Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..

Many, many years ago, there lived in the City of Margolan, a Khan who was very vain. Every day at noontime, a trumpet would blow and the Khan would emerge from his palace in order to show off his newest robe. The attendants of the Khan would command the citizens of Margolon to form a line along the streets so they might admire the Khan as he passed by. If the Khan should happen to notice someone amid the crowd who was not suitably impressed to the Khan's satisfaction, then he would grow purple with anger.

"Do you not notice how admirably the emeralds in this magnificent robe draws attention to my eyes?" the Khan once roared at a farmer who had failed to marvel at the impressive sight.

"Forgive me, your highness," muttered the unfortunate man, "but I am somewhat preoccupied. My young son, you see, has been taken ill."

"I find you to be exceedingly boring!" declared the Khan and, turning to one of his attendants, ordered that the poor fellow be dragged away and placed in the stockades.

The Khan was particularly cruel and heartless toward the palace weavers. Each morning, he demanded that a new robe be made for his person. Such a robe had to be fashioned from the very finest of fabrics and be more beautifully dazzling than any garment they had ever sewn before. However, the Khan was not easy to please. If a weaver created a robe which did not suit the Khan's tase, then the weaver would be promptly beaten and executed. Needless to say, there eventually came to be very few weavers who made their homes in Margolan.

One day, a weaver who was ignorant of the Khan's reputation arrived in Margolon. As the citizens lined the streets for the Khan's customary noon parade, the weaver joined the crowd to watch the passing procession.

"Who might you be?" inquired the Khan, noticing a new face among the masses.

"A weaver, your magesty" replied the man.

"Ah," reflected the Khan, "and what do you think of my wonderful robe?"

"Well," the weaver answered, "the cut is fine enough, but the fabric is somewhat common." The weaver was an honest man.

"I see," said the Khan. "In that case, by tomorrow morning, you shall bring me a robe made of a fabric that no eye has ever yet seen and should you fail in this appointed task, you may rest assured that the order will be given for your head to be severed from your shoulders!"

Then, the Khan turned calmly on his heeels and marched back to the palace.

The poor weaver had been totally unprepared for such a reception. He climbed back upon his donkey with trembling hands. How could he possibly weave a fabric that no eye had even seen? In despair, the man rode his donkey along the bank of the river and pondered on his fate. Suddenly, dark clouds began to cover the sky. The wind began to violently blow and rain descended in mighty torrents...matching the overwhelming flood of sorrow which dwelt within the weaver's heart.

But, as quickly as the rain had begun, it ceased and a vivid rainbow appeared in the sky, its brilliantly-colored arch spanning the river. As the moisture cleared from the eyes of the weaver, he caught sight of the rainbow's rippling reflection in the waters. It created the most beautiful pattern the weaver had ever seen.

For the remainder of that day and all through the hours of night, the weaver worked. He wove and sewed..and sewed and wove...until finally the robe was completed. As dawn broke, the weaver made his way to the palace and presented the new robe to the waiting Khan.

"This is indeed the most magnificent robe I have ever laid my eyes upon!" the Khan exclaimed, while all the servants and subjects in the palace readily agreed.

"Your life shall be saved, weaver," announced the Khan, "but heed this. If ever you make a fabric as beautiful as this for anyone else anywhere in this land, I will have your head cut off immediately!" Then, the Khan issued a decree that only members of the Royal Family could wear clothing fashioned from the weaver's new fabric, which became known as the Khan's atlas.

The Khan was so enamored of how elegant he appeared in the atlas, that he extended his noon parade from ten o'clock in the morning until two o'clock in the afternoon. During those hours when he did not grace the streets with his magnificence, he would admire himself...turning this way and that...before a polished mirror.

Then one day, just as the people's patience with the Khan's vanity had all but come to an end, a strange thing happened.

The Khan turned into a peacock!

Nobody knew how such a peculiar occurrence had happened...nobody knew who was behind the transformation...and certainly nobody asked, since they were all far too busy celebrating their good fortune.

Today, the descendants of the Khan may still be seen...strutting vainly through the streets of Uzbekistan.

A section has been added to Penumbra entitled "Rainbow Bridge," dedicated to the memory of our beloved animal companions. It features various pieces of work, whose words, it is hoped, will bring solace and comfort to those who have lost a dear little furry (or feathered or scaled...etc.) one.

It contains an area known as "BlueBird Bower" where a memorial may be placed by anyone upon request in the name of their departed pet (no species refused).

Just click on "RainBow Bridge" on the home page to access the area described.