He quickened his steps more and more, advancing through the open streets.

They were barred with cords, chariots, and snares; and all his windings brought him back again.

At last he entered the square of Khamon where the Balearians had perished, and stopped, growing pale as one about to die.

This time he was surely lost, and the multitude clapped their hands.
He ran up to the great gate, which was closed.

It was very high, made throughout of heart of oak, with iron nails and sheathed with brass.
Matho flung himself against it.