It had a ragged, uneven surface, like the lips of a crater, which the Monbas stone-cutters had skillfully turned to account in constructing a pavilion on the south side, canopied and gay with flags, banners and silk lanterns. Rubble walls, provided with seats cut into the stone, closed the north side. Here a wide entrance was left.
Seats rose in a continuous circle, tier upon tier, until thousands could have found accommodation. The goals for the racers, the pole in the center, and each spire and battlement on the walls displayed flags. The sanded floor had been wet and packed down smooth and hard.
For an hour or more the crowds had been coming in, quietly and decorously as became men, women and children in holiday dress.
Without warning, eight forerunners dashed through the entrance and sped around the ring, shouting at the top of their voices.
“Hoop-ah! Hoop-ah! Hoop-ah!” cried the first pair.
“Hye! Hye! Hye! Hye!” said the second.
“Ho-ra! Ho-ra!” called the third.
“O-h! O-h!” sharply piped the fourth pair, moving the forefinger rapidly over the lips, and prolonging the piercing sound.
They were naked save a white linen band girding the loins and tied tightly in front. Their long, loose hair quivered with motion as they sped around the ring nerved to the highest tension by the shouts of the multitude.
Suddenly the whole city seemed to wake into noisy, turbulent expectancy. A heavy br-r-r of kettle-drums, a sharp click of castanets, a blare of trumpets, and the higher notes of flutes and fifes announced the approach of Kerœcia and her guests.