"Follow me!" commanded Ismeddin, as he spurred his weary horse down the steep side of the valley.
They rode boldly now, making no attempt at concealment. The warder standing watch in the center of the ruined courtyard was taking an observation with his astrolabe, following the course of a star that flamed bloodily overhead. Then he set aside his instrument and smote a brazen gong whose golden sheen they could plainly see in the white moonlight. The solemn, vibrant note rolled dreadfully across the valley. The tall figure of doom once more turned his astrolabe on the star whose altitude he was reading.
Ismeddin leaned forward in the saddle, chirping and muttering to his exhausted beast.
"Allah, what a horseman!" gasped the Shareef as he saw the asil mare, true to her breeding, stretch out again at a full gallop.
They clattered up the broad avenue, clearing fragments of monstrous columns at a bound, Ismeddin shouting in a language unknown to the Shareef.
The warder started, and turned to face them.
"Hurry, saidi! The moment is almost here." And then: "The sign and the symbol!"
Ismeddin extended the silver image of the peacock, and in response to the warder's muttered formula, replied in that same obscure tongue.
The warder bowed, gestured toward the cavernous entrance to the vault, and turned to resume his observations....
The Shareef's blade flickered in the moonlight.