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A few minutes through still another passage in the gold brought them to a door of ebony, banded with silver. No door of gold, it seemed, sufficed for this chamber they were about to enter. Stronger materials were needed here. This door, like the others, swung silently on its massive hinges. "Come, O Master of the fighting-men of Feringistan!" exclaimed the Olema.

"The dogs of Feringistan have spat on all Islam!" he screamed, in a shrill, horrible voice. "The Black Stone is no more! Vengeance on the unbelieving dogs! Allah il Allah! Kill, kill, and let no dog escape! "Sons of the Prophet! Slay me these dogs! Kill!" Horrible, unreal as a fever-born nightmare in its sudden frenzy, the Arab's attack drove in at them.

To Rrisa, who watched it from the lower gallery, it portended ominous evil. "It goes ahead of us, by Allah!" he murmured. "Into the Empty Abodes, where the sons of Feringistan would penetrate, a shadow goes first! And that is not good." He whispered a prayer, then added: "For the others, I care not. But my Master his life and mine are bound with the cords of Kismet.

The old man pondered a moment, then fell to stroking his beard. The act was friendly, and of good portent. Thou dost know our law, even though thou be from Feringistan. What is thy name?" "Men know me only as The Master. And thine?" "Dost thou wish us well?" the Master put a leading question. "Kull'am antum bil khair!" The Master sensed a huge relief.