The King of Emakhtila sat, legs crooked, on a high divan. He was very like Old King Cole of the nursery rhyme, even to that monarch's rubicund jollity, his apple round, pippin red cheeks. Merriment shone in his somewhat watery blue eyes. He wore one loose robe of scarlet. His long, white beard, stained here and there with drops of red and purple and yellow wine, wagged roguishly.
Two and ten archers in belted kirtles of silver and scarlet stood on the lowest step, shoulder to shoulder, bows at stand, arrows at strings, ready on the instant to be raised to ears and loosed. Four and twenty archers knelt at their feet. Six and thirty shafts of death.
Out from each side of the steps and along the curved wall to where it met the sides of the chamber another file of bowmen stretched, scarlet and silver, shoulder to shoulder, arrows alert. The twinkling eyes of the king could see the backs of the heads ranged over the edge of his stage-like footlights.
Along the other three walls, shoulder to shoulder, arrows at strings, eyes fixed on the King of Emakhtila, ran an unbroken silver and scarlet frieze of archers. They stood silent; tense as automatons tightly wound and waiting for touch upon some hidden spring.
Twice a tall man's height away from the king's left hand a veiled shape stood, motionless as the bowmen. Even through its thick veils came subtle hints of beauty. At the same distance from the king's right hand another veiled shape stood. Nor could its veils check hint of horror seeping forth from what they covered.
Close to each end of the divan girls stood, fair and young and naked to their waists. Six to this side, six to that. They held ewers filled with wine. At their feet were great bowls of wine, red and purple and yellow, in larger bowls of snow. At the right hand knelt a girl with golden cup on outstretched palms. At his left hand another knelt, a golden flagon on her palms. And the king to drink used equally well his left hand and his right, raising cup or flagon, setting them to his lips, putting them back. Whereupon at once they were refilled.
He raised the flagon; before he had half lifted it to his lips he paused and looked into it. "Half full!" giggled the king. "Only half full!" He glanced from the flagon to the girl who stood closest to the kneeling girl at his left. His round face beamed on her. "Insect!" chuckled the king. "You forgot to fill my flagon!" He raised a finger. A bow string sang along the left wall, an arrow shrilled. It struck the trembling girl in the shoulder on the right side. She swayed, eyes closed. "Bad!" the king cried merrily, and again held up a finger. From the frieze along the right wall another bow string sang; an arrow whittled across the room. The shaft cleft the heart of the first archer. Before his body touched the floor the same bow sang once more. A second shaft leaped into sight deep within the left side of the wounded girl. "Good!" laughed the king.
"Our lord has granted death! Praise him!"
"Praise him!" echoed the bowmen and the cup maidens.
Two slaves came out on the dais and carried the dead girl away. Another girl took her place. The slaves dragged off the dead archer. Another slipped through the curtains and stood where he had been.
"You wonder how I, alone, have greater power than these priests and all their gods? Well, it is because in all Emakhtila I am the only one who has neither gods nor superstitions. I am the one man who knows there are only three realities. Wine, which up to a certain point makes man see more clearly than the gods. Power, which being combined with man's cunning makes him superior to the gods. Death, which no god can abolish and which I deal at will. Wine! Power! Death!
"These priests have many gods, each of them jealous of all the others. Ho! Ho! I have no gods. Therefore I am just to all. The just judge must be without prejudice; without belief. I am on one side of the scales. On the other side are many gods and priests. There are only three things that I am sure are real. Wine, power, death! Those who try to outweigh me have beliefs many times three. Therefore I outweigh them. If there were but one god, one belief opposite me, lo, I would be outweighed! Yea, three to one! That is paradox. Also it is truth.
"Since all the gods and all the priests are jealous of each other, they make me, who gives not a curse for any god or priest-king of Emakhtila, to keep peace among them and hold them back from destroying each other! And this, since I now have ten bowmen to every one of theirs, and twenty swordsmen to each swordman of the priests, I do very well. Ho! Ho! That is power. And having power I can get drunk at will."