Amber was watching the serpent—dazed and weary as if with a great need of sleep. Even the salvos of shouts came to him as from a great distance. To the clangour of the Bell alone he had become abnormally sensitive; every fibre of his being shuddered, responsive to its weird nuances.
It returned to its solemn and stately intoning.
"Out of ye all have I chosen and fixed upon one who shall lead ye. Through him shall my strength be made manifest, my Will be made known to my peoples. Him must ye serve and obey; to him must ye bow down and be humble. Say, are ye pleased? Will ye have him, my Children?"
Without an instant's delay a cry of ratification rang to the roof. "Yea, O our Mother! Him we will serve and obey, to him bow down and be humble."
The Voice addressed itself directly to the kneeling man. He stiffened and roused.
"Thou hast heard of the honour we confer upon thee—I Medhyama, thy Mother, and these my children, thy brothers. Ye shall lead and shall rule in Bharuta. Are ye ready?"
Half hypnotised, Amber opened his mouth, but no words came. His chin dropped to his breast.
"Thy strength must be known to my peoples; they must see thee put to the proof of thy courage, that they may know thee to be the man for their leader…. Ye are ready?"
He was unable to move a finger.
"Stretch out thine arms!"