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"The outcome will have a double interpretation the spiritual one of the prophecy, and the earthly, material one that concerns myself. If you conquer, my lord, I am freed. I would not marry the Senestro; I love him not. I would abide by the prophet, and await the chosen." She hesitated. "What do you know of the chosen, my lord?" "Nothing, O Aradna." "Has not the Rhamda Geos told you?"
The other rose from the table, walked down the aisle and out of the building. The youth spread out both arms and dropped his head upon the table. It was a little drama enacted almost in silence. Hobart and I exchanged glances. The mere glimpse of the Rhamda had brought us both back to the Blind Spot. Was there any connection? Who was the young man with the life sapped out?
His step was prim and distinctive, light as shadow, in one hand he carried the red case that was so often mentioned. I breathed an exclamation. Hobart nodded. "Am I a fat man? The famous Rhamda! What say! Ah, ha! He has business with our wan friend yonder. See!" And it was so. He took a chair opposite the wan one. The young man straightened.
He now noticed that he was flanked on either side by thrones two of them; they seemed made of golden amber. The one on the right was occupied by a man, the other by a woman. In the pause that was vouchsafed him Chick took note of these two, and wondered. In the first place, the man was not a Rhamda.
Watson was alert and ready when the woman returned, together with a companion. She smiled kindly, and announced: "The Rhamda Geos." At first Chick was startled. There was a resemblance to Rhamda Avec that ran almost to counterpart. The same refinement and elegance, the fleeting suggestion of youth, the evident age mingled with the same athletic ease and grace of carriage.
I recognised him instantly, and I wondered. It was the Rhamda. This was enough to make me suspicious. But there was one thing more. Farther up the street was another figure. When I came down the steps the Rhamda moved, and his move was somehow duplicated by the other. In itself this was enough to clear up some of my doubts concerning the phantom. His actions were too simple for an apparition.
A strange weakness came over me; I was drowsy; I lapsed again into unconsciousness; just as I was fading away I heard her speaking: "I am so sorry!" Was it a dream? The next I knew somebody was dousing water down my neck. It was Hobart Fenton. "Lord," he was saying, "I thought you were never coming to. What hit us? You are pretty well cut up. That was some fight. This Rhamda, who is he?
Watson decided to find out something he had not had time to locate in the library. "The Rhamda may have told you, Jan Lucar, that I am here to seek the Jarados. Now, I suspect the Senestro. Can you imagine what he has done to the prophet?" "My lord," remonstrated the other, "daring as the Bar might be, he could do nothing to the Jarados. He would not dare."
He announced himself ready. The Rhamda conducted him down the corridor, which he found to be lined with guards; red on one side, blue on the other. These men fell in behind in two parallel files, one of the one colour and one of the other. It was a building of great size.
On the deck of this the three men took their places; on the one side the Rhamda Geos, tall, sombre, immaculate; on the other, the magnificent Jan Lucar in the gorgeous crimson uniform, gold-braided and studded with jewels; on his head he wore the shako of purple down, and by his side a peculiar black weapon which he wore much in the manner of a sword.
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