"Well spoken! Incidentally, you are well made and sound looking,
stranger."
"Passably," replied Watson. "I do not care to discuss my
appearance, however. I am certainly no more ill-favoured than some
others."
"And impertinent," continued the other, quite without malice. "Do
you know anything about the Bar, to whom you speak so saucily?"
"I know that you have intimated that I may be an impostor. You
have done this, after hearing what the learned Rhamda Geos has
said. You know the facts; you know that I have come from the
Jarados. I--"
But it wasn't Watson's words that held the Bar's attention.
Chick's straight, well-knit form, his quick-trained actions,
overbalanced the question of the prophet in the mind of the man on
the throne. His delight was self-evident.
"Truly you are soundly built, stranger; you are made of iron and
whipcord, finely formed, quick and alert." He threw a word to one
of his heavy-faced attendants, then suddenly stood up and
descended from his throne. He came up and stood beside Watson.
Chick straightened. The prince was an inch the taller; his bare
arms long-muscled, lithe, powerful; under the pink skin Chick
could see the delicate, cat-like play of strength and vitality. He
sensed the strength of the man, his quick, eager, instinctive
glance, his panther-like step and certainty of graceful movement.
"Stranger," spoke the Bar, "indeed you ARE an athlete! What is
your nationality--Kospian?"
"Neither Kospian nor D'Hartian; I am an American.
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