Oh! I have heard tales in yonder city.

There have been days when this Lord of the world has missed six lions with as many arrows, and they seated smiling in his face, being but tamed brutes brought from far in cages of wood, yes, smiling like cats in the sun.

Look you, Master, he drinks too much wine and sits up too late in his Women's house--there are three hundred of them there, Master--to shoot as you and I can.

If you doubt it, look at his eyes and hands.

Oh! the pearls and the gold and the men are yours, and that painted prince who mocked us is where he ought to be--dead in the mud.
"Did I tell you how I managed that, Master?
As you know better than I do, lions hate those that have on them the smell of their own blood.
Therefore, while I pointed out the way to him, I touched the painted prince with the bleeding tail of that which we killed, pretending that it was by chance, for which he cursed me, as well he might.