“Who are you?” demanded the priest.
“I am Jai Singh, of the land below the hills,” was the haughty reply. “I am of high caste, and I am prepared to do battle with the Golden Scarab. I care not that the touch of his horns is death. I have death in my spear, and I will send it to the heart of this creature just as sure as we meet in combat.”
Calaman, who had turned pale at seeing this man whom he had thought a prisoner appear suddenly in the amphitheater, armed with his spear, and hurling his defiance back in his teeth, frowned and shook his head.
“The challenge is not for you,” he blurted out, at last.
“Why not?” demanded Jai Singh.
“Only men of my own race, or those who are white, can be permitted to face the Golden Scarab in honorable combat.”
“Listen to the old bluff!” whispered Patsy Garvan to Nick Carter. “‘Honorable combat,’ he says. Gee!”
“The challenge was to all comers,” insisted Jai Singh.
“It did not mean such as you,” was Calaman’s contemptuous retort.
Jai Singh stood in front of the priest, his spear ready for action, but with an expression of chagrin on his dark face that he could not hide.