of His Exaltation, the King, and his
priests and princes."

Nelson gasped in horror. The divinely beautiful Altara--butchered for
meat like a calf? Grotesque! Ghastly! "What! You eat your prisoners?"
He felt sick, nauseated.

For answer, the swart Jarmuthian raised an enormous hand and dealt the
captive American a stinging cuff which made his teeth rattle.

"Peace!" he snarled. "Else I slit thy spying throat ere we pass yonder
walls."

Fingering a short blue-black beard that was frizzed into tight curls
in the Assyrian manner, the jehar lengthened his stride as the little
detachment clanked into the shadow of a great wall surrounding
Jezreel, and through a huge gate guarded by two hideous, jackal-headed
effigies.

Hurrying into the city were throngs of eager men, women and children,
interspersed with muscular, black bearded soldiers who cast
threatening, baleful eyes on the pale-skinned prisoner.

* * * * *

At first the great metropolis of Jezreel seemed boundless, for
everywhere arose tall, massive monuments of yellow marble whose
facades were engraved with Sanskrit characters, thus bearing out
Nelson's surmise that this was indeed a race of Semitic origin.

Here and there hurried grey-bearded, vulture-eyed priests oddly garbed
in corrupt Occhive and Tyrian regalia. Nelson found it odd to see the
Tablet of the Laws, which Jarmuth so openly ignored, swaying on their
yellow robed breasts; and none cried out more menacingly nor more
loudly against the limping, wan-faced captive, than these same
ecclesiastics, who must have long since forgotten all worship of
Jehovah in the foul service of a bestial golden effigy.

A stone sailed through the air, narrowly missing the American; then
another, which struck his shoulder.

"God, what a rough looking crowd," thought Nelson, as the guards,
cursing, held back the screaming mob. "At this rate I won't live to
even reach the temple!"

Every second his life stood in great danger. Unkempt, sloe-eyed women
hurled themselves, shrieking with fury, against the armored chests of
the guards, who were hard pressed to beat them off with their spear
hafts.

Nelson's one small ray of comfort in this evil hour was the fact that
his .45 pistol remained untouched in a food wallet. At the border the
jehar had cast one contemptuous glance at the weapon, but, no doubt
deeming it some strange culinary tool, he had made no effort to remove
it.

It was a