An hour later, he had before him a chest of Spanish gold coins.
There were also precious stones, gold masks adorned with red and white feathers, and stone statues embedded with jewels.
The spoils of a conquest that the country had long ago forgotten,
and that some conquistador had failed to tell his children about.
The boy took out Urim and Thummim from his bag. He had used the two stones only once, one morning when he was at a marketplace.
His life and his path had always provided him with enough omens. He placed Urim and Thummim in the chest.
They were also a part of his new treasure, because they were a reminder of the old king, whom he would never see again.
It’s true; life really is generous to those who pursue their Personal Legend, the boy thought.
Then he remembered that he had to get to Tarifa so he could give one-tenth of his treasure to the Gypsy woman, as he had promised.
Those Gypsies are really smart, he thought. Maybe it was because they moved around so much.
The wind began to blow again. It was the levanter, the wind that came from Africa.
It didn’t bring with it the smell of the desert, nor the threat of Moorish invasion.
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