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- Lucas: We've talked a lot about Tamerlane as a destroyer — cities razed, captives marched across mountains, skull pyramids built. But there's another side to him that doesn't get as much airtime. Luna: What do you mean? Lucas: He was also a patron of the book — of calligraphy, manuscript illumination, bookbinding. He didn't just want to conquer territory; he wanted to build a court culture that rivalled anything in the Islamic world. And one of his most significant captures was a calligrapher named Mir Ali Tabrizi. Luna: The inventor of nasta'liq script? Lucas: Exactly. Nasta'liq — that elegant, sloping Persian script that looks like it's hanging from the line. Mir Ali Tabrizi created it in the late 14th century, and when Timur took Baghdad in 1393, Tabrizi was among the many artists and scholars deported to Samarkand. Luna: So the conqueror who destroyed Baghdad also stole its best calligrapher. Lucas: Exactly. And Tabrizi didn't just survive in Samarkand — he thrived. He became the head of Timur's scriptorium — the kitabkhana — and trained scribes who would go on to shape Persian calligraphy for centuries. The irony is striking: the man who piled skulls also commissioned some of the most beautiful books of the age. Luna: How do we know about him? Is he in the Zafarnama? Lucas: Sharaf al-Din Ali Yazdi, the court historian, mentions the kitabkhana and the craftsmen Timur brought together, but he doesn't name every calligrapher. We get Tabrizi's story from later sources — like the Safavid historian Dust Muhammad, writing in the 16th century, who records that Tabrizi was 'brought from Tabriz to Samarkand' after the city's fall. And we have surviving manuscripts attributed to him. Luna: Wait — was he from Tabriz or Baghdad? You said Baghdad. Lucas: Good catch. He's known as Mir Ali Tabrizi, meaning 'from Tabriz'. But research suggests he was probably in Baghdad when Timur took it. The name Tabrizi might refer to his family origin. Either way, he ended up in Samarkand after one of Timur's campaigns. Lucas: What's fascinating is that Timur didn't just grab any calligrapher — he grabbed the innovator of a whole new script. Nasta'liq had only been around for a few decades. It was sleek, refined, perfect for Persian poetry. And Timur wanted that elegance at his court. Luna: So calligraphy was a form of prestige. Lucas: Absolutely. A fine manuscript was a status symbol. It showed you had taste, wealth, and connections to the wider Islamic world. Timur's library in Samarkand held thousands of volumes — many looted, but many newly produced by his captive scribes and illuminators. Lucas: And it wasn't just calligraphy. The whole kitabkhana included papermakers, bookbinders, illuminators. Ibn Arabshah, the Syrian chronicler who hated Timur, still grudgingly admits that Timur 'collected books and gathered scholars from every region'. He knew that cultural capital mattered. Luna: I remember you mentioning that Ibn Arabshah was a captive himself. Did he actually see the scriptorium? Lucas: He might have — he was in Samarkand as a young man after his capture in Damascus. He doesn't describe the kitabkhana in detail, but he writes about Timur's patronage of learning in ways that suggest he had firsthand knowledge. For example, he says Timur built a madrasa in Samarkand and 'filled it with books and scholars'. Lucas: So between the Zafarnama's praise and Ibn Arabshah's criticism, we get a consistent picture: Timur invested heavily in books. He wasn't just a destroyer — he was a builder of cultural institutions, as long as they served his image. Luna: What happened to Mir Ali Tabrizi after Timur died? Lucas: He stayed in Samarkand under Timur's successors — the Timurid princes who continued the patronage tradition. Tabrizi's students spread nasta'liq across Persia and into India. The Mughal emperors later adopted it as their court script. So in a way, the nasta'liq script became a Timurid legacy, carried by the captured calligrapher. Luna: It's remarkable that the man who created such a beautiful script was a prisoner of war. Lucas: And that's the paradox at the heart of Timur's story. He could be brutal beyond imagination — and yet he could also nurture art. The same campaign that depopulated a city brought its finest talents to his capital. The question is: was he a genuine patron of the arts, or just a collector of trophies? Luna: What do the sources suggest? Lucas: Probably both. He genuinely valued skilled craftsmen — he didn't just kill them, he put them to work. But he also saw them as spoils of war, symbols of his dominance. The calligraphers were part of the booty, just like gold or horses. Still, the outcome was that Samarkand became a centre of book arts. Lucas: And the nasta'liq script — which we still see in Persian calligraphy today — owes its spread partly to Timur's appetite for prestige. If Baghdad had stayed under the Jalayirids, Tabrizi might have remained a local master. Instead, he was forced into a bigger stage. Lucas: You know, speaking of the resources that go into researching stories like this — if you've been coming with us through these conversations about Central Asia, maybe you've gotten something out of them. We keep the show ad-free and independent, and listener support is genuinely what makes that possible. A couple of dollars a month is enough to keep these episodes coming — buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo, if you've gotten something out of them. Luna: Yeah, it's a small thing that makes a real difference for the show. Lucas: Anyway — back to Tabrizi. One of the manuscripts attributed to him is an early copy of the Bustan by Saadi, done in nasta'liq. It's held in the Topkapi Palace Museum in Istanbul. If you ever see it, you'll notice how the letters seem to flow into each other — almost like a dance. Luna: So his work survived. Did it influence later Timurid calligraphers directly? Lucas: Absolutely. His student, Abd al-Karim al-Khwarazmi, became a master in his own right. And through him, the nasta'liq tradition passed to the Safavids and then to the Mughals. The script became the standard for Persian poetry — it's still used today in Iran, Afghanistan, and parts of India. Lucas: There's also a legend that Tabrizi himself taught calligraphy to Timur's grandson, Ulugh Beg — the same Ulugh Beg who built the observatory. If true, that would mean the astronomer-king learned his letters from the master of nasta'liq. It's a nice image: the conqueror's grandson, sitting with a captive calligrapher, learning to write a beautiful script. Luna: That does sound fitting — the empire's artistic and scientific legacies intertwined. Lucas: So Mir Ali Tabrizi's story reminds us that Timur's legacy isn't just about destruction. It's also about the forced migration of talent — and the unintended consequences. He wanted to adorn his capital with the best artisans the world could offer. And in doing so, he helped spread one of the most beautiful scripts ever devised. Luna: I guess that's the complicated legacy of empire — art and violence side by side. Lucas: Exactly. And it's a theme we'll come back to as we look at other captives in Timur's orbit — poets, astronomers, engineers. Each one has a story that complicates the simple picture of a tyrant.