floor. "It must be that the enemy have
come, O Jad-ben-Otho." She spoke soothingly for she had reason to know
the terrors of the mad frenzy into which trivial things sometimes threw
the Great God.

A priest burst suddenly through the hangings of the doorway and falling
upon his hands and knees rubbed his forehead against the stone
flagging. "O Jad-ben-Otho," he cried, "the warriors of Ja-don have
attacked the palace and the temple. Even now they are fighting in the
corridors near the quarters of Lu-don, and the high priest begs that
you come to the palace and encourage your faithful warriors by your
presence."

Obergatz sprang to his feet. "I am Jad-ben-Otho," he screamed. "With
lightning I will blast the blasphemers who dare attack the holy city of
A-lur."

For a moment he rushed aimlessly and madly about the room, while the
priest and the slave remained upon hands and knees with their foreheads
against the floor.

"Come," cried Obergatz, planting a vicious kick in the side of the
slave girl. "Come! Would you wait here all day while the forces of
darkness overwhelm the City of Light?"

Thoroughly frightened as were all those who were forced to serve the
Great God, the two arose and followed Obergatz towards the palace.

Above the shouting of the warriors rose constantly the cries of the
temple priests: "Jad-ben-Otho is here and the false Dor-ul-Otho is a
prisoner in the temple." The persistent cries reached even to the ears
of the enemy as it was intended that they should.

24

The Messenger of Death

The sun rose to see the forces of Ja-don still held at the palace gate.
The old warrior had seized the tall structure that stood just beyond
the palace and at the summit of this he kept a warrior stationed to
look toward the northern wall of the palace where Ta-den was to make
his attack; but as the minutes wore into hours no sign of the other
force appeared, and now in the full light of the new sun upon the roof
of one of the palace buildings appeared Lu-don, the high priest,
Mo-sar, the pretender, and the strange, naked figure of a man, into
whose long hair and beard were woven fresh ferns and flowers. Behind
them were banked a score of lesser priests who chanted in unison: "This
is Jad-ben-Otho. Lay down your arms and surrender." This they repeated
again and again, alternating it with the cry: "The false Dor-ul-Otho is
a prisoner."

In one of those lulls which are common in battles between forces arm