It was a madman. Moreover, one who was terrible in his madness. He was of a great age, for the hair of his beard and of his head was white as snow. And yet he was very tall of stature, and had the appearance of a man of colossal strength.
He was clothed in rags—rags which hung together by mere threads, so that his dark skin was visible upon his arms and back. The hair of his head was so long that it reached to his waist, a great beard spread over his chest. At his side he carried an enormous sword—a two-handed sword such as was used by warriors in ancient days. In one hand he held a staff.
He came forward, singing a wild song that somehow was reminiscent of the desert and the East. He approached the altar where burned the lamp, and there flung himself upon the ground, tearing his hair, gnashing his teeth, and actually foaming at the mouth.
From time to time he lifted his voice in a howl, dismal and prolonged, breaking off in his singing to beat himself upon the chest. It was all terrible to behold. It was like a scene in some majestic Bedlam. This white madman, the semi-darkness of the cave, the flickering light, the enormous pillars—all seemed not of the world we know, but to belong rather to one of the worlds of which we sometimes dream.
Harry, turning to Fernando, whispered in his ear.
"Who is this man?" said he.
"He is Guardian of the Cave. He is said to be a hundred years of age. He has lived here all his life."
The old man rose to his feet and stretched forth his arms. Then, lifting his voice, he uttered an endless string of words that were incomprehensible to both boys. As far as Harry could make out, the man either uttered some fearful curse or else he prayed in anguish.
"What is he saying?" asked the boy.
"I am not sure," answered Fernando; "I know little of the Maziri language. I think he says that the Sunstone has been stolen these many years, but this very day it will return. He says the vault will be opened before nightfall. He says that he himself is about to die."