The four footed:  The call to humility, sacrifice and devotion, whom ye shall hold in reverence even as you hold me, the Jarados.

And on the last day of all—­I, the Jarados!

Beware ye of sacrilege!  Lest I take from ye all that I have given ye, and the day be postponed—­beware ye of sacrilege!

And if the false ones cometh not, ye shall know that I have held them.  Know ye the day!

Sixteen days from the day of the prophet, shall come the day of the judgment; and the way shall be opened, on the last day, the sixteenth day of the Jarados.

Hearken to the words of the Jarados, the prophet and mouthpiece of the infinite intelligence, ruler of justice, peace, and love!  So be it forever!

Chick read it a second time.  Like all prophecies, it was somewhat Delphic; but he could get the general drift.  In that golden script he was looking into the heart of all Thomahlia—­into its greatness, its culture, its civilisation itself.  It was the soul of the Blind Spot, the reason and the wherefore of all about him.

He heard someone step up behind him, and he turned.  It was the Senestro, going over the words of the prophecy.

“Can you read it, Sir Phantom?” asked the handsome Bar.  His black eyes were twinkling with delight.  “Have you read it all?”

He put a hand on Chick’s shoulder.  It was a careless act, almost friendly.  Either he had the heart of a devil or the chivalry of a paladin.  He pointed to a line: 

“‘The false ones.  Them ye shall slay.’”

“And if I were the false one, you would slay me?” asked Watson.

“Aye, truly!” answered the splendid prince.  “You are well made and good to look upon.  I shall hold you in my arms; I shall hear your bones crack; it shall be sweeter music than that of the temple pheasants, who never sing but for the Jarados.  I shall slay you upon the Spot, Sir Phantom!”

Watson turned on his heel.  The ethics of the Senestro were not of his own code.  He was not afraid; he stood beside the Jan Lucar and gazed out into the body of the temple.  As far as he could see, under and past the fourteen great pillars and right up to the far wall, the floor was a vast carpet of humanity.

It was become dark.  Presently a new kind of light began to glow far overhead, gradually increasing in strength until the whole place was suffused with a sun-like illumination.  The Rhamda Geos began to speak.

“In the last day, in the Day of Life.  We have the substance of ourselves, and the words of the prophet.  The Jarados has written his prophecy in letters of gold, for all to see.  ’The false ones.  Them ye shall slay.’  It is the will of the Rhamdas that the great Bar Senestro shall try the proof of the occult.  On this, the first of the Sixteen Days, the test shall be—­on the Spot of Life!”

He turned away.  The Bar Senestro stripped off his jewels, his semi-armour, and stood clad in the manner of Watson.  They advanced and met in the centre of the dais, two athletes, lithe, strong, handsome, their muscles aquiver with vitality and their skins silken with health.  Champions of two worlds, to wrestle for truth!