Twenty more paces and we came to a recess cut, I suppose, by man in the face of the loop, in such fashion that a lava roof was left projecting half across its width.
This recess, or rock chamber, which was large enough to shelter a great number of people, we reached safely, to discover that it was already tenanted.

Seated in a chair hewn from the rock was the Hesea, wearing a broidered, purple mantle above her gauzy wrappings that enveloped her from head to foot.

There, too, standing near to her were the Khania Atene and her uncle the old Shaman, who looked but ill at ease, and lastly, stretched upon his funeral couch, the fiery light beating upon his stark form and face, lay the dead Khan, Rassen.
We advanced to the throne and bowed to her who sat thereon.

The Hesea lifted her hooded head, which seemed to have been sunk upon her breast as though she were overcome by thought or care, and addressed Oros the priest.

For in the shelter of those massive walls by comparison there was silence and folk could hear each other speak.
"So thou hast brought them safely, my servant," she said, "and I am glad, for to those that know it not this road is fearful.