And now before us are the huge brazen gates of the outer wall of the Frowning City, and a new and horrible doubt strikes me: What if they will not let us in?
'Open! open!' I shout imperiously, at the same time giving the royal password. 'Open! open! a messenger, a messenger with tidings of the war!'
'What news?' cried the guard. 'And who art thou that ridest so madly, and who is that whose tongue lolls out'—and it actually did—'and who runs by thee like a dog by a chariot?'
'It is the Lord Macumazahn, and with him is his dog, his black dog. Open! open! I bring tidings.'
The great gates ran back on their rollers, and the drawbridge fell with a rattling crash, and we dashed on through the one and over the other.
'What news, my lord, what news?' cried the guard.
'Incubu rolls Sorais bac
