The Chilian shrugged.
“Who can tell,” he said. “It feels like earthquake weather, a little, hot and muggy. But, come, we delay. Let us proceed.”
Once more the party moved forward. Now they were at the bottom of the great flight of stone stairs leading up to the Inca’s Palace. Now they were halfway up. Now they were at the top. And two lines of splendid warriors formed an aisle through which they must pass to enter the great doorway.
“Great guns,” muttered Bob in a low voice, “I didn’t realize—I didn’t suspect——”
“Ssh,” whispered Frank, who was his partner.
Nevertheless, he, too, was awed by the sight.
So were they all.
For the members of the Palace Guard were in golden armor. Breastplate, helmet, greaves, were all gold or gold-plated.
Stunned, almost, though they were, however, none of the party seemed to take any notice of the warriors, but kept their eyes to the front as they halted at a gesture from the herald who had brought them from the Acropolis. Then down between the aisle of golden warriors, each standing tall and straight and motionless, golden-tipped spear by his side, short sword with hilt of gold at his belt, came a young man to receive them. He, too, was clad in gold, but not in armor, except for the fine shirt of mail, all of golden links. Below this appeared the short tunic with the deep crimson border denoting a man of Incarial rank. By his side was also a short sword but with a hilt that was not only gold but also gem-encrusted. His head was bare, his hair long and straight, and raven black. His face was thin and cruel. The soldiers saluted as he passed by, raising their spears before them, and ringing the butts on the stone flagging of the terrace. They rightly surmised he was the Captain of the Palace Guards, Guascar, the High Priest’s nephew.
Bowing low before Don Ernesto and Mr. Hampton, who led their little column, he halted some six paces before them, and in halting, archaic Spanish said: