“The old one, you fool!” retorted Orellana testily. “Didn’t I tell you there were a hundred there? The Sun is given a new bride every ten years. Can you count, or can’t you? That makes one of them a thousand years old.... There’s no harm in burning a wife who is a thousand years old. The Sun has got tired of her by then. Doesn’t he set fire to her pyre himself? That proves it.... Listen. Here they come!”
The chanting grew louder, and soon the priests appeared. Behind them walked the nobles, recognizable by the heavy ear-rings which only descendants of an Inca may wear; they were dressed in sleeveless red tunics, and each man bore a banner on which was embroidered a rainbow, its brilliant hues varying to mark the coat-armor of each house. Next came young girls of noble family, who in the old days would have become Virgins of the Sun, ending their lives on the altars of the deity, or as the wives of the Inca. They were followed by their adult brothers, wearing the white robes, crosses embroidered on the breast, which were the traditional costume of men of their caste about to enter the order of knighthood. After them, the curacas, chiefs of the races conquered by the Incas and of all the tribes which had taken the oath of fealty. These men wore multi-colored tunics, unadorned with gold.
The cortège had advanced to the center of the temple, and suddenly, as the chanting ceased, all turned toward the door by which they had entered. A strange silence succeeded the rhythmic throbbing of canticles. Then a terrible scream tore the air. Dick gripped Orellana’s arm.
“What was that?” he asked hoarsely.
“Nothing to do with us. They’re sacrificing a child in the Black Chapel of Pacahuamac, the Pure Spirit.”
II
The devils!” Dick wrenched ont his revolver, but the old man gripped his wrist.
“Quiet, you fool! We can’t save the child now, and if you make a sign we shan’t save her either. If you can’t stand it, get out!”