A few minutes through still another passage in the gold brought them to a door of ebony, banded with silver.

No door of gold, it seemed, sufficed for this chamber they were about to enter.

Stronger materials were needed here.
This door, like the others, swung silently on its massive hinges.
"Come, O Master of the fighting-men of Feringistan!" exclaimed the Olema.

"In Allah's name, take of the gifts that I have already offered thee, and then in peace depart!" Before the Master could reply, a shuddering concussion shivered through the solid gold all about them.

The tremor of this shock, like that of an earthquake, trembled the cressets on the walls and made the huge ebony door, ajar into a dim-lighted hall, groan on its hinges.
Stupefied, Legionaries and Arabs alike, stared silently under the vague gleam of the torches.
Then, far and faint, as though coming along tortuous passages from distances above, a muffled concussion smote their ears.