“The praise of my masters is the light of my eyes，” said Ahoshta. “And secondly， O Tisroc， whose reign must and shall be interminable， I think that with the aid of the gods it is very likely that Anvard will fall into the Prince’s hands. And if so， we have Narnia by the throat.”
There was a long pause and the room became so silent that the two girls hardly dared to breathe. At last the Tisroc spoke.
“Go， my son，” he said. “And do as you have said. But expect no help nor countenance from me. I will not avenge you if you are killed and I will not deliver you if the barbarians cast you into prison. And if， either in success or failure， you shed a drop more than you need of Narnian noble blood and open war arises from it， my favour shallnever fall upon you again and your next brother shall have your place in Calormen. Now go. Be swift， secret， and fortunate. May the strength of Tash the inexorable， the irresistible， be in your sword and lance.”
“To hear is to obey，” cried Rabadash， and after kneeling for a moment to kiss his father‘s hands he rushed from the room. Greatly to the disappointment of Aravis， who was now horribly cramped， the Tisroc and Vizier remained.
