I wouldn't have given ten cents for an unescorted stranger's chance of getting by them, whatever his nationality.
Surely there was never less formality in a king's house since the world began.

We were ushered straight into a narrow, rather ordinary hall, and through that into a sitting-room about twenty feet square.

The light was from oil lamps hanging by brass chains from the curved beams; but the only other Oriental suggestions were the cushioned seats in each corner, small octagonal tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and a mighty good Persian carpet.
Narayan Singh and Jeremy, supposedly being servants, offered to stay in the hall, but were told that Feisul wouldn't approve of that.
"Whatever they shouldn't hear can be said in another room," was the explanation.
So we all sat down together on one of the corner seats, and were kept waiting about sixty seconds until Feisul entered by a door in the far corner.

And when he came he took your breath away.
It always prejudices me against a man to be told that he is dignified and stately.

Those adjectives smack of too much self-esteem and of a claim to be made of different clay from most of us.