“A blood-stained spirit of Ebris,” remarked a famous Astrologer.
“Hush!” exclaimed Yptaleen, “by all that is terrible!—by monkin and nakir! ’tis Tally-yang-sang, grand nazir of the harem!”
And Tally-yang-sang it was, whose woeful figure approached the pageant.
“Mirror of Piety!” cried the king, “what means this outlandish freak? Methinks it ill becomes thee to tramp about, bare-legged and bloody, after this fashion. Propriety of conduct, and delicacy, should distinguish a master of the harem; and I much regret that thou hast infringed, not only on these, but on the laws of decency.”
“Sure, mighty monarch of Gazaret,” replied Tally-yang-sang, wringing his hands and smiting his breast, “thy page deals with the devil; for, verily, he hath a lute of such bewitching tones, that, when the same be played, I could not help skipping and dancing among the bushes till my bones creaked—my head whirled, and I was flayed and excoriated within an inch of my life—as your highness may see.”
“Tally-yang-sang,” said the king gravely, “thy character is impeached—thou hast spoken of impossibilities; in fact, thou hast lied.”
“By all that is solemn, I have spoken the truth,” cried the grand nazir.
“And nothing but the truth?”
“As I live!” protested Tally-yang-sang.
“Then Yoo-ti-hu shall lose his head.”