Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 26, 2025
Immediately in front of him, and ten feet away, stood the manacled Nubian, with an armed man at either elbow. Behind them, in turn, were grouped silently all the combined safaris. At his own elbows stood Cazi Moto and Simba possibly Mali-ya-bwana. He allowed an impressive wait to ensue. Then abruptly he began his interrogation.
The king called to us to come out of the house, which, having no choice, we did. One glance at him showed me that the man was frantic with fear, or rage, or both. "Look upon your work, magicians!" he said in a terrible voice, pointing first to the dead priest, then to the diviner's wounded foot. "It is no work of ours, King Simba," answered Marût. "It is your own work.
Thereon I laid down my rifle in token that I would not fire at him, which indeed I could not do having nothing to fire. Seeing this he came to within a few yards and halting, addressed Marût. "O second Prophet of the Child," he said, "these are the words of Simba the King: Your god has been too strong for us to-day, though in a day to come it may be otherwise.
Jana must have been asleep, O King, or you would have set your trap better." I thought that this coolly insolent speech would have produced some outburst, but in fact it seemed to have an opposite effect. Making no reply to it, Simba said almost humbly: "I come to drink the cup of peace with you and the white lord, O Prophet. Afterwards we can talk. Give me water, slave."
On his back and head were two men in whom, with my glasses, I recognized the lame priest whom I already knew too well and Simba, the king of the Black Kendah, himself, gorgeously apparelled and waving a long spear, seated in a kind of wooden chair.
When you have come near to this safari, you must follow it until it has put down its loads and is just about to make camp. Not a rest period on the road; not after camp is made just at the moment when the men begin to untie the loads, when they begin to pitch the tents. That is the magic time. Understand?" "Yes, bwana," they chorused breathlessly. "Simba must be ready.
Having delivered himself thus he rode nearer and said: "You, Prophet Marût, my enemy, have heard the terms of me, Simba the King, and have accepted them. Therefore discuss them no more. What I have promised I will keep. What I have given I give, neither greater nor less by the weight of a hair." "So be it, O King," answered Marût with his usual smile, which nothing ever seemed to disturb.
Two were getting individual treatment: Simba and Cazi Moto were putting them through a careful course in aiming and pulling the trigger on empty guns. Kingozi sat on a chop box in the shade, gripping his eternal pipe, and issuing curt orders and criticisms to the baker's dozen, before him. When he saw the Leopard Woman he arose and strolled in her direction.
Kingozi, who had already picked his beast and partially assured his aim, almost immediately squeezed the trigger. Over a second after the flat crack of the rifle a hollow plunk indicated that the bullet had told. It was a strange sound, unmistakable to one who has once heard it, much as though one brought a drinking glass smartly, hollow down, into the surface of water. "Hah!" ejaculated Simba.
The borders of this pool were a fascinating palimpsest: the tracks of many sorts of beast had been impressed there in the mud. Both Kingozi and Simba examined them with an approach to interest, though to an observer the examination would have seemed but the most casual of glances.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking