Toward Lhakang-gompa they rode, through swarms that pressed eagerly in the direction of the monastery. Prayer-flags were festooned from house to house, and women sat by the roadside selling dried fruit and sweetmeats.
In the very shadow of the monster building, where the rocks fell away from its base, they dismounted. The serrated façade piled itself above them in a series of inward-sloping ledges, reaching a shuddersome height before it met the helium-like blaze of golden roofs. The soldiers remained with the horses, while Na-chung led Trent through a gate and a courtyard—the latter a veritable abyss between the main building and outer walls—and into a dark corridor that reeked with rancid odors.
Thus began a journey that carried them through dim chambers and black halls; through cloisters heavy with incense and faintly lighted rooms where lamas, sitting before prayer-wheels, murmured passages from Buddhist scriptures; through courts that were cool and sunk deep in the shadow of lofty walls; until, at length, they came out into bright sunlight.
At first the intense glare stung Trent's eyes, but gradually he became accustomed to it and saw that they had emerged on the other side of the lamasery and were upon a gallery overlooking a huge amphitheater. He hazarded a guess that it measured about half a mile around. An incline led down from the gallery, between rows of seats and stalls, and along this slanting aisle and into a box close to the immense center court Na-chung conducted him. There, seated on cushions beside the councillor, he had an opportunity fully to absorb the bewildering spectacle.
Tier after tier of stalls and terraced seats were packed against the retaining walls. Marquees of striped silk, flying maroon and flame-colored flags, had been erected around the edge of the arena. In the far end stood a gilded, silk-draped proscenium, and raised upon it, under a gold-fringed canopy, was a daïs. On either side of the platform, herded together and kept within their boundaries by guards armed with halberds, were hundreds of lamas—patches of cinnabar-red. At the left of the arena, starkly silhouetted upon the walls, was a line of stakes; their purpose puzzled Trent. Every available space, except the vast center-court and the proscenium, was crowded with richly dressed onlookers. There were Tibetan dukes and duchesses, the turquoise-studded aureoles of the latter gleaming like blue fire; soldiers and government dignitaries; high lamas wearing saffron vestments, and novices in red togas; pilgrims from Ladak, Nepal, Sikkhim, Bhutan, Kham and Mongolia; men and women garbed in silks and satins and decked with jewels. The many-hued robes and the colored banners and standards—gold, cerise, ocher, lavender-blue and neutral-tint predominating—were like vivid splashes on a giant palette.
The box where Trent and Na-chung sat was one of a row that was occupied by men in the orange-yellow robes and mushroom hats of the Higher Council. Many of these bronze-faced dignitaries were accompanied by women in maroon garments and silver coral-adorned aureoles. Inquisitive eyes were turned toward Trent and Na-chung, and the latter bowed and smiled.
"Yonder," explained the Tibetan, indicating a long carpet of imperial yellow that dazzled from a flight of stone steps at one side of the arena to the proscenium in the remote end, "is where His Holiness will walk. And that"—inclining his head toward a nearby stall where a prelate in claret-colored garments sat in the midst of shaven-pated satellites—"is the Great Magician. It is rumored that he and His Holiness have—er—had some misunderstanding."
Thus he gossiped while Trent, searching the ranks of the laity below for a familiar face and aware of something imminent and compelling in the subdued buzzing of many voices, listened only half attentively.
Without warning a trumpet gave voice to a blast. It seemed to inject a sudden thrill into the atmosphere. Trent felt his muscles grow tense, and involuntarily his eyes sought the broad stone stairway.
At the top yak-hair curtains parted for a moment and a group of heralds bearing long copper horns filed out. Came another blast, monstrously loud. A shout rose from the multitude; died. Trent heard a faint, minor chant—coming from behind the yak-hair curtains, he imagined. When this intoning ceased, trumpets blared again; the curtains at the stairhead parted.