At least， it looked a crowd to him. In reality there were about fifteen or twenty of them， all gentlemen in green hunting.dress， with their horses； some in the saddle and some standing by their horses’ heads. In the centre someone was holding the stirrup for a man to mount. And the man he was holding it for was the jolliest， fattest， apple. cheeked， twinkling eyed King you could imagine.
As soon as Shasta came in sight this King forgot all about mounting his horse. He spread out his arms to Shasta， his face lit up， and he cried out in a great， deep voice that seemed to come from the bottom of his chest：
“Corin！ My son！ And on foot， and in rags！ What.”
“No，” panted Shasta， shaking his head. “Not Prince Corin. I.I.know I‘m like him... saw his Highness in Tashbaan... sent his greetings.”
The King was staring at Shasta with an extraordinary expression on his face.
“Are you K.King Lune？” gasped Shasta. And then， without waiting for an answer， “Lord King.fly.Anvard shut the gates.enemies upon you.Rabadash and two hundred horse.”
“Have you assurance of this， boy？” asked one of the other gentlemen.
“My own eyes，” said Shasta. “I’ve seen them. Raced them all the way from Tashbaan.”
