Loys. Straight from the wrist! Loose—it should poise itself!
Kha. [Waving with irrepressible exultation the sword.]
We are a nation, Loys, of old fame
Among the mountains! Rights have we to keep
With the sword too!
[Remembering himself.] But I forget—you bid me
Seek Djabal?
Loys. What! A sword's sight scares you not?
(The People I will make of him and them!
Oh let my Prefect-sway begin at once!)