Two acolytes follow. One
carries a tripod and the other a gong._
[_The priests abase themselves and the acolytes bow. The_ AMBASSADOR
_stands with almost Mongolian calm by the door from which he has not
moved since he entered._
[_The impassive_ NUBIAN _stands motionless near the_ KING, _holding up
the cups on a tray._
KING: The Emperor has honoured me with these two cups of wine that I may
drink one of them to the grandeur of his throne. I bid you importune the
gods that they may surely tell me which it were well to drink.
FIRST PRIEST: We will importune the gods with the savour of rarest
spices. We will send up to them the odour of herbs they love. We will
commune with them in silence and they shall answer our thoughts, when
they snuff the savour of the smoke of the burning on the tripod that is
sacred to the Sun.
[_The calm of the_ AMBASSADOR _and the impassivity of the_ NUBIAN _grow
ominous. The two priests hang over the tripod. They cast herbs upon it.
They pass their hands over it. The herbs begin to smoulder. A smoke
goes up. The priests bend over the smoke. Presently they step back from
it._
FIRST PRIEST: The gods sleep.
KING: They sleep! The gods that guard the Golden Isles?
FIRST PRIEST: The gods sleep.
KING: Importune them as never before.
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