of the
bargain that he had made. So the sailors drank the wine of their
native land, and soon their thoughts were back in fair Belzoond and
the little neighbouring cities of Durl and Duz.

But for me the captain poured into a little glass some heavy yellow
wine from a small jar which he kept apart among his sacred things.
Thick and sweet it was, even like honey, yet there was in its heart a
mighty, ardent fire which had authority over souls of men. It was
made, the captain told me, with great subtlety by the secret craft of
a family of six who lived in a hut on the mountains of Hian Min. Once
in these mountains, he said, he followed the spoor of a bear, and he
came suddenly on a man of that family who had hunted the same bear,
and he was at the end of a narrow way with precipice all about him,
and his spear was sticking in the bear, and the wound not fatal, and
he had no other weapon. And the bear was walking towards the man, very
slowly because his wound irked him--yet he was now very close. And
what the captain did he would not say, but every year as soon as the
snows are hard, and travelling is easy on the Hian Min, that man comes
down to the market in the plains, and always leaves for the captain in
the gate of fair Belzoond a vessel of that priceless secret wine.

And as I sipped the wine and the captain talked, I remembered me of
stalwart noble things that I had long since resolutely planned, and my
soul seemed to grow mightier within me and to dominate the whole tide
of the Yann. It may be that I then slept. Or, if I did not, I do not
now minutely recollect every detail of that morning's occupations.
Towards evening, I awoke and wishing to see Perdondaris before we left
in the morning, and being unable to wake the captain, I went ashore
alone. Certainly Perdondaris was a powerful city; it was encompassed
by a wall of great strength and altitude, having in it hollow ways for
troops to walk in, and battlements along it all the way, and fifteen
strong towers on it in every mile, and copper plaques low down where
men could read them, telling in all the languages of those parts of
the Earth--one language on each plaque--the tale of how an army once
attacked Perdondaris and what befell that army. Then I entered
Perdondaris and found all the people dancing, clad in brilliant silks,
and playing on the tam-bang as they danced. For a fearful thunderstorm
had terrified them while I slept, and the fires of death, they said,