Then a faint humming was heard, which in a few moments became a steady throbbing as of a slowly beaten drum: and tall, slender threads of violet flame rose from the openings in the floor.
At Zantut's signal, the torches were extinguished.
"They are here, Master," whispered the adept at the right of the altar.
Zantut turned to face the entrance of the hall.
The acolytes were bringing in the veiled Azizah, and Rankin, securely bound.
"Lay them on the altar," commanded Zantut.
The deep resonance of a brazen gong rang down the succession of winding stairways, and rolled and thundered in the vaulted holy of holies.
"The hour is at hand," proclaimed Zantut solemnly. And then, to those who had carried Azizah and Rankin into the sanctuary: "The brethren from Azerbaijan are late. Did you see any signs of them?"
"Yes, saidi. And Ibrahaim up there is watching the star of our Lord very closely so as to withhold the final signal until the very last moment. He will strike two warning taps. And then the third, to let you know that the moment has arrived. But they heard the first stroke, and are riding hard to get here in time."
"Very good," acknowledged Zantut, as he stripped from Azizah the silken gauze that enfolded her. "This time our Lord will not be bothered with bungling swordsmen.... Unbeliever, would it not have been better to have stayed in Feringhistan where you belong?"