white, pointed cap, with long lapels at the sides, rested on his
flowing black hair. It was the dress of the ancient priesthood of the
Magi, called the fire-worshippers.

"Welcome!" he said, in his low, pleasant voice, as one after another
entered the room--"welcome, Abdus; peace be with you, Rhodaspes and
Tigranes, and with you my father, Abgarus. You are all welcome, and
this house grows bright with the joy of your presence."

There were nine of the men, differing widely in age, but alike in the
richness of their dress of many-colored silks, and in the massive
golden collars around their necks, marking them as Parthian nobles, and
in the winged circles of gold resting upon their breasts, the sign of
the followers of Zoroaster.

They took their places around a small black altar at the end of the
room, where a tiny flame was burning. Artaban, standing beside it, and
waving a barsom of thin tamarisk branches above the fire, fed it with
dry sticks of pine and fragrant oils. Then he began the ancient chant
of the Yasna, and the voices of his companions joined in the beautiful
hymn to Ahura-Mazda:

We worship the Spirit Divine,
all wisdom and goodness possessing,
Surrounded by Holy Immortals,
the givers of bounty and blessing,
We joy in the works of His hands,
His truth and His power confessing.

We praise all the things that are pure,