l, that idea!" the Master exclaimed. Then he fell silent again. He pressed his questions no further, concerning the great Central Desert of the land. To have done so, he knew, would have been entirely futile. Beyond a certain point, which he could gauge accurately, neither gold nor fire would drive Rrisa. The Arab would at any hour of night or day have laid down his life for the Master; but though it should mean death he would not break the rites of his faith, nor touch the cursed flesh of a pig, nor drink the forbidden drop of wine, nor yet betray the secret of his land.
All at once the Arab spoke, in slow, grave tones.
"Your God is not my God, Master," said he, impersonally. "No, the God of your people is not the God of mine. We have our own; and the land is ours, too. None of the Nasara may come thither, and live. Three came, that I have heard of, and--they died. I crave my Master's bidding to depart."
"Presently, yea," the Master answered. "But I have one more question for th
Rousing adventure, predictable romance, and heartless manipulation: The Flying Legion is a lot of fun as long as you are not too concerned about a strong moral grounding.
I recommend it overall as a fun read, but the introspective passages really drag.