adept.
Once upon the terrace, Brother Onofrio proceeded to coil up his "Serpent"
after him, diminishing the sweep of his spirals until he was at zero, merely
rotating on himself.
Then he began the second part of his work, the Dance of the Sword. [169]
Slowly he began to cause his feet to trace a pentagram, and he allowed the
Sword to leave his body as he quickened his pace, just as one sees the
weights of the ball-governor of a steam-engine fly outwards as pressure and
speed leap higher.
Gates was altogether fascinated by the sight. In the sunlight, this scarlet
figure with lights darting from every brilliance of its steel was a magnificent
spectacle, almost bewildering in its intensity.
Faster and faster whirled the adept, his sword swaying about him like a
garment of light; and his voice, louder and fiercer with every turn, assumed
the very majesty of thunder.
Gates watched with open mouth; he was learning much from this man. He
began to perceive the primaeval energy of the universe, under a veil, the
magical clang and rush of blazing stars in the blind emptiness of space. And
suddenly Brother Onofrio stopped dead; his voice snapped short into a
silence far more terrible than any word; and his long sword was still, fearfully
still, stretched out like a shaft of murderous light — the point towards the
tower.
Gates was suddenly aware that he had all along been the object of the
dance; and then his brain began to reel. Had the whirling flashes hypnotized
him? He could not think; the world went black for him. Automatically he
clutched at the parapet; but he pitched headlong over it, and crashed upon the
ground a hundred feet below.
 On the terrace Brother Onofrio was beginning the banishing spirals of
Mars, with songs of triumph into which stole, as if surreptitiously, some hint
of that joy of love which, from the beginning of time, has welcomed the
victorious soldier. [170]