And as they came there flashed into Croft's mind a recollection of the first ceremonial of the noontide hour of contemplation and prayer he had witnessed, not in Zitra, but in Himyra, the first day he had been on Palos.
In a way this was like it, save that then the vestals had sung and danced before the statue of Zitu himself—the statue of a man with a face divinely firm and strong, with purity and compassion written large in its every line. That figure had been portrayed as seated on a throne. And the rays of the noontide sun had shone through an aperture in the roof upon it, bathing it in pure light. With an inward gasp Croft began to understand—his own position, the nearness of the spot of sunlight before him, the position of the chair in which he sat. Zitu was the God of Tamarizia—and he was Zitu's Mouthpiece—and the sunlight was over his knees now. He felt its warmth.
"Behold the Mouthpiece of Zitu!" Zud's voice.
Croft sensed rather than saw the congregation rising—the vestals deployed to right and left in front of the dais, kneeling, holding their floral sprays toward him in extended hands. He became conscious that the spot of sunlight had moved again, was bathing him from head to foot now in its golden rays, was shimmering from a thousand facets of the jewels that etched the cross and the wings of Azil on his breast.
The Gayana burst into a triumphal song:
"Hail, Mouthpiece of the Omnipotent One,
Of Him from Whom nothing is hidden,
To Whom all things are known.
Hail, Mouthpiece of Zitu;
Hail, Dispenser of Knowledge;