Three stepped forward, each grasping one of the members named by Zantut.
"Ready?" demanded Zantut.
"Ready, master," they replied.
"Now!" exclaimed the master.
And as each adept twisted the member he grasped, the copper image, pedestal and all, swung noiselessly aside.
"Follow me!" directed Zantut.
The dark-robed devotees of Iblis, torch in hand, filed after the master, stepping in unison down the smooth, black stairs.
"The Sura of the Darkness!" commanded Zantut. "One.... Two.... Three!"
In deep, resonant tones they chanted as they advanced into the abysmal blacknesses of the vault, swaying their torches in cadence:
"Lord of many brazen hells,