and let him be whipped where he stands."

Her cry went out clearly enough. But not a soul amongst those
glittering feasters stirred in his place. Not a soldier amongst
the guards stepped from his rank. The place was hung in a terrible
silence. It seemed as though no one within the hall dared so much
as to draw a breath. All felt that the very air was big with fate.

Phorenice, with her head crouched forward, looked from one
group to another. Her face was working. "Have I no true
servants," she asked, "amongst all you pretty lip-servers?"

Still no one moved. They stood, or sat, or crouched like
people fascinated. For myself, with the first words he had
uttered, I had recognized the old man by his voice. It was Zaemon,
the weak governor who had given the Empress her first step towards
power; that earnest searcher into the mysteries, who knew more of
their powers, and more about the hidden forces, than any other
dweller on the Sacred Mountain, even at that time when I left for
my colony. And now, during his strange hermit life, how much more
might he not have learned? I was torn by warring duties. I owed
much to the Priests' Clan, by reason of my oath and membership; it
seemed I owed no less to Phorenice. And, again, was Zaemon the
truly accredited envoy of the high council of the priests of the
Sacred Mountain? And was the Empress of a truth deposed by the
High Gods above, or was she still Empress, and still the commander
of my duty? I could not tell, and so I sat in my seat awaiting
what the event would sow.

Phorenice's fury was growing. "Do I stand alone here?" she