Suddenly Shiha tore off the king's royal apron, shenshet, and began whipping him with a switch on the naked body, saying:
"Here's something for you, Akhnaton Uaenra, Joy of the Sun, Sun's only Son!"
He did not hurt him but whipped him respectfully, as one ought to whip the god-king according to the mad wisdom of the dream; but the more respectful it was, the more shameful.
And the human multitude down below laughed frantically, shaking the earth and the sky with its laughter. The sun in heaven, a red monstrous face, bared its teeth, turning crimson with laughter; it stretched out its long hand-shaped rays and made a long nose at him.
And Shiha went on whipping him and saying:
"Ah, you naughty boy, you shameless little creature, you have disgraced yourself before all the world! Take this, son of man, son of god!"
The king woke up, recalled his dream and felt as frightened and ashamed in reality as he did in the dream.
He lay for some time in the dark with his eyes open. There was a lump in his throat, his breath failed him as before an epileptic fit; the inhuman scream was ready to burst from his throat. "What shall I do? What shall I do?" he thought with anguish.
Suddenly he felt easier—something had been loosened, the lump in the throat had melted away. He got up and walked out of the tent.
The sky was rose-green and the rose-green waves of the sand seemed as ethereal as the sky. The morning star bright as the sun glittered in the heavens. Not a man, not a beast, not a bird, not a tree, not even a blade of grass—only the sky and the earth—endless freedom, infinite expanse.