males of Zand's household upon arrival in Tehran, including the little prince… will be castrated.

Those words struck the young monarch like lightning. For a moment he was speechless, in his mind the memories of happier days swirled in the scented gardens of the Shiraz palace, his little son in his arms laughing innocently, ignorant of the evils that plagued the world. Pain gives way to despair and this to the deepest rage, his faithful men had seldom seen his gentle king anger, known for his pity, but now they shuddered when they saw his angry countenance of him, finally exploding.

"Damn son of saytan," Lotf Ali finally said, "unfortunate was the day my uncle allowed that castrated serpent to reach the gates of his palace, where he was sheltered, our compassion for that helpless infant has been the ruin of my home.

Mirza Hossein, heavy with the king's pain, finally spoke.

-Maybe our armies are scattered and our allies have turned their backs on us, but Allah has heard our prayers.

With a gesture he called for a man who had remained hidden in the shadows of a rock, his sharp features and beard betrayed his afghan blood, a dirty patch covered his left eye and a grim smile was drawn on his face, he walked with difficulty to caused by a hump that curved his body. He was dressed in stinking dirty rags that were once white, in his bony claw-like hands he held an equally dirty leather sack and with a long bow he exclaimed:

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"My name is Sabur Khan," he said in a hoarse voice full of phlegm, "I am a sorcerer, don't be fooled by my appearance." I have wisdom that would make the wisest of mullahs pale. In your darkest hour I have come with a present that will shake the foundations of heaven.

Without further word, he opened the leather bag, dropping its content, from which emerged the severed head of a man with long hair and a beard, on whose face the mark of agony and torture could be seen impress. He rolled to the feet of Lotf Ali, who at the touch of his head on his boots leaned back in disgust and surprise.

- What is this ? What good  a severed head can give me  to regain my throne and family from the clutches of the Qajars?

-A dead and hollow head is useless of course- Sabur Khan said sarcastically- but a head with secrets like this will open the ebony doors of Solomon's hiding place.

Sabur Khan took his head off the ground and, before the astonished gaze of those present, placed it on a high rock. The head had its eyes closed, but the Afghan whispered a few words in some unknown language in his ear. When he finished, he came down from the rock leaving the head, everyone was horrified to see how it opened its eyes wide, opening its mouth spasmodically, as if he were trying to say something.

-Speak- Sabur Khan said with authority- I who ripped you from the clutches of death, I who am your lord, speak and tell us where the vault where the djinns sleep locked in black onyx amphorae by order of the prophet Solomon is hidden. .

 The head from his gestures, seemed to be in deep pain, his purple lips finally exhaled a few words.

-In… ..Istakhar… .between two large carved pillars… .with effigies of winged bulls… .6 meters underground,… ..the ebony door …… the ifrit prison….

The head continued to twist violently until with a gesture Sabur Khhan managed to make it stay motionless in a grotesque pose, he turned with satisfaction, staring at Lofti Khan who did not leave his astonishment.

- Your enemies have great armies - Sabur Khan said - cannons and musquets, but with a single Ifrit under your command, the throne of Persia would return to your hands,

Lofti Khan felt a chill at those words, in his tender childhood he had heard from the mouths of venerable matrons the stories of the deeds of the prophet Solomon, who with the power of Allah had subdued the genies of air, earth, fire and water chained them to its will,  but they rebelled and threatened the integrity of its reign, so with a powerful seal delivered by the angels, Solomon managed to lock them in prisons scattered throughout the earth, banishing the race of Ifrits from the places frequented by the men.

The dethroned monarch saw the Afghan hunchback and then saw his lieutenants, all of them loyal to the house of Zand, everyone had turned their back on him, and the city of Kerman that sheltered him was massacred while he fled, he was tired of running , but even in desperation, he had to be cautious, so he questioned the sorcerer.

-Solomon had his seal and Allah's blessing for such a prodigy, how will I dominate a son of imperishable fire?

Sabur Khan responded maliciously.

"Is it true, Your Majesty, that the only thing he took  in his flight from Shiraz was the jewel in your crown, the Daria-I-Noor?"

Lotf Ali Khan unconsciously put his hand on his chest, feeling the priceless diamond hanging from a heavy silver chain, the shameful way in which he fled for the first time before the advance of the Qajar armies on Shiraz came to his mind again, and how he could only take that precious jewel, but not his wife and children in his departure.

"How do you know that?" Lofti Khan said to the sly Afghan.

-From Georgia to Kandahar it is said that such a jewel does not crown the diadem of Aqa Khan Qajar, only a true monarch would have it in his possession, but you have to know, fortunate king, that gems of such purity as the Daria-I-Noor can  catch the mighty Ifrits, with the help of an enchantment that I discovered in a moldy tomb in the deserts of Gedrosia, we will imprison one of them, with such power at your disposal, neither the bombards and sabers of the Qajar will be able to prevail before you, heir to the house of Zand.

"And what reward will you ask for your help, sorcerer?" Lofti Khan said reluctantly, "many have promised their sword for my cause, and then they stab me when I turn back."

Sabur Khan gave a sinister laugh.

-Oh handsome boy, you must know that my interest lies in knowing that I, the son of a goatherd, manage to serve a monarch in disgrace, because of my deformity I was denied the simplest of things that any man with integrity in his limbs can enjoy. , so I learned the mysteries of time, and in them I discerned strange wisdom that I now offer to a king whose star seems to be extinguished, but if he heeds my sincere request, as the phoenix rises from its ashes to consume in the fire of vengeance his hated enemies.

Loft Khan saw his vizier and advisor, Mirza Hossein, the only loyal statesman who was now by his side, for an instant he felt helpless, like a child and his gaze could not hide the concern, Mirza Hossein who had lived through the turbulent years after the fall of the Afsharids and the ascent of the House of Zand to the throne of Persia, seeing his young monarch with a face full of doubt, he felt guilty knowing that he was incapable of having stopped the conspiracies that gave way to the revolt of the eunuch usurper.

-King of kings -said Mirza Hossein holding back crying- you are pious but pity has no place in a monarch, as you have seen, your adversary lacks it, your people fear the wrath of Aqa Khan Qajar, you not only fight for your throne, if not for the salvation of those who will suffer under the murderous sword of your enemy, now you have a chance to strike back, this Afghan has shown me wonders and without a doubt what he says is true, let's go to Istakhar in search of the power of the djiin.… or  perish in the attempt.

Loft Khan looked down at the ground, exhaling a long breath and a look full of resolution.

-I accept your proposal.