shaven, as he was a Lama of the highest order, a Grand Lama and a
_Pombo_, or Governor of the province, with powers equivalent to those of
a feudal king. On his right stood a stout, powerful red Lama who held a
huge double-handed sword. Behind him, and at the sides, were a number of
other Lamas, officers and soldiers. As I stood silent, and held my head
high before him, two or three Lamas rushed at me and ordered me to
kneel. They tried to compel me to do so by forcing me on my knees, but I
succeeded in remaining standing.

The Pombo, who was furious at my declining to kneel before him,
addressed me in words that sounded violent; but, as he spoke classical
Tibetan, and I only the colloquial language, I could not understand a
word he said. I meekly asked him not to use such fine words, as they
were unintelligible to me.

The great man was taken aback at this request. With a frown on his face,
he pointed to me to look to my left. The soldiers and Lamas drew aside,
and I beheld Chanden Sing lying flat on his face, stripped from the
waist down, in front of a row of Lamas and military men. Two powerful
Lamas, one on each side of him, began again to chastise him with knotted
leather thongs weighted with lead, laying on their strokes with vigorous
arms from his waist to his feet. He was bleeding all over. Each time
that a lash fell on his wounded skin, so great was my sorrow that it
gave me a pain more intense than if a dagger were stuck into my chest,
but I never betrayed my feelings. I knew Orientals too well to show any
pity for the man, as this would only have involved a more severe
punishment for him. So I looked on at his torture as one would upon a
thing of every-day occurrence. The Lamas near me shook their fists under
my nose, and explained that my turn would come next. I smiled and
repeated the usual "_Nikutza, nikutza_" (Very good, very good).

The Pombo and his officers were puzzled. I could see it plainly by their
faces.

The Pombo, an effeminate, juvenile, handsome person, almost hysterical
in manner, seemed a splendid subject for hypnotic experiments. I had a
good reason to think this. As we shall see later, he had already often
been under mesmeric influence. He remained with his eyes fixed upon
mine, as if in a trance, for certainly over two minutes.

There was a wonderful and sudden change in the man. His voice, arrogant
and angry a few moments before, was now soft and apparently kindly. The
Lamas around