CHAPTER VII
IN THE BA YON
Night had fallen once more, and of a sudden all Angkor Thom was clamorous with a wild, insistent outcry to the Gods, that they might hear.
From the temples grouped around the central forum of the city, screaming conchs broke out, as the last of the daylight died—in prolonged, passionate appeal. Drums boomed and sobbed a restless accompaniment.
In the echoing courtyards of the sanctuaries, bearded Brahmans, grown old in the service of the Gods, paced to and fro, their faces rapt, their eyes half closed in transports of ecstatic excitement. They moved rhythmically, their bodies swinging from the hips, both hands clutching the great shells which they held to their lips, whence fiery spears of sound seemed to thrust upward to clash against the very gates of Heaven.
Surely the Gods would hearken! Surely this clamour, arousing them for an instant from their luxurious self-absorption, would cause them to
