Palmyra

Can we all see very clearly now that the heads of the past, the depictions of the Old World, give away way too much information to all of us, failing to fence off the site, and of course, finding human skeletons at the site, placed in a sitting and crouching position, belonging to female and male individuals between 13 and 15 years of age, a necropolis.

Are you ready to go further? For we have seen Episode 97 and Episode 98, Palmyra, Syria, and the Temple of Baal, where we know that Sardinia appears to be connected to Syria.

Sardinia, we are not done with you.

[outro music]

It's not happening.

And they go on to say that this underground tomb was originally located in the Palmyra's Valley of the Tombs before being excavated and restored.

Destroyed.

The underground tomb was then moved to Damascus in 1935 and was then moved again and placed in its national museum.

Because once you know that it was found in 1933, you know that they moved it in 1935 to Damascus, just two years later.

So finding this and then moving it two years later.

So what else did they find in Palmyra? What was wrong with the first location? Why did it need to be moved so fast, 150 miles away? Remember, this thing was just fine for centuries.

This is according to them, their narrative.

This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by Paul Welford.

Palmyra.

It burst upon us all at once.

Palmyra, in the desert, a chaos of golden pillars in the glow of the setting sun.

We had been riding all day towards an indefinite shape on the horizon.

Slowly it had resolved itself into a barrier of yellow rock with dark lines becoming distinguishable against it.

And there it lay, the desert-girt city, in the unutterable lonely magnificence of its reckless confusion.

We drew rein under the triumphal arch.

These are the Islamic historical sites you can see.

There are also pre-Islamic sites in Syria, such as in Bosra and Palmyra.

There are Roman ruins, coliseums that you can see.

And Palmyra was affected by the war, but it is still very, very impressive.

So I hope that answers your question.

It certainly does.

Read by Paul Welford.

Palmyra.

It burst upon us all at once.

Palmyra in the desert, a chaos of golden pillars in the glow of the setting sun.

We had been riding all day towards an indefinite shape on the horizon.

Slowly it had resolved itself into a barrier of yellow rock with dark lines becoming distinguishable against it.

And there it lay, the desert-girt city, in the unutterable lonely magnificence of its reckless confusion.

We drew rein under the triumphal arch.

Read by Paul Welford.

Palmyra.

It burst upon us all at once.

Palmyra in the desert, a chaos of golden pillars in the glow of the setting sun.

We had been riding all day towards an indefinite shape on the horizon.

Slowly, it had resolved itself into a barrier of yellow rock with dark lines becoming distinguishable against it.

And there it lay, the desert-girt city, in the unutterable lonely magnificence of its reckless confusion.

We drew rein under the triumphal arch.

Read by Paul Welford.

Palmyra.

It burst upon us all at once.

Palmyra in the desert, a chaos of golden pillars in the glow of the setting sun.

We had been riding all day towards an indefinite shape on the horizon.

Slowly it had resolved itself into a barrier of yellow rock with dark lines becoming distinguishable against it.

And there it lay, the desert-girt city, in the unutterable lonely magnificence of its reckless confusion.

We drew rein under the triumphal arch.

This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by Paul Welford.

Palmyra.

It burst upon us all at once.

Palmyra, in the desert, a chaos of golden pillars in the glow of the setting sun.

We had been riding all day towards an indefinite shape on the horizon.

Slowly it had resolved itself into a barrier of yellow rock with dark lines becoming distinguishable against it.

And there it lay, the desert-girt city, in the unutterable lonely magnificence of its reckless confusion.

We drew rein under the triumphal arch.

Mounted on splendid Arab mares, they ride in front, sometimes dashing ahead at a wild gallop, holding out their rifles at arm's length, wheeling suddenly round and coming to a dead stop in front of an imaginary enemy.

upright in their stirrups in their more subdued moments breaking into song with the mournful eastern refrains and so forming one small world of our own we follow and follow the journeying sun and as it sinks lower on the horizon and its fierce rays cease to beat pitilessly down on the parched ground and thirsty animals a silence falls on the moving band the spirit of the desert again holds the sway the men cease quarreling the animals heads sink lower the donkey looks more resigned the mule more dogged the camel more superior the silent arab more stern and forbidding the soldier hums where he sang before then at last the walls of a solitary guardhouse heave in sight the men hail it with joyful cries the soldiers dash ahead the pack animals prick their ears and quicken their steps to an amble there is a general rush and tumble culminating in a dead halt on the ground which has formed the place for caravans since caravans crossed the desert all is noise and confusion the loads are unloosed and fall in promiscuous heaps amongst the medley of animals who released of their burdens roll over on their backs kicking up the dust a line of men draw water from the well pulling at a squeaky chain and invoking the aid of allah in chorus as they pull a fight is going on in one corner men are knocking one another down encouraged by a circle of yelling spectators the din of excited quarreling voices the hammering of tent pegs dominates everything broken at times by the sudden neigh of a horse bitten by its neighbour or the harsh imperious cry of the camel for its supper and in the middle of it all the turkish soldier spreads his cloak upon the ground turns his face to mecca and offers up his murmured prayer to allah the one restful form in this scene of chaos allah akbar god is great prays this son of islam and with his hands upon his knees he bows his head subhanallah i praise god and he falls upon his knees allah akbar god is great and he bows his head to touch the earth subhanallah subhanallah subhanallah and he sits upon his heels allah akbar and he again prostrates himself allah akbar subhanallah and on this scene the sun casts its final rays of golden red as the shades of night draw in quiet reigns once more the men collect round the blazing camp-fire and in its light we see the outline of their dark forms seated cross-legged as they eat out of the common bowl or take turns at the bubbling nargile to one side the mules are tethered in two lines forming a half-square a muleteer is grooming them and one hears the rattle of his scraper and the ever-tinkling bell the cook is stirring our evening meal in a pot on the fire outside our tent hassan fetches our rugs and spreads them on the ground we lie down and he covers us with his sheepskin cloak rahat rest he says and lifts his hands over us as if pronouncing a blessing then he sits down beside us and lights a cigarette boda ehe he goes on describing the universe with a sweep of his hand kimse yok it is well here there is no one is allah here asks x allah is here he answers with simple reverence allah is everywhere and we all lie motionless under the stars unwilling to probe the silence by the sound of uttered thoughts the murmur of the men's voices gradually dies away as one by one they doze off a jackal cries in the distance a star falls down to earth the day is over and in this land of the oriental there is no thought of the morrow the passive silence of sleep the active silence of communing souls the silence of night all fitful expressions of the one great silence brooding over all be one asleep or awake by night and by day in desert places and in busy haunts of men end of chapter twenty chapter twenty one of by desert ways to baghdad by louisa jeb wilkins this librivox recording is in the public domain read by paul welford palmyra it burst upon us all at once palmyra in the desert a chaos of golden pillars in the glow of the setting sun we had been riding all day towards an indefinite shape on the horizon slowly it had resolved itself into a barrier of yellow rock with dark lines becoming distinguishable against it we had passed through the patches of rising corn making green holes in the brown desert we had wound through the gardens of pomegranate and plantations of palm trees and turned the corner of the ugly cornac which barred the ruins from our view and there it lay the desert girt city in the unutterable lonely magnificence of its reckless confusion we drew rein under the triumphal arch from here the eye is led on down the great colonnade from column to column now upright now fallen to where a mile away a castle crowns a peak of the range under which palmyra crouches an old-time harbour for the sand sea beyond behind us the present village of tadmor was concealed inside the walls of the great temple of the sun its mud hovels lie rotting behind the gigantic columns of the inner court in the dirt which chokes the massive archways here it is that the present life of palmyra such as it is is slowly obliterating the remaining evidences of her past while on the opposite side of the ruins where the hills cleave to form a lonely valley the dead of palmyra buried in a line of square tomb towers still keep alive the memory of her ancient greatness Was it the sun only, with its light on the yellow columns, that made one think of Palmyra purely as a city of gold? Or were one's thoughts unconsciously influenced by the fact that its traditions all rest on the getting of gold? Its power was built upon trade.

Its great men were the successful traffickers of the desert.

Its statues and columns were raised to the memory of those who brought the caravans of goods from India and Persia unharmed through the dangers of the desert.

Her prosperity had been her ruin.

The gold had led to her undoing, and now the sun, to whom the temples had been raised at the time of her pride, mocked her ruins by giving them the semblance of scattered gold.

This is the best way to realize Palmyra, to make it the culmination of a long and tedious journey through the desert.

The first sight of it, under any conditions, must indeed be wonderful.

Read by Paul Welford.

Palmyra.

It burst upon us all at once.

Palmyra, in the desert, a chaos of golden pillars in the glow of the setting sun.

We had been riding all day towards an indefinite shape on the horizon.

Slowly it had resolved itself into a barrier of yellow rock with dark lines becoming distinguishable against it.

And there it lay, the desert-girt city, in the unutterable lonely magnificence of its reckless confusion.

We drew rein under the triumphal arch.