Harold Lamb,
Rusudan — XIII. The Most Magnificent
(1927)
“ Even the carpet, woven by the silk looms of Persia, was tinged by this glow, likewise the heavy canopy of Tyrian purple over the couch. The head of Lascaris, bloodless in its pallor, was faintly flushed. The skin lay in folds under his eyes and his thin mouth showed no lips at all; the flesh had fallen away from the bone so much that the aspect was that of a skull, for his hair had been clipped close. “Eh, Rusudan,” he murmured, “thou dost hate me, without doubt. A self-willed barbarian, an unwilling captive and a scornful attendant. ”
