uatting at the far end, massed people bowed before it--a weird chant
rising into murmuring echoes along the high, dim ceiling. There were
priests standing rigidly in front of the idol, their hands stretched
high; and every eye was upon them. None saw the three in the doorway
until a roar split the drone of worship.

"Way! Way for thy Pharaoh, Shabako the Fourth!"

* * * * *

Shabako had stepped for the moment in front of his prisoners. His
sword blade was waved aloft; his bawl rudely interrupted the ceremony.
The chant stopped, and silence fell as the priests whirled around. The
worshippers, too, turned and stared at the man who had broken the
service with his imperious command.

"Way!" the vibrant voice cried again. "Aside for thy Pharaoh, who
returns to the shrine of Aten, Father of Life!"

Some sixty bewildered faces peered at the man. The silence of the
buried Temple was solid, awesome. Through the mist of wreathing
incense-smoke and heavy shadows the giant head of the idol stared
down, cruel in the coldness of the rock it had been chiselled from.

But a pathway cleared in the thick of the crowd, and, without a glance
to either side, Shabako's proud figure strode down it, driving his
prisoners before him.

Craig heard low gasps of astonishment, glimpsed the people fall back
as he walked forward, saw the amazement in their eyes. The statue of
the god seemed to grow as he neared the altar; it was in squatting
posture, with hands outstretched, one above the other. The American
was to learn the reason for that position later. Now he had only a
fleeting impression of it, for a man stepped from his ceremonial
position beside the god's feet and met Shabako halfway.

His face was thin and cunning, with slanted rat's eyes. Ornate
head-dress and stiffly inlaid robes denoted him to be the High Priest.
He held a claw-like hand high.

"Hold!" he bade shrilly. "Who art thou to come thus into the Temple,
calling thyself Shabako--Shabako, who has been dead these twenty
years?"

* * * * *

The words were a thunderbolt of surprise, both to the Pharaoh and
Taia, and to Wes Craig. He could not see Shabako's face, but he saw
his tall form pause, and his tensed muscles relax.

"Dead ... these twenty years?" the Egyptian at last repeated slowly,
struggling to overcome the shock. "Why, 'twas but a few hours ago that
I left this Temple, in pursuit of--" He peered a