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The cry went up before the sun was fifteen minutes high. There are a hundred temples in Hanadra, age-old all of them and carved on the outside with strange images of heathen gods in high relief, like molds turned inside out. But there is but one temple that that cry could mean Kharvani's; and there could be but one meaning for the cry.
"Kharvani!" said the High Priest to himself again, and the two Rajputs stood still like men dumfounded, and stared and stared and stared. They knew Kharvani's temple. Who was there in Hanadra, Christian or Mohammedan or Hindu, who did not?
Coming up the street toward them was a horde of silent, hurrying Hindus, armed with swords and spears, wearing all of them the caste-marks of the Brahman well-fed, indignant relations of the priests, intent on avenging the defilement of Kharvani's temple. "Canter! Fronnnt farm Gallop! Charge!"
Fifty to one are by no means despicable odds, but the aid of the gods as well is better! So the huge dome of Kharvani's temple began to echo to the sound of slippered feet and awe-struck whisperings, and the big, dim auditorium soon filled to overflowing. No light came in from the outer world.
Another messenger ran in and shouted: "They have charged! Their cavalry have charged! They are beaten back! Their dead lie twisted on the plain!" At the words there was a stampede from the doorway, and half of those who had remained rushed out. There were hundreds still there, though, for that great gloomy pile of Kharvani's could hold an almost countless crowd.
The show-building of the city, the ancient, gloomy, wonderful erection where bats lived in the dome and flitted round Kharvani's image, the place where every one must go who needed favors of the priests, the central hub of treason and intrigue, where every plot was hatched and every rumor had its origin the ultimate, mazy, greedy, undisgorging goal of every bribe and every blackmail-wrung rupee!
Ruth left the divan and stood between the men, terrified by she knew not what fear, but drawn into the lamplight by insuperable curiosity. "This, heavenborn," said the Risaldar, prodding at the man with his scabbard-point, "is none other than the High Priest of Kharvani's temple here, the arch-ringleader in all the treachery afoot now hostage for thy safety!" He turned to his half-brother.
I hold the strings of wealth. With a jerk I can unloose a fortune in your lap. I need that woman there!" "For what?" snarled the Risaldar, whirling round on him, his eyes ablaze. "'For power! Kharvani's temple here has images and paintings and a voice that speaks but no Kharvani!" The Rajput turned away again and affected unconcern.
After five minutes of steady climbing the stone grew gradually dry. The steps became smaller, too, and deeper, and not so hard to climb. Suddenly the priest reached out his arm and pulled at something or other that hung down in the darkness. A stone in the wall rolled open. A flood of light burst in and nearly blinded them. "We are below Kharvani's temple!" announced the priest.
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