laimed Naznai--"the very night for a raid."--"Look out!"
cried his wife suddenly: "there's a wolf." Naznai, trembling with fear,
ran and climbed up into a cart, almost breaking his neck in his haste.
His wife led him into the house and said, "I am disgusted with your
cowardice, and I am disgusted with you: leave my house this instant (the
house belonged to her), or you shall never see another peaceful day:
every God-given day, morning and evening, I will pound you with the
poker." Naznai begged her to let him stay until daybreak. She consented.
In the morning he slung his miserable old sabre over his shoulder and
started. Walking and strolling along, he came to a place where some one
had been eating fruit, and where there had gathered a great swarm of
flies. Picking up a big flat stone, he clapped it down on the very spot,
lifted it up, looked, and there lay exactly five hundred dead flies.
Then he went on until he reached a certain town, where he inquired for a
blacksmith. Having found one, he ordered him to cut on the blade of his
sabre this inscription: "The hero Naznai, killer of five hundred at a
blow."

Then he went on, on--travelled little, travelled much, travelled as far
as a frog can jump--until he came at last to a country where he had
never before been, and where he was himself unknown, and entered the
capital city of a great king. It was already growing dark, and Naznai
was beginning to wonder where he should spend the night, when he heard
not far away the sound of fifes, drums and singing. "That's the place
for me," he said to himself: "there's nothing worse than a dry throat
and an empty stomach." So he went in the direction of the music. When he
came to the place he looked, and there stood a great building surrounded
by a spacious courtyard, all full of men and women who were eating,
drinking and singing. "Will you receive a guest?" inquired Naznai,
entering the courtyard. The servants rushed up to him, took his sabre,
led him into the house, gave him the seat of honor, and made him eat and
drink until he was full up to the very nostrils. The house was the
palace of the king's vizier, and they were celebrating that night the
wedding of his son. When Naznai had eaten and drunk all he could--enough
to last him for a month, the clever rascal!--the vizier asked him,
"Where do you come from, guest? Where is your city? Of what country are
you? Are you buying or selling?"--"Why should I talk about myself?"
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