By your side this person perceives a long and apparently
highly-tempered sword, which, in his opinion, will serve the purpose
efficiently. Having no remarks of an improving but nevertheless
exceedingly tedious nature with which to imprint the occasion for the
benefit of those who come after, his only request is that the blow
shall be an unhesitating and sufficiently well-directed one."
At these words Yang Hu threw back his cloak to grasp the sword-handle,
when the Mandarin, with his eyes fixed on the naked arm, and evidently
inspired by every manner of conflicting emotions, uttered a cry of
unspeakable wonder and incomparable surprise.
"The Serpent!" he cried, in a voice from which all evenness and
control were absent. "The Sacred Serpent of our Race! O mysterious
one, who and whence are you?"
Engulfed in an all-absorbing doubt at the nature of events, Yang could
only gaze at the form of the serpent which had been clearly impressed
upon his arm from the earliest time of his remembrance, while Ping
Siang, tearing the silk garment from his own arm and displaying
thereon a similar form, continued:
"Behold the inevitable and unvarying birthmark of our race! So it was
with this person's father and the ones before him; so it was with his
treacherously-stolen son; so it will be to the end of all time.
Pages:
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297