"Evil days, O Vanga. I do not hold with these new weapons like bows and arrows."
"Nor I. When Cimbula was my chief adviser, all was happy in the land."
"Would that Cimbula were here," grunted Wabiti.
Suddenly as if he had been waiting to be called, the witch-doctor leaped from the shadowy forest and capered in a wild dance before them.
Cimbula was arrayed once more in the brightly-colored head-dress of feathers and tufts of fur on his elbows, knees and ankles. His lean old body was streaked and daubed with paint and around his eyes, one blind and one sound, were painted scarlet rings that gave him a horrible appearance.
In one hand he brandished a long stone knife, in the other he held the painted gourd filled with pebbles, which he rattled menacingly.
"Who calls Cimbula?" he shouted hoarsely. "Lo, as I was floating in the skies, I heard my name spoken and I come!"
Again he leaped high and the gourd sounded like a nest of angry rattlesnakes as he shook it.
Vanga and Wabiti shrank back in superstitious dread, while the old queen's maidens gave shrill and penetrating screeches of terror.
"Cimbula! Have mercy!" they screamed, and Wabiti's followers among the Gorols came running and stopped suddenly, held back by fear, crying hoarsely, "Cimbula! Cimbula, do not destroy us!" Vanga spoke her mind.
"We called the mighty Cimbula because strange enemies have driven us from our caves."
"Show me the enemies," bellowed Cimbula. "I will slay them all."
His one eye glared hatred and defiance and his flint blade swished through the air.
"Tahara could not save us," said Vanga. "Since he came here, our troubles have multiplied."
"Never before have raiders swarmed upon us from the desert," growled Wabiti.
"They have driven us from our caves," shrilled Vanga.
There were mutters of assent from the listeners, while Cimbula glared silently as if planning some deadly reprisal.
Then among the growling murmurs rose the clear protesting voice of the little maiden Veena.
"Why do you speak evil of Tahara? He fought the Arabs. He is a mighty warrior. Even now he gathers the tribes to drive off the enemy!"
Cimbula vented a bellow of rage. The Gorols with Wabiti howled in protest and Vanga cried sharply,
"I _must_ speak. Tahara is good. He alone can save us."