So I rose and saluted by lifting both my hands and bowing as I had observed others do, trying, however, to keep them covered by my sleeves. The King looked me up and down, then said briefly,
“Set out your name and the business that brought you to my city.”
“May the King live for ever,” I replied. “As this lord said,” and I pointed to the eunuch——
“He is not a lord but a dog,” interrupted the Monarch, “who wears the robe of women. But continue.”
“As this dog who wears the robe of women said”—here the King laughed, but the eunuch, Houman, turned green with rage and glowered at me—“my name is Shabaka. I am a descendant of the Ethiopian king of Egypt of that same name.”
“It seems from all I hear that there are too many descendants of kings in Egypt. When I visit that land which perhaps soon I must do with an army at my back,” here he stared at me coldly, “it may be well to lessen their number. There is a certain Peroa for instance.”
He paused, but I made no answer, since Peroa was my father’s cousin and of the fallen Royal House; also the protector of my youth.
“Well, Shabaka,” he went on, “in Persia royal blood is common also, though some of us think it looks best when it is shed. What else are you?”
“A slayer of royal beasts, O King of kings, a hunter of lions and of elephants,” (this statement interested me, Allan Quatermain, intensely, showing me as it did that our tastes are very persistent); “also when I am at home, a breeder of cattle and a grower of grain.”
“Good trades, all of them, Shabaka. But why came you here?”