Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 8, 2025
Roxana replaced the harp and made one of her inimitable Oriental courtesies,—a token at once of gratitude and farewell for the evening. Glaucon never took his gaze from her, until with a rustle and sweep of her blue gauze she had glided out of the tent. He did not see the meaning glances exchanged by Mardonius and Artazostra before the latter left them.
Megabyzus is the bow-bearer’s enemy, and already is gone to his Majesty to say that it is Mardonius’s blunders that have brought the army to such a plight. The king will catch at that readily.” At the tents Glaucon found Artazostra and Roxana. They were both pale. The news of the great defeat had been brought by a dozen messengers. Mardonius had not arrived.
I was born to serve the lord of the Aryans, and to spread the triumphs of Mithra the Glorious, and you were born in Athens. I would it were otherwise. Artazostra and I would fain have made you Persian like ourselves. My sister loves you. Yet we cannot strive against fate. Will you go back to your own people and share their lot, however direful?” “Since life is given me, I will.”
Surely my brother in one of his pleasantries has not ordered that it be cut out? Your skin is too fair to let you be enrolled amongst his Libyan mutes.” The Hellene answered with a pitiful attempt at laughter. “Silent, am I? Then silent because I am admiring your noble ladyship’s play of wit.” Artazostra shook her head. “Impossible. Your eyes were glazed like the blue of Egyptian beads.
And whether he shall ever rise to live again, Zeus knoweth; but from me it is hid.” Artazostra did not approach, but Roxana came near, as if to draw the buckle of the golden girdle—the gift of Xerxes. He saw the turquoise shining on the tiara that bound her jet-black hair, the fine dark profile of her face, her delicate nostrils, the sweep of drapery that half revealed the form so full of grace.
You have saved Artazostra, sister of Xerxes, and Mardonius, son of Gobryas, who is not the least of the Princes of Persia and Eran.” “Mardonius—arch foe of Hellas!” Glaucon spoke the words in horror. Then reaction from all he had undergone robbed him of sense. They carried him to the fisher-village. That night he burned with fever and raved wildly. It was many days before he knew anything again.
The final commands were given. Every officer knew his task. The cavalry was to be ready to charge across the Asopus at gray dawn. With Lycon and Democrates playing their part the issue was certain, too certain for many a grizzled captain who loved the ring of steel. In his own tent Mardonius held in his arms the beautiful page—Artazostra!
“He has forsaken us,” spoke Artazostra, harshly, to her husband. “He has paid kindness with disloyalty. He has chosen the lot of his desperate race rather than princely state amongst the Aryans. Your sister is in agony.” “And I with her,” returned the bow-bearer, gravely, “but let us not forget one thing—this man has saved our lives. And all else weighs small in the balance.”
Glaucon, sitting at her feet, looked up quickly. “Valiant fools, lady; every man must strike for his own country.” Artazostra shook her shining head. “Mazda gives victory to the king of Eran alone. Resisting Xerxes is not rebellion against man, it is rebellion against Heaven.” “Are you sure?” asked the Athenian, his eye lighting ominously. “Are yours the greatest gods?”
“Go back to my tents,” ordered Mardonius; “tell Artazostra and Roxana that all is well, that Ahura has delivered me from a great strait and restored me to the king’s favour, and that to-morrow the gate of Hellas will be opened.” “You are still bloody and dusty. You have watched all last night and been in the thick all day,” expostulated the Athenian; “come to the tents with me and rest.”
Word Of The Day
Others Looking