"To our left, saidi," announced the darvish.
They skirted the wall until they came to a breach wide enough to admit four horsemen abreast.
"Those who enter through the gate are seriously in error," commented Ismeddin, as he picked his way among the gigantic blocks of rose granite that still lay in the breach. "There is a sculptured hand on the keystone of the arch...."
The moon had risen over the crests of the trees. Long shadows of columns shattered at mid-height marched across the broad, paved avenue that at the breach in the wall turned and led to the heart of the citadel.
"My lord," began Ismeddin, as the sultan cleared the last block of granite and drew up at his side, "we have not yet committed ourselves to anything."
"Conceivably," admitted the sultan, "the ride back to Angor-lana by moonlight would be pleasant. Yet Maksoud also would find it a pleasant ride. But tell me," continued Schamas ad Din, "what advantage there is in taking my vengeance here? It might be more odd and quaint than anything I might devise at home; but in the end, there would be the Resident——"
"Ah, but would there?" smiled Ismeddin. "The Lord of the World dreams strange things. However, if you wish——"
Ismeddin wheeled his horse about.
"Not at all!" countered the sultan. "To the finish, then. And as for this god and his playmate?"
"Even so, saidi."