As I watched all this, Zobo passed me, coming from the royal apartments. His face wore a look of such pure and noble resolve and such exalted happiness, that I lowered my eyes before the light in his, with a feeling near to envy, savage and worshipper of idols though he was.
A few moments later and a roar from the mob without bade me look quickly forth. The Queen in all the magnificence of her public presence had taken her place, and the people, from mingled awe, or the force of habit, had given the royal salute.
Even at the distance at which I sat, I thought I could see, through my loophole, the frown on Agno’s lowering face; but again a tumult of cheers and cries drew my wandering gaze.
The Head Man of Edba’s Temple had stepped into the cleared circle. My spirits raised by my ancient enemy’s discomfiture, sank like lead, at the sight of this giant figure. He stood motionless, stolidly waiting for the tumult of welcoming cheers to cease, till at last, at a signal from Agno, silence fell.
Thus it was in the midst of an ominous calm that Zobo, the Queen’s Champion, took his place. They stood together for a moment, by an evil design of the High Priest, I doubt not; for it was all too plain that the Head Man’s enormous bulk dwarfed even the burly form of the Captain of the Royal Guard. But in that moment I remembered the look that I had surprised on the face of the friend of Lah, and remembering, hoped on.
Then as I gazed thus, the High Priest’s staff clanged once upon the stone beneath his feet, and the two men fell back. They stood eying each other warily, like two great dogs set on to fight. This was to be no common wrestling, for no common stake, and at the latter end it was the victor alone who should leave the field.
I looked at the Queen. She was gently smiling, but I saw her hand tighten on the arm of her throne. At the same moment a savage, exultant roar broke from the waiting throng. The two men had clenched. I saw the glistening limbs of the Head Man wound, snake-like, about the body of his enemy, and, snake-like, slip from the iron grip of the Queen’s Champion. Now one had the vantage, now the other.
It was so still that I could hear the hoarse breathing of the wrestlers. Then I laughed aloud, for Zobo’s mighty arms were about the trunk of his foe, and I thought the giant’s ribs would crack beneath the strain. But the next instant the Head Man was free again, and with a dexterous twist was interlocked once more with his enemy. I knew the trick of that fall and my heart sank. Zobo staggered, and was down.
A mighty shout rose from the priestly ranks, and I saw the Queen lean forward and fix her eyes on the agonized face of her gallant Captain. The giant was grinding the life out of his fallen foe. I turned away, sick with the horror of it, but a terrible fascination drew me back. Zobo was looking straight into the eyes of the woman he loved, and as he did so, that strange, glad, pure light in his, shone forth, undimmed, once more.
With a superhuman effort he raised himself on his arm. The next, he was on his feet once more, his hands at the Head Man’s throat. I saw the giant beat the air for an instant with a wild and futile motion. Then the voice of the High Priest rose shrill in the awful quiet, bidding the wrestlers cease. But too late. For even as his words rang out, the massive form of Zobo’s foe relaxed, hung limp for a moment, then struck the ground with a dull, lifeless thud.