“I can kill the snake—”
The thing in the chest stirred its coils uneasily.
“Be silent!” commanded the fat priest. “Would you slay little N’Yang?”
I shuddered. A great bat came in through the rift that let in the moon-glow. In the trees over the temple a gibbon wailed in his sleep like a sick child—“Hoop-oi-oi-oi”!
Wat Na Yang extended his arm before him in a gesture of dismissal.
“Go!” he commanded. Then he placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.
Nagy N’Yang stood up, bowed her head and went down the path the moonbeams made, went into the shadow near the door, and out.
The fat priest sat down on the chest beside me. The mottled terror in the chest was still again.
“She was wed,” the priest began, “but on her wedding-day we claimed her. Her husband cannot claim her. But if some one unwittingly kills the great python, she will be free. It must be some one not a friend of the husband. No one will kill the python here. She is temple-bound for life—”
The bulk inside thrilled to life again. I heard the scales rustling as the great coils rose and fell.