At this command, the men who held Theos relaxed their grasp, and he, breathless and burning with indignation at the treatment he had received, shook himself quickly free of all restraint, and sprang forward, confronting his rescuer.  There was a brief pause, during which the two surveyed each other with looks of mutual amazement.  What mysterious indication of affinity did they read in one another’s faces? ...  Why did they stand motionless, spell-bound and dumb for a while, eying half-admiringly, half-enviously, each other’s personal appearance and bearing? ...

Undoubtedly a curious, far-off resemblance existed between them,—­ yet it was a resemblance that had nothing whatever to do with the actual figure, mien, or countenance.  It was that peculiar and often undefinable similarity of expression, which when noticed between two brothers who are otherwise totally unlike, instantly proclaims their relationship.

Theos realized his own superior height and superior muscular development,—­but what were these physical advantages compared to the classic perfection of Sah-luma’s beauty?—­beauty combining the delicate with the vigorous, such as is shadowed forth in the artist-conceptions of the god Apollo.  His features, faultlessly regular, were redeemed from all effeminacy by the ennobling impress of high thought and inward inspiration,—­his eyes were dark, with a brilliant under-reflection of steel-gray in them, that at times flashed out like the soft glitter of summer-lightning in the dense purple of an August heaven,—­his olive-tinted complexion was flushed warmly with the glow of health,—­and he had broad, bold, intellectual brows over which the rich hair clustered in luxuriant waves,—­hair that was almost black, with here and there a curious fleck of reddish gold brightening its curling masses, as though a stray sunbeam or two had been caught and entangled therein.  He was arrayed in a costume of the finest silk,—­his armlets, belt, and daggersheath were all of jewels,—­ and the general brilliancy of his attire was furthermore increased by a finely worked flexible collar of gold, set with diamonds.  The first exchange of wondering glances over, he viewed Theos with a critical, half supercilious air.

“What art thou?” he demanded ...  “What is thy calling?”

“Theos hesitated,—­then spoke out boldly and unthinkingly—­

“I am a Poet!” he said.

A murmur of irrepressible laughter and derision ran through the listening crowd.  Sah-luma’s lip curled haughtily—­

“A Poet!” and his fingers played idly with the dagger at his belt —­“Nay, not so!  There is but one Poet in Al-Kyris, and I am he!”

Theos looked at him steadily,—­a subtle sympathy attracted him toward this charming boaster,—­involuntarily he smiled, and bent his head courteously.

“I do not seek to figure as your rival ...” he began.

“Rival!” echoed Sah-luma—­“I have no rivals!”