erstood
quickly, they could, on occasion, be made startlingly loud and
clear--as I was soon to realize--W. T. G.

CHAPTER XX

The Tempting of Larry

We paused before thick curtains, through which came the faint murmur
of many voices. They parted; out came two--ushers, I suppose, they
were--in cuirasses and kilts that reminded me somewhat of
chain-mail--the first armour of any kind here that I had seen. They
held open the folds.

The chamber, on whose threshold we stood, was far larger than either
anteroom or hall of audience. Not less than three hundred feet long
and half that in depth, from end to end of it ran two huge
semi-circular tables, paralleling each other, divided by a wide aisle,
and heaped with flowers, with fruits, with viands unknown to me, and
glittering with crystal flagons, beakers, goblets of as many hues as
the blooms. On the gay-cushioned couches that flanked the tables,
lounging luxuriously, were scores of the fair-haired ruling class and
there rose a little buzz of admiration, oddly mixed with a
half-startled amaze, as their gaze fell upon O'Keefe in all his
silvery magnificence. Everywhere the light-giving globes sent their
roseate radiance.

The cuirassed dwarfs led us through the aisle. Within the arc of the
inner half--circle was another glittering board, an oval. But of those
seated there, facing us--I had eyes for only one--Yolara! She swayed
up to greet O'Keefe--and she was like one of those white lily maids,
whose beauty Hoang-Ku, the sage, says made the Gobi first a paradise,
and whose lusts later the burned-out desert that it is. She held out
hands to Larry, and on her face was passion--unashamed, unhiding.

She was Circe--but Circe conquered. Webs of filmiest white clung to
the rose-leaf body. Twisted through the corn-silk hair a threaded
circlet of pale sapphires shone; but they were pale beside Yolara's
eyes. O'Keefe bent, kissed her hands, something more than mere
admiration flaming from him. She saw--and, smiling, drew him down
beside her.

It came to me that of all, only these two, Yolara and O'Keefe, were in
white--and I wondered; then with a tightening of nerves ceased to
wonder as there entered--Lugur! He was all in scarlet, and as he
strode forward a silence fell a tense, strained silence.

His gaze turned upon Yolara, rested upon O'Keefe, and instantly his
face grew--dreadful--there is no other word than that for it.
Marakinoff leaned forward from the centre o