The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Orhan Pamuk Reads Jorge Luis Borges

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

Ibna Kan and the Beast

Id hakan al bu hari ruled over the tribes of the desert with a rod of iron. His armies were broken and put to the sword, but he succeeded in escaping. With his son Zaid led me to the tomb of a holy man at the foot of the tonhill. In my belt was my silver handled dagger,. I slipped it from its sheath and pierced his throat with it. The first night after we sailed, i dreamed that i killed zaid as you one day may hide. He said: 'I shall bury myself in the heart of a labyrinth' After having said this, Alabid did his best to think that Ibnaha moor was mad and that

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