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Updated: May 3, 2025
Not one, . . but ye are cultured hypocrites all, and careful to keep your heresies secret!" "And thou, Lysia!" suddenly cried Nir-jalis, . . "Why if thou canst so liberally admire the valor of thy sworn enemy Khosrul, why dost not THOU step boldly forth, and abjure the Faith thou art Priestess of, yet in thy heart deridest as a miserable superstition?"
KILL SAH-LUMA! ... kill the gracious, smiling, happy creature whose every minute of existence was a joy, kill the friend he loved, the poet he worshipped! ... Kill him! ... ah God! ... never! ... never! ... He staggered backward dizzily, and Lysia with a sudden stealthy spring, like that of her favorite tigress, threw herself against his breast and looked up at him, her splendid eyes ablaze with passion, her black hair streaming, her lips curved in a cruel smile, and the hateful Jewel on her breast seeming to flash with ferocious vindictiveness.
As for me, . . though canst not slay me, Lysia, seeing that to myself I am dead already! ... dead, yet alive in thought, . . and thou dost now seem to my soul but the shadow of a past Crime, . . the ghost of a temptation overcome and baffled!
"I spoke not of harm," said Lysia, with a lazy smile. "But the day may come, good minstrel, when thy sheathed rose may seek some newer sunshine than thy face! ... when thy much poesy may pall upon her spirit, and thy love-songs grow stale! ... and she may string her harp to a different tune than the perpetual adoration- hymn of Sah-luma!" The handsome Laureate looked amused.
In the black thirsty eyes there was a look that spoke volumes, a look that betrayed what the heart concealed, and reading that featured emblazonment of hidden guilt, Theos knew beyond all doubt that the rumors concerning the High Priestess and the King were true, . . that the dead Khosrul had spoken rightly, . . that Zephoranim loved Lysia! ... Love? ... it seemed too tame a word for the pent-up fury of passion that visibly and violently consumed the man!
The aspirations of Man are limitless, hence his best assurance of immortality, ... else why should he perpetually long for things that here are impossible of attainment? ... things that like faint, floating clouds rimmed with light, suggest without declaring a glory unperceived?" Lysia looked at him steadfastly, an under-gleam of malice shining in her slumbrous eyes.
I bade ye ask Lysia, . ." and all at once he sat bolt upright, his face crimsoning as with an access of passion.. "Ask Lysia!" he repeated loudly.. "Ask her why the mighty Zephoranim creeps in and out the Sacred Temple at midnight like a skulking slave instead of a King! ... at midnight, when he should be shut within his palace walls, playing the fool among his women!
Why, I can laugh now at mine own despondency! come, look thou also more cheerily, gentle Theos, and pardon these uncivil fingers that so nearly gripped thee into silence!" and he laughed "Thou art the best and kindest of loyal comrades, and I will so assure Lysia of thy merit, that she shall institute no more torture-trials upon thy frank and trusting nature.
Their garments were so white, so transparent, so filmy and clinging, that they looked like elves robed in mountain-vapor rather than human creatures, . . there were fifty of them in all, and as they tripped forward, they, like the doves that had heralded their approach, surrounded Lysia flutteringly, saluting her with gestures of exquisite grace and devout humility, while she, enthroned in supreme fairness, with her tigress crouched beside her, looked down on them like a goddess calmly surveying a crowd of vestal worshippers.
But he cared nothing for this warning, . . reckless of consequences, he tore the scarf away and breaking loose from the hands that held him, made a bound toward Lysia ... here he paused.
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