Then the horsemen closed about the two Maghrabi, or East Africans, and about their victim.  Abd el Rahman, the Great Apostate, as a living man, had forever passed from the sight of the Flying Legion.

His departure, in so abrupt and deadly simple a manner, gave the Master some highly conflicting thoughts.  The fact that no blood was ever to be shed in this city had reassuring aspects.  On the other hand, how many of these Maghrabi stranglers did Bara Miyan keep as a standing army?  A Praetorian guard of men with gorilla-hands like the two already seen might, in a close corner, prove more formidable than men armed with the archaic firearms of the place or with cold steel.

A sensation of considerable uneasiness crept over the Master as he pondered the huge strength and docility of these two executioners.  It was only by reflecting that the renegade Sheik would gladly have murdered the whole Legion, and that now (by a kind of poetic justice) he had been delivered back into the hands of the Sunnites he had so long defied and outraged, that the Master could smooth his conscience for having done this thing.

The direct, efficient way, however, in which Bara Miyan dealt with one held as an enemy, urged the Master to press forward the ceremony of giving and taking salt.

At all hazards, safeguards against attack must be taken.  Once more the Master addressed Bara Miyan: 

“Effendi!  Our gifts are great to thee and thine.  Great, also, is our magic.  Let thine imams do their magic, and we ours.  If the magic of El Barr exceeds ours, we will depart without exchange of gifts.  If ours exceeds thine, then let the salt be in our stomachs, all for all, and let the gifts be exchanged!

“Thy magic against our magic!  Say, O Sheik, dost thou dare accept that challenge?”

The old man’s head came up sharply.  His eyes gleamed with intense pride and confidence.

“The magic of the unbelievers against that of the People of the Garment!” (Moslems!) cried he. “Bismillah!  To the testing of the magic!”

CHAPTER XXXIX

ON, TO THE GOLDEN CITY!

The Spartan simplicity of the proceedings impressed the Master far more than any Oriental ceremony could have done.  Here was the Olema, or high priest and chief, of a huge city carved of virgin gold, coming to meet him on horseback and speaking to him face to face, like a man.

It was archaic, patriarchal, dramatic in the extreme.  No incensed courts, massed audiences, tapestried walls, trumpeting heralds, genuflexions, could have conveyed half the sense of free, virile power that this old Bara Miyan gave as he stood there on the close turf, under the ardent sun, and with a wave of his slim hand gave the order: 

“The magic!  To the testing of the magic!”

Thoroughly well pleased with progress thus far, the Master turned back to give final instructions to his men and to examine the apparatus.  This was in perfect condition, all grouped with controls centered in one switchboard and focussing-apparatus so that Brodeur, in charge, could instantly execute any command.