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Zephoranim perceived this touch of indecision on the part of his men, and his black brows contracted in an ominous frown. "Halt!" he shouted fiercely, apparently to make it seem to the mob that the pause in the action of the soldiery was in compliance with his own behest, . . "Halt! ... Bind him, and bring him hither, . . I myself will slay him!"
Several courtiers exchanged uneasy glances, and the women half rose from their seats, looking toward the King as though silently requesting permission to retire. But an imperious negative sign from Zephoranim obliged them to resume their places, though they did so with obvious nervous reluctance.
"THOU!" and with a hoarse cry, Zephoranim sprang upon, and seized him by the throat.. "Thou liest! I, I, crowned King of Al-Kyris, I am her lover! chosen by her out of all men! ... and dost thou dare to pretend that she hath preferred THEE, a mere singer of mad songs, to ME? ... Thou unscrupulous knave! ... I tell thee she is MINE! .. Dost hear me?
Thy strong men of war shall be trodden down as wheat, thy captains and rulers shall tremble and wail as children bewildered with fear: thy great engines of battle shall be to thee as naught, and the arrows of thy skilled archers shall be useless as straws in the gathering tempest of fire and fury! Zephoranim!
Following these came a superb car drawn by six jet-black horses that plunged and pranced through the multitude with no more heed than if these groups of living beings had been mere sheafs of corn, . . a car flashing from end to end with gold and precious stones, in which towered the erect, massive form of Zephoranim, the King.
The public voice pronounces Lysia chaste, and Zephoranim faithful; who then shall dare to disprove the verdict? 'Tis the same in all countries, near and far, the law serves the strong, while professing to defend the weak. The rich man gains his cause, the beggar loses it, how can it be otherwise, while lust of gold prevails?
Save me, O strong and noble Zephoranim! ... Save me, and with me save the city and the people! O barbarous, inexorable words! they rang like a desolating knell in the ears of the bewildered, fear-stricken Theos, and startled him from his rigid trance of speechless misery.
"Nothing shall hinder thee, Zephoranim," he replied, and his voice, deeply musical and resonant, struck to Theos's heart with a strange, foreboding chill "Nothing save thine own scorn of cowardice!" The monarch's hand fell from his sword-hilt, a flush of shame reddened his dark face.
Zephoranim! ..." and his voice shrilled with terrific emphasis through the vaulted chamber ... "The days of recompense are come upon thee, swift and terrible as the desert-wind! ... The doom of Al-Kyris is spoken, and who shall avert its fulfilment!
"Victory... Victory!" he cried, catching at the King's last word ... "There shall be no more victory for thee, Zephoranim! ... Thy conquests are ended, and the flag of thy glory shall cease to wave on the towers of thy strong citadels!
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