ON, TO THE GOLDEN CITY! The Spartan simplicity of the proceedings impressed the Master far more than any Oriental ceremony could have done.

Here was the Olema, or high priest and chief, of a huge city carved of virgin gold, coming to meet him on horseback and speaking to him face to face, like a man.
It was archaic, patriarchal, dramatic in the extreme.

No incensed courts, massed audiences, tapestried walls, trumpeting heralds, genuflexions, could have conveyed half the sense of free, virile power that this old Bara Miyan gave as he stood there on the close turf, under the ardent sun, and with a wave of his slim hand gave the order: "The magic! To the testing of the magic!" Thoroughly well pleased with progress thus far, the Master turned back to give final instructions to his men and to examine the apparatus.
This was in perfect condition, all grouped with controls centered in one switchboard and focussing-apparatus so that Brodeur, in charge, could instantly execute any command.
Bara Miyan, clapping his hands again, summoned three horsemen who dismounted and came to him.

By the emerald color of their head-fillets and jackets, as well as by their tonsure, the Master recognized them as mystics of the class known as _Sufis._ That he was about to face a redoubtable test could not be doubted.
Long experience with Orientals had taught him the profundity of their legerdemain, practically none of which ever has been fathomed by white men.

The Master realized that all his powers might be tried to the utmost to match and overcome the demonstration of the Jannati Shahr folk.
While Bara Miyan stood talking to the three _Sufis_, the Master was in a low voice instructing his own men.
"Everything now depends on the outcome of the approaching contest," said he.