grind it into grit and dust, I shall still be Empress. What force
can you crazy priests bring against me that I cannot throw back and
destroy?"

"We have a weapon that was forged in no mortal smithy,"
shrilled the old man, "whereof the key is now lodged in the Ark of
the Mysteries. But that weapon can be used only as a last
resource. The nature of it even is too awful to be told in words.
Our other powers will be launched against you first, and for this
poor country's sake I pray that they may cause you to wince. Yet
rest assured, Phorenice, that we shall not step aside once we have
put a hand to this matter. We shall carry it through, even though
the cost be a universal burning and destruction. For know this,
daughter of the swineherd, it is agreed amongst the most High Gods
that you are too full of sin to continue unchecked."

"Speak him fairly," Ylga urged from behind. "He has a power
at which you cannot even guess."

The Empress made to rise, but Ylga clung to her skirt. "For
the sake of your fame," she urged, "for the sake of your life, do
not defy him." But Phorenice struck her fiercely aside, and faced
the old man in a tumult of passion. "You dare call me a
blasphemer, who blaspheme yourself? You dare cast slurs upon my
birth, who am come direct from the most high Heaven? Old man, your
craziness protects you in part, but not in all. You shall be
whipped. Do you hear me? I say, whipped. The lean flesh shall be
scourged from your scraggy bones, and you shall totter away from
this place as a red and bleeding example for those who would dare
traduce their Empress. Here, some of you, I say, take that man,