No sooner had they bathed and adorned themselves fittingly than they
were summoned to the king's banquet hall, being escorted thither by
twelve young maidens bearing torches with lavender-colored flames.
The night had fallen upon the mountains outside, but the great banquet
hall was brilliant with the glow of a thousand candles, and seated at
the head of the long table was King Terribus.
Yet here, as in the throne-room, the ruler of Spor was dressed in
simplest garments, and his seat was a rough block of stone. All about
him were lords and ladies in gorgeous array; the walls were hung with
rare embroideries; the table was weighted with gold platters and
richly carved goblets filled with sweet nectars. But the king
himself, with his horrid, ugly head, was like a great blot on a fair
parchment, and even Prince Marvel could not repress a shudder as he
gazed upon him.
Terribus placed his guest upon his right hand and loaded him with
honors. Nerle stood behind the prince's chair and served him
faithfully, as an esquire should. But the other servants treated
Nerle with much deference, noting in him an air of breeding that
marked him the unusual servant of an unusual master.
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