" He quietly reached up and caught the
songster in his hand, and he held it up to the astonished crowd.
Still the song continued. Chick held him an instant longer, and
then gave him a toss high into the air. He shot across the temple,
a streak of melody, silver, dulcet, to the far corner of the giant
building.
But the thing did not jar the Senestro.
"Well done, Sir Phantom! Anyhow, 'tis your last play! I would not
have it otherwise. I hope you can die as prettily! Are you ready?"
"Ready? What for?" retorted Watson. "Why, should I trouble myself
with preparations?"
But the Rhamda Geos had now come to his side.
"Do your best, my lord. I regret only that it must be to the
death. It is the first death contest in the Thomahlia for a
thousand circles (years). But the Senestro has challenged the
prophecy. Prove that you are not a false one! My heart is with
you."
It was a good word at a needed moment. Watson stepped over onto
the circular Spot of Life.
They were both barefooted. Evidently the Thomahlians fought in the
old, classic manner. The stone under Watson's feet was cool and
invigorating. He could sense anew that quiver of magnetism and
strength. It sent a thrill through his whole body, like the subtle
quickening of life. He felt vital, joyous, confident.
The Senestro was smiling, his eyes flashing with anticipation. His
muscled body was a network of soft movement.
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