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Updated: May 26, 2025
Officers in full uniform were ranged on both sides of the room, and a number of other men richly attired stood about, conversing with each other in low tones, ... but though Theos took in all these details rapidly at a glance, his gaze soon became fixed on the glittering Pavilion that occupied the furthest end of the saloon, where on a massive throne of ivory and silver sat the chief object of attraction, ... Zephoranim the King.
What hast thou to do with Zephoranim, that thou dost wind thy many coils about his heart? ... Lysia ... Lysia! ..." here the King started violently, his face flushing darkly red, "Thou delicate abomination! ... Thou tyrannous treachery.. what shall be done unto thee in the hour of darkness!
Thou art too humble, methinks, for the minstrel-vocation, dost call thyself a Minstrel? or a student of the art of song?" Theos looked up, his eyes resting full on the monarch's countenance, as he replied in low, clear tones: "Most noble Zephoranim, I am no minstrel! ... nor do I deserve to be called even a student of that high, sweet music-wisdom in which Sah-luma alone excels!
"Niphrata! ... Niphrata! ..." and his rich voice shook with a passion of appeal, "O ye gods! ... what mad, blind, murderous cruelty! Zephoranim!" ... and he turned impetuously on the astonished monarch: "As thou livest crowned King I say this maid is MINE! ... and in the very presence of Nagaya, I swear she shall NOT die!" A solemn silence ensued.
Zephoranim appeared good-naturedly surprised at this action, and eyed him somewhat scrutinizingly as he said: "Thou art not of Sah-luma's divine calling assuredly, fair sir, else thou wouldst hardly stoop to a mere crowned head like mine! Soldiers and statesmen may bend the knee to their chosen rulers, but to whom shall poets bend?
All I dare hope for is that I may learn of him in some small degree the lessons he has mastered, that at some future time I may approach as nearly to his genius as a common flower on earth can approach to a fixed star in the furthest blue of heaven!" Sah-luma smiled and gave him a pleased, appreciative glance, Zephoranim regarded him somewhat curiously.
She clung to him like a lithe serpentine thing, her eyes ablaze, her mouth quivering with suppressed hysterical laughter. Pointing to Sah-luma's body, she said in a strange excited whisper: "Nay, hast thou slain him in very truth, Zephoranim! ... slain him utterly?
"Zephoranim!" she cried, "Hero! ... Warrior! ... King! ... Thou who hast risked thy crown and throne and life for my sake and the love of me! ... Wilt lose me now? ... Wilt let me perish in these raging flames, to satisfy this wanton liar and unbeliever in the gods, to whose disturbance of the Holy Ritual we surely owe this present fiery disaster!
What a strange state of things! he thought, especially when the mighty Zephoranim actually descended three steps of his flower- strewn dais, and grasping Sah-luma's hands raised them to his lips with all the humility of a splendid savage paying homage to his intellectual conqueror!
Knowest thou not that were I to string three stanzas of a fiery republican ditty, and set it floating on the lips of the people, that song would sing down Zephoranim from his royal estate more surely than the fury of an armed conqueror! Believe it! WE, the poets, rule the nation, . . A rhyme has oft had power to kill a king!"
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