He sat now, his chin in his hand, and he regarded us, I saw, with the same dark disfavor.
Surrounding him were men with shaven crowns and wearing woven garments like to those of the dead priest Sagamoso, and without this circle stood another line of men, but these were clothed in white like the six who had received us at the entrance of our prison house.
Beyond these again were massed warriors, naked save for their leopard-skin girdles, their shields and swords. The outer ring was composed of a curious throng of every age and condition, with women closely veiled, and even children.
Near the silver screen, on each side of the hall, sat, cross-legged, six negroes, natives of a tribe I had never seen. These were richly dressed, and before each was a drum ornamented with gold, and these they beat constantly with long spoon-shaped pieces of wood.
Behind them stood still other negroes thrumming on rude harps; the whole producing a strange, not unmusical sound, very soul-stirring in effect on him who listened. Suddenly there came from behind the silver screen the clash of cymbals. The people bent to the earth, and even the white beard of the haughty High Priest swept the ground. The warriors clashed their shields together; a cry of reverence and of welcome broke from the waiting throng; the silver screen parted. It slipped noiselessly back into the wall on either side.
Lestrade drew a quick breath, and at the same instant my eyes rested on the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. For a little her loveliness held me fixed as though some spell had been wrought upon my vision. It was not until her voice, full and musical, broke the tense silence, that I turned my eyes away to see what setting held so fair a jewel.
And truly it was worthy. For the throne was of pure gold, and the back a peacock’s tail, so encrusted with gems as to quite hide the precious yellow metal, and the seat supported by four elephants’ tusks banded at the top by a row of egg-shaped emeralds. Behind the throne crouched a circle of mute veiled women before negro fan-bearers, erect and naked save for turban and loin cloth of golden tissue. Surrounding with drawn swords their royal mistress stood the guard of the household, each a perfect specimen of manhood and each plainly but richly dressed.
Lah, the Queen, was arrayed in some Eastern fabric, not silver and not silk, but partaking of the nature of each, and bound about the waist by the girdle that I had seen in the hands of him who had committed us to the safe keeping of the temple.
This garment was held in its place over the bare shoulder, by a clasp whereof the diamonds were as big as hazel nuts. A fillet shaped like a serpent encircled the Queen’s head and kept back from her face the long, braided locks of blue-black hair that hung, heavy also with jewels, to her knees. She alone of all the women present was unveiled. I drank in the glory of her unfathomable eyes darker than midnight. I saw the scarlet of her lips, the warm olive of her skin, the graceful lines of her strong, supple, beautiful body.
But I have little skill in such portraying. To Lestrade that task. Enough that Lah, Queen of the people of the Walled City, was not only fair above the need of woman,—the Lord knoweth the ruin that hath followed the working of the tenth part of such charm,—but she held also a subtle something in the serene cruelty of her gaze, a something in the calm command that curved her lips, to drive men mad, to fill the heart with a love that was half hatred, and a hate that could not do its worst because of the love that stayed its ordering.