[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales August 1929. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The blare of the trumpets grew louder, like a deep golden tide surge, like the soft booming of the evening tides against the silver beaches of Valusia. The throng shouted, women flung roses from the roofs as the rhythmic chiming of silver hoofs came clearer and the first of the mighty array swung into view in the broad white street that curved round the golden-spired Tower of Splendor.…
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