This sapphire might have graced the anklet of
some beauty of old Nile, ages before King Solomon wielded the scepter,
ages even before the great god Osiris reigned.
That amethyst might have been loot of the swift black galleys of Tyre,
in joyous days when men's strong arms took what they could, of women
or of gems, and when Power was Law!
Imagination ran riot there, gazing down upon those jewel-pits. In them
lay every kind of precious stone for which, from remotest antiquity,
men had cheated, schemed, lied, fought, murdered. The jewels showed
no attempt at sorting or classification. With true Oriental
_laissez-faire_, they were all mingled quite at random; these gems,
any chance handfuls of which must have meant an incalculable fortune.
CHAPTER XLVI
BOHANNAN BECOMES A MILLIONAIRE
Like men in a dream, after the first wild emotions had died, the
Legionaries peered down into this sea of light. Smoke from the lamps
rose toward the dim, low-arched roof. Blood from the Maghrabi's wounds
slowly spread and clotted on the golden floor.
Without, a confused murmur told of resuming preparations to smash in
the door. And through it all, the dry clicking of the gems made itself
audible, as the major sifted them with shaking fingers.
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