“Then,” said he, again turning to the king, “we find that the conduct of the Princess Ilalah merits punishment, and the punishment is death!”
He drew the bowstring to his chin.
The king smiled triumphantly and cast a look around the assemblage. Not a man or woman returned his smile. They stood steadfast as rocks, and only the little arrow-maker gave way to his grief by bowing his head in his hands and sobbing most pitifully.
“We also find,” continued the grave chieftain, breaking the painful pause, “that the law forbids any Techla to lift a hand against one of the royal blood; and especially is that person immune who is next in succession to the throne.”
This statement caused a thrill that could not be repressed to pass through the crowd. The natives looked on one another curiously, but satisfaction lurked in their dark eyes.
I began to like these people. In themselves they were not especially disposed to evil, but their fiendish king had dictated their thoughts and actions for so long that they were virtually the slaves of his whims.
“Therefore,” said the chief, speaking in a firm voice, “who will execute our decree of death upon the royal princess?”
“I will!” cried Nalig-Nad, springing to his feet. “The king is bound by no law save his own will. The girl is condemned to death, and die she shall!”