Scarcely had the rays
of the sun begun to play about the snowy summit of the Sierra
Nevada, when he mounted his steed, and, accompanied only by a few
chosen attendants, ascended a steep and narrow road leading up the
hill. Beside him, on a white palfrey, rode the Gothic princess, her
whole dress sparkling with jewels, while round her neck was
suspended her silver lyre. The astrologer walked on the other side
of the king, assisting his steps with his hieroglyphic staff, for he
never mounted steed of any kind.
Aben Habuz looked to see the towers of the palace brightening
above him, and the imbowered terraces of its gardens stretching
along the heights; but as yet nothing of the kind was to be
descried. "That is the mystery and safeguard of the place," said the
astrologer, "nothing can be discerned until you have passed the
spell-bound gateway, and been put in possession of the place."
As they approached the gateway, the astrologer paused, and pointed
out to the king the mystic hand and key carved upon the portal of
the arch. "These," said he, "are the talismans which guard the
entrance to this paradise. Until yonder hand shall reach down and
seize that key, neither mortal power nor magic artifice can prevail
against the lord of this mountain."
While Aben Habuz was gazing, with open mouth and silent wonder, at
these mystic talismans, the palfrey of the princess proceeded, and
bore her in at the portal, to the very centre of the barbican.
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