In one place a
man was standing on a little platform. A crowd was gathered about him
listening, while he read from a scroll in his hands.
But the boy had only a glimpse of these things, for his father was
hurrying on. In a moment they crossed a bridge over a river and stopped
before a low, wide building. Glaucon helped Charmides off his horse.
Menon spoke a few words to the porter at the gate. The man opened the
door and led the visitors in. Charmides limped along beside his father,
for he was lame. That was what had made him sigh when he had seen
Victory hovering over Olympia. She would never give him the olive
branch. But now he did not think of that. His heart was beating fast.
His eyes were big. For before him lay a great open court baking in the
sun. More than a hundred boys were at work there, leaping, wrestling,
hurling the disk, throwing spears. During the past months they had been
living here, training for the games. The sun had browned their bare
bodies. Now their smooth skins were shining with sweat and oil. As they
bent and twisted they looked like beautiful statues turned brown and
come alive. Among them walked men in long purple robes. They seemed to
be giving commands.
"They are the judges," whispered Glaucon. "They train the boys."
All around the hot court ran a deep, shady portico.
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