The professor continued to expound on the workings of Greek theater. Sanshirō learned about the terms Theatron, Orchêstra, Skênê, and Proskênion. According to some German scholar, the theater of Aten was thought to have seated seventeen thousand. That was a smaller venue; the largest could accommodate fifty thousand. Admission tickets were of ivory or lead, and in either case were medallion-shaped, with patterns embossed or engraved on their surfaces. The professor even knew the prices. Admission for a single day's minor performance was 20 sen, while admission for a three-day performance series was 35 sen. Sanshirō listened with fascination, and before he knew it they had arrived in front of the venue.
It was brightly illuminated, and a constant stream of visitors flooded the doors. It was even better attended than Yojirō had described.
"What do you think? Since you're here, why not come inside?"
"No, I'm not going in." The professor turned and retreated back into the night.
Sanshirō looked after the him for some time. Then, however, seeing others arrive by rickshaw and hurry inside, as though begrudging the time it would take to check their shoes, he went in himself. He moved, or rather was propelled forward, at a rapid pace.
At the entrance, four or five men stood idle. One of them, a man dressed in hakama, took his ticket. Looking over the man's shoulder, the interior of the venue was immediately spacious and brightly lit. Sanshirō almost thought to shield his eyes as he was led to his seat. Wedging himself into the narrow spot, he surveyed his surroundings. The colors of the crowd flickered before him. It wasn't just the sweep of his gaze that set them in motion. The colors, affixed to a sea of humanity, swirled through the large room, each moving in its own manner.