he had lived in india and acquired an incredible skill in the art of strangulation.he would make them lock him into a courtyard to which they brought a warrior--usually, a man condemned to death--armed with a long pike and broadsword.erik had only his lasso;and it was always just when the warrior thought that he was going to fell erik with a tremendous blow that we heard the lasso whistle through the air.with a turn of the wrist, erik tightened the noose round his adversary's neck and, in this fashion, dragged him before the little sultana and her women, who sat looking from a window and applauding.the little sultana herself learned to wield the punjab lasso and killed several of her women and even of the friends who visited her.but i prefer to drop this terrible subject of the rosy hours of mazenderan.i have mentioned it only to explain why, on arriving with the vicomte de chagny in the cellars of the opera, i was bound to protect my companion against the ever-threatening danger of death by strangling.my pistols could serve no purpose, for erik was not likely to himself; but erik could always strangle us.i had no time to explain all this to the viscount;besides, there was nothing to be gained by complicating the position.
i simply told m.de chagny to keep his hand at the level of his eyes, with the arm bent, as though waiting for the command to fire.
with his victim in this attitude, it is impossible even for the most expert strangler to throw the lasso with advantage.
it catches you not only round the neck, but also round the arm or hand.this enables you easily to unloose the lasso, which then becomes harmless.