Adventure stories; China -- Fiction; Science fiction; Tibet Autonomous Region (China) -- Fiction
We filtered through a cloister of marble pillars into an inner hall,
larger than the first and dimmer. Each man now dropped to his knees,
whereupon we, at a sign from Kalliboas, did likewise; and as everybody
remained kneeling, I was able by leaning to one side to see across the
hall where two thrones, both occupied, faced us. There advanced from
one side an immensely tall figure, whom I shall call the high priest,
though as I have already noted in the case of Kalliboas the term
priest is really a misnomer. The seated forms rose and knelt before
the thrones, still facing us. I caught the gleam of something bright
against one of the dark heads. It was a circlet of gold. The man who
wore it raised both hands and removed this from his head, handing it
to the high priest, who straightway laid it on the brow of the other.
There could be no doubt what we were looking at. It was a ceremony of
abdication.
At this point the scene became wrapped in a curious mistiness, to which
for some moments I couldn't assign a cause. Then I saw it was a very
fine gauze curtain that had swung silently across the building between
us and the two thrones. I was so engrossed in this that I didn't notice
what was happening behind, but when I looked again, one of the figures
had vanished, leaving the throne empty. The high priest now withdrew to
the side of the hall, whence he returned leading by the hand a woman,
tall and queenly, as could be seen even at that distance and in that
twilight, who mounted the vacant throne. The pair stood together, then
knelt, when once again I saw the gleaming circlet of gold removed and
proffered to the high priest, who laid it on the brow of the woman.
Then came across the dead silence a mutter of words solemnly intoned,
which continued for some minutes, after which the kneeling pair resumed
their thrones.
Of that much I have written confidently, but of what followed I cannot
be so sure, though I have striven my hardest to extract a coherent
picture of it from my jumbled recollection. Somewhere in the great hall
arose an elusive, solemn music, like instruments played with muted
strings. Then not only did the scene before us grow clearer by reason
of the lifting of the gauze curtain, but in some mysterious way the
whole place was suffused with brighter light. For perhaps ten seconds
those two magnificent figures were clearly visible to our eyes. I
remained staring, fascinated, until I realised that all the rest of the
assembly had laid their foreheads on the cold marble floor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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