A horde of menials swept the roadway in advance of the royal party; youths in snowy garments sprinkled it with scented water and strewed the petals of orchids and other rare flowers over the way the ruler must pass. The golden litter in which the king rode was not the one used by his father, for, according to custom, upon the death of an Inca, all those things connected intimately with his use accompanied his remains to their final resting-place or were destroyed. Quizquiz had a more massive one, encrusted with emeralds, which were ingeniously mounted in the pale, pure gold, so as to form figures of the sun rising above the mountain tops, of llamas and of condors. And while fifty of his subjects of the highest rank trudged along under the oppressive weight of the litter and its occupant, Quizquiz, reclining on soft cushions, amused himself by striking at them with a long-lashed whip. The carriers seemed not to resent this abuse; they deemed it an honor thus to serve their sovereign, knowing all the while that to trip or fall while bearing the sacred burden would constitute a crime punishable by death. Very obviously the Inca had carefully planned to impress the visitors with his power and magnificence. When the throng reached the helpless airplane and its equally helpless occupants, it formed a circle around them, leaving a space in the centre not over a hundred feet across. The golden litter was carried much nearer, so that the monarch could have a clear view of what was in front of him. Ted and Stanley, their faces well concealed by their helmets, goggles, and upturned collars, returned the insolent stare of Quizquiz, and at the same time took in the colorful display of his trappings. On his head he wore the scarlet fringe, or _borla_, that fell down to his eyes, with two slender, glittering feathers standing up in front; that was his crown. His mantle, falling loosely about his rather well-knit body, was a mass of shimmering folds of rich brocade, gold and silver threads woven upon a white ground. His arms, which were exposed to view, were bedecked with bracelets; rings covered his fingers. “I am Quizquiz, Child of the Sun, most illustrious of all the Incas that have honored the earth with their presence,” he announced haughtily, toying with his whip as he spoke. “My authority is unquestioned and unlimited. My subjects do my bidding. At a word from me they die, if it suits my pleasure. Indeed, I am called the Tiger.” “None disputes the glory or the power of the great king,” Stanley replied promptly. “Then make known your mission. The valley is sacred ground. Intruders are not welcome, as two men from the outer world learned during the reign of Huayna Capac, my father.” At the latter words the two Americans detected a shade of hatred in the speaker’s voice, while his eyes flashed fire. “We desire food, shelter, and rest until it suits our convenience to return to the sky whence we came. That is a small request to make of a king.”