"The holy place has not been defiled," he announced. "The dust of the weary centuries has not been disturbed. The Master sits dreaming of the Night of Power; and his sleep has not been broken."
Then, raising his head and lifting up his arms, Zantut gazed full at the Presence.
"Hail, Iblis, Lord of the Outer Darkness, Malik Taûs, Prince of the Painted Fan!" he saluted, and bowed his head once more to the paving.
"Servants of Iblis," he announced, "you may lift up your eyes and gaze at your Prince."
They contemplated their Prince, stared in wonder at the onyx blackness of his lean, aquiline features: the predatory nose and hard mouth of one whose iron soul has experienced everything save submission. But the eyes were sightless and blank.
"He breathes," murmured an adept.
"That is but the final trace of life the conqueror could not quite extinguish," explained Zantut. "And it is that trace which we must fan into full flame tonight. At each former meeting, Abdemon has failed; and this is his last chance. And we know best what this last chance is worth!
"Talaat! Saoud! Ismail! Go up and get the girl, and Abdemon also. And tell Ibrahaim that when the comrades from Azerbaijan arrive, they are to descend at once. The hour is close at hand."
"Harkening and obedience, saidi," replied Talaat, bowing first to the Dark Presence on the throne, and then to Zantut.
From the dim shadows of the hall, Zantut and the two remaining adepts dragged forth a great block of chiseled porphyry, which they slid readily enough across the polished tiles to a position exactly in front of the throne. Zantut then plucked from five of the tiles the pentagonal silver plates with which they were inlaid, uncovering orifices that led to unplumbed depths beneath that subterranean hall. An adept, standing by, presented with ceremonious gestures a small glazed flask which Zantut with gestures equally formal accepted. As he unstoppered the flask, acrid, resinous, violet-colored fumes rose from its mouth. The adepts knelt as Zantut paced about the ominous block of porphyry, pausing at each of the five holes in the floor to pour into the depths a portion of the fuming contents of the flask.