Trent moved into the scarlet audience-chamber, followed by his Transparency the Governor of Shingtse-lunpo and his mailed bodyguard.
3
To Trent there was grim irony in that ride to Lhakang-gompa. Hsien Sgam's vermilion-lacquered sedan-chair swayed along at his side, and in front and rear was a file of leather-helmeted men. In a courtyard of the great building (they rode up a stone causeway to reach it) the Mongol left his sedan-chair and Trent dismounted. One of the soldiers took the lead, Trent walking next, with Hsien Sgam and the other guards in the rear—a formation whose strategic points the Englishman did not fail to perceive.
With their entrance into the lower halls of Lhakang-gompa the usual smell of incense and putridity, a combination of odors peculiarly Tibetan, assaulted their nostrils and clung as they climbed staircase after staircase; as they plunged along lamp-lit corridors where lamas moved like wraiths in the dimness; crossed courts and roofs, glimpsing the stars and the white flame of a rising moon; and even when they reached a heavily-carpeted, crimson-walled apartment that Hsien Sgam informed Trent was the first ante-chamber of Sâkya-mûni's audience hall. A large room, this, and occupied by several lamas who sat at pearl-inlaid tables—chamberlains of the Yellow Pontiff. To one of these cardinals Hsien Sgam spoke, and the former parted lacquered sliding-doors and disappeared.
"I am told that His Holiness has been indisposed to-day," Hsien Sgam explained to Trent, "and has refused to see anyone, even his attendant cardinals. However, the Donyer-chenpo has gone to see if he will grant us an audience."
Trent showed little interest as they waited—but the pulse in his throat was throbbing hotly. He watched with expressionless eyes the lacquered doors from behind which the Donyer-chenpo, or chamberlain, would reappear. And at length the cardinal came. The doors parted and he stepped out, motioning to Hsien Sgam. The latter moved forward and held a short conversation with the prelate, then nodded to Trent, who, with the soldiers at his heels, joined them.
"His Holiness has consented to see us"—this briefly from the Mongol.
Beyond the lacquered doors was a stairway that took them into a chamber similar to the one they had left. Two lamas were the only occupants, one on either side of a great door covered with cerise and gold brocade and ornamented with knobs of gold filagree. Here they exchanged their shoes for soft black slippers, and here they left the soldiers.
The Donyer-chenpo pushed back the great door. They entered. Trent was confused by darkness; then came a swishing sound, and a thin line of light broadened into a triangle as draperies were pulled aside.
The first impression, due to the vastness of the audience hall and the dim glow of the butter-lamps, was one of space and gloom and mystery. A double line of pillars strove toward a chain-spanned impluvium through which stars were visible, and along the walls were idols and holy vessels-brazen bowls and cymbals and incense-burners. Toward the rear, at the end of the avenue of columns, was a raised portion of the floor, covered with yellow silks. There, beneath a canopy and seated upon a throne whose arms were carved lions, attended by the Kuchar Khanpo and the Solen-chenpo—state officials—was his Holiness, Sâkya-mûni, the Grand Lama of Tibet. He wore the yellow mitre, yellow veil and yellow vestments that Trent had seen at the Festival of the Gods, and his slim hands rested motionless, as though wrought of bronze, upon the carved lions of the throne.