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But the king had other plans for this promising lad, and as Nxumalo moved off, a regal command halted him: 'Stay. They tell me you work well. We need you here.' Old Seeker could not mask his joy at this recognition of his protege, but Nxumalo showed that he was bewildered. Did the king's command mean that he would never again see his brothers or Zeolani at her spinning?

It was the king who answered that unspoken question: 'Show the young man these buildings. Then find him a suitable place to stay.' With that he strode away while Old Seeker and a score of others fell in the dust to honor his passing.

'Well!' the old man cried as he brushed himself off. 'Honors like this come to only a few, believe me.'

'What does it mean?'

'That you're to live here now ... to become one of us.'

'But Zeolani . . .'

The old man ignored this question that had no honorable answer. 'You'll see things which ordinary mortals . . .' His eyes glowed as if the triumph were his, and with fast, busy steps he started Nxumalo on their tour of the Grand Enclosure.

They entered a narrow passageway parallel to the high outer wall, and Nxumalo feared it might never end, so long and sweeping was it, but finally it opened into a courtyard so grand that he and the old man intuitively fell to their knees. They were in the presence of a mighty royal scepter, unlike any symbol of majesty seen in Africa before or after. It was a soaring conical tower, eighteen feet in diameter at its base, thirty feet high and tapering sharply as it rose. At the top it was adorned by a chevron pattern built into the stone, and as a whole it represented the majesty of the king. On a raised platform next to the tower stood a collection of handsome unadorned monoliths, each symbolizing some achievement of the king and his forebears.

'Beyond lie the king's chambers,' Old Seeker said. 'His wives and children live there, and no man may enter.' Then briskly he moved toward the exit, beckoning Nxumalo to follow him. 'We must see what the Arabs are accomplishing in the marketplace.'

When they rejoined the traders, Nxumalo studied the two strangers in disbelief, keeping as close to them as possible, watching all they did. Their hands were white and their ankles, and he supposed that if he could see their skin below the exposed neckline, it would be white too. Their voices were deep, displaying an accent unlike any used by workmen from distant regions. But what impressed Nxumalo most was that they exhibited a self-assurance as proud as that of the king's councillors; these were men of importance, men accustomed to command, and when they lounged in the courtyard of the depot, as they did now, waiting for the exchange of goods, it was they who determined what should happen next.

'Spread the gold here, where the light falls,' the taller man directed, and when attendants brought in the precious packages and began to turn back the corners of the cloth, everyone showed excitement except the two Arabs. They expected the gold to be of high quality; they expected a copious amount.

'Look at this!' the round man cried, his voice rising. And from the packages emerged a score of ingots of pure gold, wrenched from mines a hundred miles away, and rings carefully fashioned, and pendants for officials, and a great plaque with a rhinoceros rampant.

'By the way,' the chief Arab interrupted, pushing the gold aside. 'Did you get the rhinoceros horn?'

'We did,' the round man said, clapping his hands, whereupon servants brought in three large bundles. When opened, they produced an accumulation of three dozen horns, which excited the cupidity of the Arabs, who hefted them approvingly.

'Very good. Really, very good.' Rupturing the exchange of pleasantries, the principal Arab barked at one of his waiting slaves, 'See that these are handled properly,' and from the way all treated the horns, it was obvious that they were of great value.

'And what else?' the Arabs asked.

There followed a small