Katar

On a sunny morning, I headed east from Yerevan in a minivan with my superb guide, Katar Taslakyan, and a driver, Raphael Hovakimyan, whose musical selections — jazz and R&B — filled the van.

Now when Katar was still in the jungle, before the prince was married, he had told the boy the whole story of his birth, and all that had happened to him and his mother.

But there is a place called Katar about which most of the Arab Geographers know very little, but which is mentioned in poetry.

Then Katar galloped away, on, and on, and on; and when night came they stayed under a tree, he and the King's son.

Surí said to this horse, “Katar, will you take care of something that I want to give you, because the King has ordered me to be killed to-morrow?”