"Senestro, would you condemn this one without allowing him a word
in his own defence? Is it fair? Besides, he does not look like an
impostor to me. I like his face. Perhaps he is one of the chosen!"
At the last word the Bar frowned. His glance shifted suddenly to
Watson, a swift look of ice-cold calculation.
"Very, very true, O Aradna. I, too, would have him speak in his
own behalf. Let him amuse us with his tongue. What would your
majesty care to hear, O Aradna, from this phantom?"
The words were of biting satire. Chick wheeled upon the Bar. Their
eyes clashed; an encounter not altogether to Watson's credit. He
was a bit unsteady, a trifle uncertain of his power. He had
calculated on the superstition of the Rhamdas to hold him up until
he caught his footing, and this unexpected scepticism was
disconcerting. However, he was no coward; the feeling passed away
almost at once. He strode straight up to the throne of the Bar;
and once more he spoke from sheer impulse:
"The Aradna has spoken true, O Senestro, or sinister, or whatever
you may be called. I demand fair hearing! It is my due; for I have
come from another world. I follow--the Jarados!"
If Watson had supposed that he had taken the Bar's measure, he was
mistaken. The prince's eyes suddenly glinted with a fierce
pleasure. Like a flash his antagonism shifted to something
astonishingly like admiration.
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