The security detail saluted him sharply and locked the door to the bedroom. They had to die if needed, protecting him, and maybe they would. Arban doubted that, but they were Mongols and could do such a crazy thing. The Great Khan guards died when needed, and that was a fact. Well, he was not the Great Khan, and these guards were not those guards. Arban laughed to his own joke. He undressed slowly, spread the arms like an eagle, and fall down on the bad. Then, there was a squeal and sharp pain in the ass. Something with very sharp teeth bit him in the right chic of the well pampered behind. The pain was unbearable. He saw himself jumping from the bed and screaming from the top of the longs. It was the pain, and he was angry. Damn it. The security detail stormed the door and piled up in the room. Guns were rapidly drawn, and the wide dark slanted eyes of the world conquerors were scanning, searching, dissecting every corner of the luxurious bedroom. Nothing could escape those radars of responsibility, and they were serious to the point of killing defending the President.
The bedroom of the Presidential palace was decorated in the decadent style of the Golden Horde. In short, it looked like a Mongolian yurt filled with the luxury of the entire world. Interesting enough, but many of these objects would not be found in the bedrooms of the western leaders. Yet, check the Asian and the Middle Eastern palaces and there you are. It could be the genes, or it could be the customs, it looked great but somewhat outdated. Still, they liked it for thousands of years and who are we to judge it. The rare carpets from Persia, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, China, and the other parts of Central Asia covered the room almost entirely. Windows? What windows? There was no room for that. After all, it was like a yurt, and a yurt had no other openings but a door and a hole in the domed roof. That gave the right feel to that. It was almost as good as the real thing. The wall-size window was in the small office adjacent to the bedroom. Yet, there was no open space of the steppes, horses, camels, freedom. Well, you can’t have everything, can you? This was the next best thing to the yurt if not better. There were plenty of windows in the office. That’s where the windows belonged. Arban could stay there separated by the plate bulletproof window glass from the world of his country, his capital. He could see the people and the mountains not too far away. There were the steppes. The birds of prey were flying there in search of the meal, prey or a mate. They could find it all. They were free. He was a bird of prey searching for the prey and the mate, but he was not really free. He had the obligations and had to do the job. Was it Fair? How could he tell? Well, he asked for that? No one forced him to be what he was. He could go to the steppes and live a simple life or go to Tashkent and enjoy the good life to the full extent. No, he was not the master of his life anymore, but it was so good to be the Great Khan. Only if he had the powers of the great khans, but then again, what was there he needed and did not have. His authorities were almost unlimited and as enjoyable. He had the power of life and death? It was not that obvious, but he had it. He could use it legally through the courts or not. The secret service and the guards would follow his desires to the point. They never refused before. And, if they refused, and did not do what was asked from them, their lives were at stake, and the new guards would do the job. So, what was the big difference between the Great Khans and him? No, it was not that big and mostly nothing. It was so good to be a Great Khan.
The pelts and the heads of lions and tigers created the masculine feel about the place. It left the impression that the host was a great hunter who enjoyed it almost as much as money. And, the place smelled of money and power. He was the Great Khan after all. But, the porcelain vases and the delicate statuettes from the early Ming Dynasty added some softness and the feminine touch to the vast array of the weapons of war old enough to take part in the Mongol arsenal of the 12th and 13th century. There, in the far-right corner by the window, was even a complete armor suit of the Mongolian warrior from the times of Genghis Khan. Unfortunately, they had nothing that really belonged to the Great Khan. There were a few things that came from his household, wives, relatives, and close associates. Many articles belonged to Ogedei Khan, Batu and even Timur, known as Amir Timur and Tamerlane, “Timur the Lame.” The things that belonged to him when he was still alive believed to be powerful talismans, not mentioning being expensive. So, over the years and centuries of the unchecked inheritance, they all disappeared and could not be identified any longer. After the death of the owner, valuable thigs had the tendency to walk away. The site of the Great Khan burial was unknown. Thousands of horses and camels walked over the site to make it unrecognizable, and all people that took part in the original burial were killed or took their own lives. They wanted to preserve the remains of the Great Khan and to protect what was his last resting place. No, nothing that could be truly traced to Genghis Khan was known and on display, not in the museums and not in the palace. Yet, this magnificent collection of swords, shields, battle axes, bows and arrows, pikes, helmets, daggers, knives, and the other articles of the killing art could make one a sexual monster. Or, if it categorically went to your head, it could turn you into a complete impotent in the shortest possible time. It happened both ways too often. That’s how potent and impressive it was. And Mongols were a horny lot, to begin with. That condition was a result of the meat diet, plenty of fresh air and rest, war as an exercise and the fermented horse and camel milk. Also, their brains were not preoccupied with the issues of other societies worrying if the factories worked well and how the children did at school. All that was rubbish, and the religion did not influence them much. They prayed when they wanted and if they wanted to do that and only to the gods of their choosing. Work was a relative term for them as well. What is work anyway, and how much should one work? If you worked just enough to feed your family and the rest of it was done by the people from other societies that work for a living, was it acceptable? Why is it not? If those people did not want to work for you just for peanuts while you took the lion’s share of their work, enslave them. That is why you were good with the sword and on the horse. That’s the work you did and were good at it. Just keep practicing, and do not get rusty. Shoot the arrows straighter and farther than your opponent. Swing the sword and slash with the mighty force. Ignore the pain and worry about that later. Go forward, push, push, push. The horse is your best friend. Cherish and honor it. Don’t ever let it down and it would not betray you. Sharpen your sword and keep it clean. Your life is on that point of the sword. That’s your life and the life of future generations. Future generations begin with you. It was difficult to say exactly what part of all that played the leading role in the physical and moral conditions of the Mongols. But, the fermented horse and camel milk together with the foul-smelling meat dishes were not the last ones in the book. It is historically known that Mongols were a lively bunch of people. The Mongol nation was not shining at the moment but give it time, a chance to recover from the shock of generations and the Soviet dominations. The Soviets had never recovered from the Mongol Hordes. They were still partly Mongols and partly, whatever, but they were the Soviets, the Russians, the Ukrainians. Even they, lately, wanted to go back to the roots but the roots were mostly invented. What were the roots of the people who were the slaves of the Nomads, Vikings, Mongols, Germans, and the Turks for a good part of a thousand years? The Mongols, in turn, were none of that, so they will recover and soon enough. They were strong, and the prophecies predicted all that before. They will pull through if they follow the prophecies and the prophesies were a few and not always clear. Some of them came true before and many times. But some did not. Yet, there was no specific date in a prophecy, and the interpretation fully depended on the interpreter. If the interpreter was a good and fast talker, that was the official interpretation that either came through or not. Thus, who knows when its due and what should happen? So, you sit and wait, considering the circumstances and projecting them on your understanding of the events. The circumstances could change, but you wait for the right ones. It would come. Everything had to align for the prophecy to come true. Don’t you see that? Is it there yet? Are we there yet? Are you sure you are reading it, right? Read it again and think it through. Read another prophecy. Does it work better? It might if you read it right. Are you sure you are not missing anything? Check that prophecy again. Easy does it. It will reveal itself to those who are patient and wise. Are we patient and wise? We should be; we are reading it. We believe in it. Do you doubt it?