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"I am he; I am the Jarados!" It was a stagger for both young men. Neither could reconcile the great professor of his schooldays with this strange, philosophic prophet of the occult Thomahlians. What was the connection? What was the fate that was leading, urging, compelling it all? "Professor, you will pardon our eagerness.
We begin to apprehend the occult. Our five- sensed world is merely a highly specialized phase of infinity. Material or spiritual it is all the same. That's why we look on the Thomahlians as occult, and why they consider us in the same light. "It is strictly a question of sense perception and limitations, which can be covered by the word, 'viewpoint. Viewpoint that is all it amounts to.
Whatever the civilisation of the Thomahlians, their ritual in Watson's eyes smacked still of barbarism. But he was intensely interested in all about him. The avenues were large. On either side the guards were drawn up eight deep, holding back the multitude that pressed and jostled with the insistence of curiosity.
"Bear in mind that if the Spot should not open at the last moment, you and I are done for. We will be self-condemned 'False Ones'; our lives will not last one minute after midnight tomorrow night if we fail to get through! "That Prophecy means EVERYTHING to the Thomahlians. There was a time when they accepted it on faith; now it is an intellectual conviction with every last one of them.
It will be spectacular he knows the value of dramatic climax and he would kill you in a moment, before a million Thomahlians." "It's a nice way to die," said Watson. "You must grant that much." "I don't know of any nice way to die, my lord. But it is a good way of living to kill the Bar Senestro. I would that I could have the honour."
"Man must seek and find," was one of his epigrams; "and if he find no more truths, then he will find lies." Which was merely a negative way of saying that some of his philosophy was only provisional. But on some points he was adamant. He had arrived at a time when the unthinking, self-glorifying Thomahlians had all but exterminated the lower orders of creation.
The chronology of the Thomahlians, Chick found, dates back no less than fifteen thousand years. An abiding civilisation of that antiquity, it need not be said, presented somewhat different aspects from what is known on the earth. It seemed that the Jarados had come miraculously. That is, he had come out of the unknown, through a channel which he himself later termed the Spot of Life.
"Give him some of the liquor; it will do him good. It will put the old energy back in his bones." The voice rang oddly familiar in Watson's ears. The words were Thomahlian; not until Chick had drained his glass did he comprehend their significance. "Who are you?" he asked. The Bar with the red hair grinned. "Whist, me lad," using Chick's own tongue. "Get rid of these Thomahlians.
Wondering, Chick and the rest marched on through the silent crowd; all standing with bared heads and bated breaths. The worshipping Thomahlians filled every inch of that enormous place. Only a narrow lane permitted the procession to pass towards that puzzling, silent, black waterfall.
"The Palace av light, sor. Tis th' home av th' Jarados. 'twas held always holy by th' Thomahlians; no man dared go within miles av it; since the Jarados was here, t'ousands of years ago, no one at all has been inside av it. "But the Senestro knew that th' doctor was th' real Jarados, at least he t'ought so; an' he wasna afraid o' him. He's na coward, th' Senestro.
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