“O, Bara Miyan, and people of Jannati Shahr, behold!”

An hour from that time, the Master and seventeen of the Legionaries were on their way to the City of Gold.

The stupefaction of the Arabs, their prostrations, cries, prayers would delay us far too long, in the telling.  But the Oath of the Salt had held; and now reward seemed very near.

There could be no doubt, the Master reflected as he and his men galloped on the horses that had been assigned to them, with the white-robed and now silent horde, that the reward—­in the form of exchange gifts—­would be practically anything the Legionaries might ask and be able to carry away.

Treachery was now not greatly to be feared.  Even had the salt not held, fear of the explosive would restrain any hostile move.  One stick of the new compound, exploded at a safe distance by wireless spark, had utterly demolished the stone which had been brought from the watercourse.

The plain statement given Bara Miyan that the Myzab and the Black Stone must be left on the grass until the Feringi had again flown away toward their own country, had duly impressed the Arabs.  They had seen two sticks of the explosive laid on the holy objects, and well had understood that any treachery would result in the annihilation of the most sacred objects of their faith.

The Master felt, as well he might, that he absolutely held the whip hand of the Jannati Shahr people.  Elation shone in his face and in the faces of all.  The problem now had simplified itself to just this:  What weight of jewels and of gold could Nissr, by jettisoning every dispensable thing, whatsoever, carry out of El Barr, over the Iron Mountains and the Arabian Desert, back to the civilization that would surely make peace with the Legion which would bring such incalculable wealth?

Even the Master’s level head swam a little, and his cool nerves tingled, as he sat on his galloping white horse, riding beside the Olema, with the thunder of the rushing squadrons—­Arabs and his own men—­like music of vast power in his ears.

He did not, however, lose the coldly analytic faculty that weighed all contingencies.  The adventure still was critical; but the scales of success seemed lowering in favor of the Legion.  The feel, in his breast pocket, of the leather sack containing Kaukab el Durri, which he had again taken possession of after the magic tests, gave added encouragement.  This, the third gift, was to be delivered only at the last moment, just before Nissr should roar aloft.

“I think,” reflected the Master, “the Pearl Star is an important factor.  It certainly will put the final seal of success on this extraordinary bargain.”

While his thoughts were busy with the pros and cons of the soul-shaking adventure now coming to its climax, his eyes were busy with the city wall and towers every moment closer, closer still.

The Master’s knowledge of geology gave him the key to the otherwise inexplicable character of Jannati Shahr.  This gold, in incredible masses, had not been mined and brought hither to be fashioned into a great city.