"Ye shall show me your swords for a token…. Swords of the North, are ye ready?"
"We are ready, old Mother!"
With a singing shiver of steel, all around the walls, in knots and clusters, naked blades leaped up, flashing.
"Swords of the East, are ye loyal?"
"Aye, old Mother!"
And the tally of swords was doubled.
"Swords of the South, are ye thirsty?"
A third time the crashing response shattered the echoes.
"Swords of the West, do ye love me?"
With the fourth ringing shout and showing of steel, a silence fell. The walls were veritably hedged with quivering blades, all a-gleam in the ghastly glare of green. Over the sculptured faces of the great idols flickering shadows played, so that they seemed to move and grimace, as if with approbation.