Gustav Klimt The Virgin

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Koomi sought support from the crowd of priests, who were busily inspecting their nails or staring intently into the middle distance. The message was clear. He was on his own. Although, if by some chance he won the battle of wills, give any orders! They have no right!'
'Then what are you going to do?' said Koomi.
Dios's hands opened and closed fitfully. He felt like a royalist might feel - a good royalist, a he'd be surrounded by people assuring him that they had been behind him all along. 'Anyway, they do own the place,' he mumbled. 'What?' 'They, er, they do own the place, Dios,' Koomi repeated. His temper gave out. 'They're the sodding gods, Dios!' 'They're our gods,' Dios hissed. 'We're not their people. They're my gods and they will learn to do as they are instructed!' Koomi gave up the frontal assault. You couldn't outstare that sapphire stare, you couldn't stand the war-axe nose and, most of all, no man could be expected to dent the surface of Dios's terrifying righteousness. 'But-' he managed. Dios waved him into silence with a trembling hand. 'They've no right! ' he said. 'I did not