“Have you ever journeyed to that Mountain?” asked Leo of him.

Simbri shook his head and answered evasively.

“The people of the Plain do not set foot upon the Mountain.  Among its slopes beyond the river which washes them, live hordes of brave and most savage men, with whom we are oftentimes at war; for when they are hungry they raid our cattle and our crops.  Moreover, there, when the Mountain labours, run red streams of molten rock, and now and again hot ashes fall that slay the traveller.”

“Do the ashes ever fall in your country?” asked Leo.

“They have been known to do so when the Spirit of the Mountain is angry, and that is why we fear her.”

“Who is this Spirit?” said Leo eagerly.

“I do not know, lord,” he answered with impatience.  “Can men see a spirit?”

“You look as though you might, and had, not so long ago,” replied Leo, fixing his gaze on the old man’s waxen face and uneasy eyes.  For now their horny calm was gone from the eyes of Simbri, which seemed as though they had beheld some sight that haunted him.

“You do me too much honour, lord,” he replied; “my skill and vision do not reach so far.  But see, here is the landing-stage, where boats await us, for the rest of our journey is by water.”

These boats proved to be roomy and comfortable, having flat bows and sterns, since, although sometimes a sail was hoisted, they were designed for towing, not to be rowed with oars.  Leo and I entered the largest of them, and to our joy were left alone except for the steersman.

Behind us was another boat, in which were attendants and slaves, and some men who looked like soldiers, for they carried bows and swords.  Now the ponies were taken from the palanquins, that were packed away, and ropes of green hide, fastened to iron rings in the prows of the boats, were fixed to the towing tackle with which the animals had been reharnessed.  Then we started, the ponies, two arranged tandem fashion to each punt, trotting along a well-made towing path that was furnished with wooden bridges wherever canals or tributary streams entered the main river.

“Thank Heaven,” said Leo, “we are together again at last!  Do you remember, Horace, that when we entered the land of Kor it was thus, in a boat?  The tale repeats itself.”

“I can quite believe it,” I answered.  “I can believe anything.  Leo, I say that we are but gnats meshed in a web, and yonder Khania is the spider and Simbri the Shaman guards the net.  But tell me all you remember of what has happened to you, and be quick, for I do not know how long they may leave us alone.”

“Well,” he said, “of course I remember our arrival at that Gate after the lady and the old man had pulled us out of the river, and, Horace, talking of spiders reminds me of hanging at the end of that string of yak’s hide.  Not that I need much reminding, for I am not likely to forget it.  Do you know I cut the rope because I felt that I was going mad, and wished to die sane.  What happened to you?  Did you slip?”