Then they kill his horses. They kill one or two hundred, as many as he has, at the site of the grave. Then they eat the flesh down to the head, the hooves, the hide, and the tail, for they hang these up on wooden poles and say, “These are his steeds on which he rides to Paradise.”

If he has been a hero and slain enemies, they carve wooden statues in the number of those whom he has slain, place them upon his grave, and say, “These are his pages who serve him in Paradise.”

Sometimes they delay killing the horses for a day or two, and then an old man from among their elderly ones stirs them up by saying, “I have seen the dead man in my sleep and he said to me: ‘Here thou seest me. My comrades have overtaken me and my feet were too weak to follow them. I cannot overtake them and so have remained alone.’ ” In this case, the people slaughter his steeds and hang them up on his grave. After a day or two, the same elder comes to them and says, “I have seen the dead man in a dream and he said: ‘Inform my family that I have recovered from my plight.’ ”

In this way the old man preserves the ways of the Oguz, for there might otherwise be a desire for the living to retain the horses of the dead.

At length we traveled on in the Turkish kingdom. One morning one of the Turks met us. He was ugly in figure, dirty in appearance, despicable in manner, and base in nature. He said: “Halt.” The whole caravan halted in obedience to his command. Then he said, “No single one of you may proceed.” We said to him, “We are friends of the Kudarkin.” He began to laugh and said, “Who is the Kudarkin? I defecate on his beard.”