How strange, pondered the sultan, that he should ride alone in the jungle, following a white blur that was the dirty _djellab_ of an old man who was so entirely at home in unsavory places; and how much stranger yet that he should step from his throne to seek aid from a darvish who lived in a cavern and pitied the futility of kings. Then the sultan thought of his vengeance, and wondered at the terrific words the Lord of the World would speak.... The darvish finally halted at the edge of a clearing. Before them loomed the incredible bulk of the outer walls of Atlânaat, walls that had for ages mocked the age-old trees that sought to reach their parapet. "To our left, _saidi_," announced the darvish. They skirted the wall until they came to a breach wide enough to admit four horsemen abreast. "Those who enter through the gate are seriously in error," commented Ismeddin, as he picked his way among the gigantic blocks of rose granite that still lay in the breach. "There is a sculptured hand on the keystone of the arch...." The moon had risen over the crests of the trees. Long shadows of columns shattered at mid-height marched across the broad, paved avenue that at the breach in the wall turned and led to the heart of the citadel. "My lord," began Ismeddin, as the sultan cleared the last block of granite and drew up at his side, "we have not yet committed ourselves to anything." "Conceivably," admitted the sultan, "the ride back to Angor-lana by moonlight would be pleasant. Yet Maksoud also would find it a pleasant ride. But tell me," continued Schamas ad Din, "what advantage there is in taking my vengeance here? It might be more odd and quaint than anything I might devise at home; but in the end, there would be the Resident----" "Ah, but would there?" smiled Ismeddin. "The Lord of the World dreams strange things. However, if you wish----" Ismeddin wheeled his horse about. "Not at all!" countered the sultan. "To the finish, then. And as for this god and his playmate?" "Even so, _saidi_." The darvish led the way down the broad avenue. The sultan glanced once at the sculptured columns, shuddered, and found a glance sufficient. Then he smiled: for Maksoud would find Atlânaat not a bit more savory. The avenue ended in a small court bounded by columns whose capitals were on friendly terms with a single sultry-growing star that glared evilly.... At the base of each pillar was an ornately chiseled pedestal. On eleven of these pedestals, forming a crescent, were life-sized images of bearded men, sitting cross-legged. The head of each was bowed as in sleep; and each held in his left hand a curiously carved scepter. The sultan started at the sound of hoofs clicking on the pavement behind them. "Maksoud and his escort." And then, as the hoof-beats ceased: "They fancy this place no more than you do, _saidi_." The sultan scrutinized the cross-legged, bearded images. "Strangely life-like," he observed.