Once clear of the Square the two friends apparently became mutually conscious of the peril they had just escaped, . . and coming to a sudden standstill they looked at each other in blank, stupefied silence. Crowds of people streamed past them, wandering hither and thither in confused, cloudy masses,--some with groans and dire lamentations bearing away their dead and wounded,--others rushing frantically about, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, calling on the gods and lamenting Khosrul, while not a few muttered curses on the King. And ever and anon the name of "Lysia," coupled with heavy execrations, was hissed from mouth to mouth, which Theos, overhearing, began to foresee might serve as a likely cause for Sah-luma's taking offence and possibly resenting in his own person this public disparagement of the woman he loved,--therefore, without more ado he roused himself from his momentarily dazed condition, and urged his comrade on at a quick pace toward the safe shelter of his own palace, where at any rate he could be kept out of the reach of immediate harm.
The twain walked side by side, exchanging scarcely a word,--Sah- luma seemed in a manner stunned by the violence of the late catastrophe, and Theos was too busy with his own thoughts to speak. On their way they were overtaken by the King's chariot,--it flew by with a glittering whirl and clatter, amid sweeping clouds of dust, through which the dark face of Zephoranim loomed out upon them like an almost palpable shadow. As it vanished Sah-luma stopped short, and stared at his companion in utter amazement.
"By my soul!" he exclaimed indignantly.. "The whole world must he going mad! 'Tis the first time in all my days of Laureateship that Zephoranim hath failed to reverently salute me as he passed!"
And he looked far more perturbed than when the falling Obelisk had threatened him with imminent destruction.
Theos caught his arm with a quick movement of vexed impatience.
"Tush, man, no matter!" he said hastily--"What are Kings to thee? ... thou who art an Emperor of Song? These little potentates that wield earth's sceptres are as fickle in their moods as the very mob they are supposed to govern, . . moreover, thou knowest Zephoranim hath had enough to-day to startle him out of all accustomed rules of courtesy. Be assured of it, his mind is like a ship at sea, storm-tossed and at the mercy of the winds,--thou canst not surely blame him, that for once after so strange a turbulence, and unwonted a disaster, he hath no eyes for thee whose sole sweet mission, is to minister to pleasure."