"But with reason," countered Ismeddin. "I myself was once there; and I returned."
"If you are wrong, it will be the first time," conceded the sultan as he began his descent.
"Ismeddin," reflected the sultan, "is doubtless right. And yet I would rather be up there in the courtyard watching him pick his way down and out of sight and into this playground of Shaitan's little sister. Ismeddin would be quite in his element."
Darkness did not engulf him as quickly as he had expected. The blackness receded as he descended, and the broad, white tiles gleamed dully ahead of him, so that it was simple enough to keep to the middle of the spiral runway.
From far above came the click-click of horses' hoofs.
The sultan smiled grimly at the thought of Maksoud awaiting a doom that was to emerge from that black pit.
Down ... down ... turn after turn ... until finally the sultan was as far beneath the court as the capitals of its encircling pillars were above it. Then came the scarcely perceptible thump-thump of a drum, and the thin wailing notes of a pipe. An overwhelming, poison sweetness breathed from the blackness and enfolded him.
"By Allah and by Abaddon!" said the sultan to himself, as he paused and half turned. "Vengeance is costly!"
He wiped his brow, and licked his lips; then resolutely advanced.