But though Apollonius was an unflinching task-master unto himself, he did not wish to impose his mode of life on others, even on his personal friends and companions (provided of course they did not adopt it of their own free will). Thus he tells Damis that he has no wish to prohibit him from eating flesh and drinking wine, he simply demands the right of refraining himself and of defending his conduct if called on to do so (ii. 7). This is an additional indication that Damis was not a member of the inner circle of discipline, and the latter fact explains why so faithful a follower of the person of Apollonius was nevertheless so much in the dark. Not only so, but Apollonius even dissuades the Rājāh Phraotes, his first host in India, who desired to adopt his strict rule, from doing so, on the ground that it would estrange him too much from his subjects (ii. 37). Three times a day Apollonius prayed and meditated; at daybreak (vi. 10, 18; vii. 31), at mid-day (vii. 10), and at sun-down (viii. 13). This seems to have been his invariable custom; no matter where he was he seems to have devoted at least a few moments to silent meditation at these times. The object of his worship is always said to have been the “Sun,” that is to say the Lord of our world and its sister worlds, whose glorious symbol is the orb of day. We have already seen in the short sketch devoted to his “Early Life” how he divided the day and portioned out his time among his different classes of hearers and inquirers. His style of teaching and speaking was the opposite of that of a rhetorician or professional orator. There was no art in his sentences, no striving after effect, no affectation. But he spoke “as from a tripod,” with such words as “I know,” “Methinks,” “Why do ye,” “Ye should know.” His sentences were short and compact, and his words carried conviction with them and fitted the facts. His task, he declared, was no longer to seek and to question as he had done in his youth, but to teach what he knew (i. 17). He did not use the dialectic of the Socratic school, but would have his hearers turn from all else and give ear to the inner voice of philosophy alone (iv. 2). He drew his illustrations from any chance occurrence or homely happening (iv. 3; vi. 3, 38), and pressed all into service for the improvement of his listeners. When put on his trial, he would make no preparation for his defence. He had lived his life as it came from day to day, prepared for death, and would continue to do so (viii. 30). Moreover it was now his deliberate choice to challenge death in the cause of philosophy. And so to his old friend’s repeated solicitations to prepare his defence, he replied: