Doubtless many a score of victims had been sacrificed beneath the murderous knife of Nordhu upon that slab; many a savage had gone screaming to his death to satisfy the lust of the devilish priest.
The two guards had instantly prostrated themselves before the monstrosity, and now lay upon their faces, muttering some doggerel or other in praise of the image.
Nordhu himself bowed low, then turned furiously upon his prisoner.
“Kneel!” he screamed, “kneel to Ramouni, that ye may hear his will.”
But the scientist stood rigid as the idol itself. He knew well that he was face to face with death, and he was not minded that his last few moments of life should be spent in bowing himself before the repulsive figure which served these people as a god.
“Dost hear?” thundered the priest; “kneel, ye white dog, before the god of my people.”
“I will not kneel,” Mervyn answered calmly, “to this misshapen block of stone that ye call a god. Think you to deceive me with this craven figure! If it be a god, let it speak.”
“So,” returned Nordhu mockingly, “ye would fain hear Ramouni speak? Hearken then.”
Raising his arms above his head, he gabbled out a long formula, punctuated with sundry bowings and scrapings that made Mervyn long to kick the fellow. But the yearning to do violence to the priest’s person vanished, and the scientist stood absolutely dumbfounded, as a thin, cracked voice from the lips of the idol answered Nordhu’s plea.
“Let the white stranger be delivered unto Rahee, the sacred beast.”