This was a different Sheng-ti from him who had eked out a squalid existence in the labyrinths of Angkor Vat. The elderly priest was clean, erect; eyes which had once veiled lurking mists of insanity now gleamed with shrewd reason.
"I am a man of peace, O my friends," he said. "Yea, even a priest of the very God of Peace. Yet much have I seen and learned in this strange world, much thought since my brain was swept clear of its fog by the lord Sugriva.
"And methinks the Way of Peace, which is the way of the lord Sugriva, now trembles under the blows of the Way of Darkness. Surely my Lord Buddha would advise that in a time like this a man must make a choice.
"So—mark ye! The Lord Ravana knows me not. I have been hid from his sight throughout the days of our stay here. My skin is yellow as that of the natives of these parts. Is there not some way in which I might gain entrance to Ravana's stronghold and there, perchance, regain the stolen weapon?"
Sugriva said slowly. "That might be possible. Yes ... it is possible...."
"Where is this Isle of Lanka?" demanded Ramey hotly.
"Not far from here. But a few hours' journey. It is a tiny island securely situated in the center of a great lake which lies to the south."
"Tonlé Sap!" cried Lake O'Brien with sudden comprehension. "That's the only great lake around these parts!" But Ramey was still pressing the ruler of Chitrakuta breathlessly.
"Your people are artists in many ways, my lord. Say, do they not also know the art of disguise? You have paints and pigments. Can you not darken my skin, make me seem like a wanderer from the Indies, and let me accompany Sheng-ti?"
Sugriva nodded. "Yes, it could be done, my son."