oarse
because their idol Omar hath returned to them, shall, in that day, curse
thee, and heap upon thee every indignity. May the Great Darkness
encompass thee, may thine enemies break and crush thee, and may Zomara,
the One of Power, smite and devour thee," and as she uttered these words
she held up her long skinny arms to the hideous golden crocodile
suspended over her, muttering some mystic sentences the while.

Her slaves and courtiers held their breath. The Great White Queen was
cursing her only son. The Dagombas understood this action and stood
aghast, while across the faces of the court dignitaries a few moments
later there flitted faint sickly smiles. The scene was impressive, more
so perhaps than any I had before witnessed. In her sudden ebullition of
anger the Naya was indeed terrible.

From her thin blue lips curses most fearful rolled until even her
courtiers shuddered. As she stood, her bony arms uplifted to the image of
what was to her the greatest and most dreaded power on earth, she
screamed herself hoarse, uttering imprecations until about her mouth
there hung a blood-flecked foam, and her long finger-nails were driven
deep into the flesh of her withered palms. All quaked visibly at her
wrath, for none knew who might next offend her and pay the penalty for so
doing with their lives: none knew who might next fall victim to her
insane passion for causing suffering to others.

Omar alone stood calmly watching her; all others remained terrified,
fearing to utter a single word.

Suddenly, in her mad passion, she shrieked:

"Gankoma! Gankoma! Come hither. There is still work for thee."

In an instant the chief executioner, a man of giant stature, gaudily
attired and bearing a huge curved sword that gleamed ominously in the
sunlight, stood before her, and bowing, answered:

"Your majesty is obeyed."

"There is one who hath betrayed his trust," cried the angry ruler. "To
Babila, guardian of the Gate, we owe this intrusion of strangers in our
land and these insults from the mouth of one who is unworthy to be called
son. Bring forth Babila."

The executioner, sword in hand, advanced to where the trusty old
custodian stood. At mention of his name a despairing cry had escaped him.
He knew, alas! his fate was sealed.

Pale, trembling in the iron grip of the executioner, he was hurried
forward before the dazzling Emerald Throne.

"See! he flinches, the perfidious old traitor!" the Naya cried. "His duty
w