he High Priest sensed the crowd's conviction, and sensed them turning against him. His beady eyes glanced around nervously. His lips a thin line, he called to his second ranking priest in a tense whisper, and, when the other came to him, muttered in his ear:
"'Tis the stranger, hiding in the secret chamber, who does this! He has overcome our brother there, and now controls the levers! And Taia knows it; and if she reveals it to the people our hold will be broken! She must be killed!"
"Yes! But how? We must be quick!"
Hrihor's crafty face set cruelly. "I know a way. Watch thou...."
He strode to the fore of the altar and flung his hands high. A shrill shout from his thin lips cut the uneasy murmuring short.
"Hearken! Aten will not torture His own priestess! He will not maim those who have sworn their lives to Him!"
The silent crowd waited for his next words. He screamed savagely.
"His High Priest must perform the rite! Aten has appointed me to be His instrument of vengeance!"
A gleam of unholy exultation was in his narrowed eyes. His face worked: he thrust a hand inside his ornate ceremonial vestment.
"By Divine Will," he cried, "this knife in my hand is the knife in the God's hand!"