than agreeable to look at-rose on shining pedestals. Palm treesand pillared arcades cast shadows over the burning pavements. And through the arched gateways of many a palace Shasta caught sight of green branches， cool fountains， and smooth lawns. It must be nice inside， he thought.
At every turn Shasta hoped they were getting out of the crowd， but they never did. This made their progress very slow， and every now and then they had to stop altogether. This usually happened because a loud voice shouted out “Way， way， way， for the Tarkaan”， or， “for the Tarkheena”， or， “for the fifteenth Vizier”， or， “for the Ambassador”， and everyone in the crowd would crush back against the walls； and above their heads Shasta would sometimes see the great lord or lady for whom all the fuss was being made， lolling upon a litter which four or even six gigantic slaves carried on their bare shoulders. For in Tashbaan there is only one traffic regulation， which is that everyone who is less important has to get out of the way for everyone who is more important； unless you want a cut from a whip or a punch from the butt end of a spear.
It was in a splendid street very near the top of the city （the Tisroc’s palace was the only thing above it） that the most disastrous of these stoppages occurred.
“Way！ Way！ Way！” came the voice. “Way for the White Barbarian King， the guest of the Tisroc （may he live for ever）！ Way for the Narnian lords.”
Shasta tried to get out of the way and to make Bree go back. But no horse， not even a Talking Horse from Narnia， backs easily. And a woman with a very edgy basket in her hands， who was just behindShasta， pushed the basket hard against his shoulders， and said， “Now then！ Who are you shoving！” And then someone else jostled him from the side and in the confusion of the moment he lost hold of Bree. And then the whole crowd behind him became so stiffened and packed tight that he couldn‘t move at all. So he found himself， unintentionally， in the first row and had a fine sight of the party that was coming down the street.
It was quite unlike any other party they had seen that day. The crier who went before it shouting， “Way， way！” was the only Calormene in it. And there was no litter； everyone was on foot. There were about half a dozen men and Shasta had never seen anyone like them before. For one thing， they were all as fair-skinned as himself， and most of them had fair hair. And they were not dressed like men of Calormen. Mostof them had legs bare to the knee. Their tunics were of fine， bright， hardy colours-woodland green， or gay yellow， or fresh blue. Instead of turbans they wore steel or silver caps， some of them set with jewels， and one with little wings on each side of it. A few were bare- headed. The swords at their sides were long and straight， not curved like Calormene scimitars. And instead of being grave and mysterious like most Calormenes， they walked with a swing and let their arms and shoulders go free， and chatted and laughed. One was whistling. You could see that they were ready to be friends with anyone who was friendly and didn’t give a fig for anyone who wasn‘t. Shasta thought he had never seen anything so lovely in his life.
But there was no time to enjoy it for at once a really dreadful thing happened. The leader of the fair-haired men suddenly pointed at Shasta， cried out， “There he is！ There’s our runaway！” and seized him by the shoulder. Next moment he gave Shasta a smack-not a cruel one to make you cry but a sharp one to let you know you are in disgrace and added， shaking：
“Shame on you， my lord！ Fie for shame！ Queen Susan‘s eyes are red with weeping because of you. What！ Truant for a whole night！ Where have you been？”
Shasta would have darted under Bree’s body and tried to make himself scarce in the crowd if he had had the least chance； but the fair- haired men were all round him by now and he was held firm.
Of course his first impulse was to say that he was only poor Arsheesh the fisherman‘s son and that the foreign lord must have mistaken him for someone else. But then， the very last thing he wanted to do in that crowded place was to start explaining who he was and what he was doing. If he started on that， he would soon be asked where he had got his horse from， and who Aravis was-and then， goodbye to any chance of getting through Tashbaan. His next impulsewas to look at Bree for help. But Bree had no intention of letting all the crowd know that he could talk， and stood looking just as stupid as a horse can. As for Aravis， Shasta did not even dare to look at her for fear of drawing attention. And there was no time to think， for the leader of the Narnians said at once：
“Take one of his little lordship’s hands， Peridan， of your courtesy， and I‘ll take the other. And now， on. Our royal sister’s mind will be greatly eased when she sees our young scapegrace safe in our lodging.”
And so， before they were half-way through Tashbaan， all their plans were ruined， and without even a chance to say good-bye to the others. Shasta found himself being marched off among strangers and quite unable to guess what might be going to happen next. The Narnian King-for Shasta began to see by the way the rest spoke to him that he must be a king-kept on asking him questions； where he had been， how he had got out， what he had done with his clothes， and didn‘t he know that he had been very naughty. Only the king called it “naught” instead of naughty.
And Shasta said nothing in answer， because he couldn’t think of anything to say that would not be dangerous.
“What！ All mum？” asked the king. “I must plainly tell you， prince， that this hangdog silence becomes one of your blood even less than the scape itself. To run away might pass for a boy‘s frolic with some spirit in it. But the king’s son of Archenland should avouch his deed； not hang his head like a Calormene slave.”
This was very unpleasant， for Shasta felt all the time that this young king was the very nicest kind of grown-up and would have liked to make a good impression on him.
