"
"Yes, rogue, you have made it impossible by causing her to be
consecrated Baaltis, and thus building a barrier which even I shall find
too hard to climb. It is scarcely to be hoped that now she will choose
me of her own will, and to offer violence to the Baaltis is a sacrilege
from which any man--yes, even a king--may shrink, for such deeds draw
the curse of Heaven. Know that for this service I am minded to settle
my account with you in a fashion of which you have not thought. Have
you heard, Phoenician, that the chiefs of certain of my tribes love to
decorate their spear-shafts with the hide of white men, and to bray
their flesh into a medicine which gives courage to its eater?"
With this pleasing and suggestive query Ithobal paused, and looked
towards the door of the tent as though he were about to call his guard.
Now Metem's blood ran cold, for he knew that this royal savage was not
one who uttered idle threats. Yet the coolness and cunning which had so
often served him well did not fail him in his need.
"I have heard that your people have strange customs," he answered with
a laugh, "but I think that even a spear-shaft would scarcely gain beauty
from my wrinkled hide, and if anything, the eating of my flesh would
make tradesmen and not warriors of your chiefs. Well, let the jest pass,
and listen. King, in all my schemings one thought never crossed my mind,
namely, that you were a man to suffer scruples to stand between you and
the woman you would win.
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