Ragnall sprang forward as though to drag her away, but a dozen men leapt on to him and held him fast, either to save his life or for some secret reason of their own which I never learned.
Jana looked down at her and she looked up at Jana.

Then he screamed furiously and, shooting out his trunk, snatched the Ivory Child from her hands, whirled it round as he had whirled Simba, and at last dashed it to the stone pavement as he had dashed Simba, so that its substance, grown brittle on the passage of the ages, shattered into ten thousand fragments.
At this sight a great groan went up from the men of the White Kendah, the women dressed as goddesses shrieked and tore their robes, and Harut, who stood near, fell down in a fit or faint.
Once more Jana screamed.

Then slowly he knelt down, beat his trunk and the clattering metal balls upon the ground thrice, as though he were making obeisance to the beautiful priestess who stood before him, shivered throughout his mighty bulk, and rolled over--dead! The fighting ceased.

The Black Kendah, who all this while had been pressing into the court of the temple, saw and stood stupefied.

It was as though in the presence of events to them so pregnant and terrible men could no longer lift their swords in war.
A voice called: "The god is dead! The king is dead! Jana has slain Simba and has himself been slain! Shattered is the Child; spilt is the blood of Jana! Fly, People of the Black Kendah; fly, for the gods are dead and your land is a land of ghosts!" From every side was this wail echoed: "Fly, People of the Black Kendah, for the gods are dead!" They turned; they sped away like shadows, carrying their wounded with them, nor did any attempt to stay them.