The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate

X – The City of the Dead

THE feast was held in the court of the small temple built by Rameses the Third to Mut, Amon, and Khons. Myron found himself next to a withered lady wearing a great golden gorget set with gems, which flashed crimson and green and purple. Introduced as the First Concubine of Amon, she turned out to be Jed-hor's wife. As she spoke nothing but Egyptian, Myron could not make small talk with her beyond the few words of that tongue that he had picked up. But the First Prophet, on the other side of the woman, conversed with Myron from time to time.

Several things about this banquet startled Myron. The first was the fact that the serving maids were nude, save for an unconcealing string of beads about the hips.

His next surprise occurred when one of the girls appeared with a silver tray. On this tray stood a number of conical objects, white with red tips, four or five digits high. The maiden, smiling prettily, confronted the First Prophet and planted one of the cones firmly on top of the high priest's head. She placed the second cone on the head of Jed-hor's wife, the third on the head of Bessas, the fourth on that of the Second Prophet of Amon, and the fifth on the head of Myron son of Perseus.

As the girl balanced the tray before Myron, he became aware of a strong perfume, which waxed even heavier when the cone was mashed down upon his hair. Rolling up his eyes, he asked Jed-hor:

"What is this, Your Holiness?"

"Perfumed fat," said the high priest. "Tip not your head, lest it fall off. It will soon melt and run down over your garments imparting heavenly odors unto them."

Although the idea of soaking his clothes with melted grease did not appeal to Myron, there was nothing he could do. The remaining diners received cones. Wine was passed and drunk to Bes. The diners sang a hymn as an orchestra of gauze-clad girls played the harp, the lyre, the lute, and the double pipe. Food appeared. The party became boisterously jolly.

Jed-hor drank wine from a golden cup set with beryls, sardonyxes, carbuncles, and smaragdi. He leaned around his wife to say to Myron: "Your Syrian guide, that what-is-his-name—Kothar—seems not to enjoy himself."

Myron, toying with his own plain pottery cup, glanced to where Kothar sat, eating little and watching the flitting forms of the naked maidens with glum disapproval. "He is a man of austere, ascetic nature, who hopes that his abstinence will gain him great magical powers. I think he is shocked by your conviviality."

"Bes is the god of mirth and merriment," said Jed-hor, "so it is only meet that we honor him with a gleesome party. When a man controls his lusts as strictly as your friend appears to do, the reason is not that he is strong, but that they are weak. He has not touched his fish, poor abject! We serve it to laymen and foreigners, albeit the rules of die priesthood do not let us eat it ourselves."

"Syrians do not eat fish either," said Myron. "As the five of us all come of different stock, each of us has some-thing different that he cannot eat. Kothar will not eat fish or pigeon; Shimri will not consume pork."

"We eat no pork here," said Jed-hor, "save at the feast of Osiris and Khons."

"And you, sirrah," said Bessas, looking around past the priest at Myron, "won't drink healthy and delicious milk! So scoff not at others' foibles."

"Nor would you eat that savory octopus they served us in Marath," retorted Myron.

"I, eat that hideous sea monster? Ugh! It reminded me of that demon they kept in the pool in the temple in Takshasila."

Jed-hor commented: "That which seems but meet and proper to us may appear odd to our friends, eccentric to strangers, and barbarous to foreigners. Will you spend a few days in seeing the sights of Opet ere you proceed?"

. Myron gave the priest a smile that was somewhat forced, because the scented grease, trickling clown his face and neck, had begun to spot his only decent shirt. "What sights do you suggest, sir? This temple seems to me as wonderful as anything I have seen, from Persia to Egypt."

"Right and true a million times! No land surpasses Khem for monuments of antiquity. Ere you depart you must see our Hall of Priestly Statues. About twenty-five years ago, one of your clever Milesians—what was his name? Hek something."

"Hekataios the geographer?"

"I believe so. Thinking to impress us with the ancience of his tribal traditions and the splendor of his ancestry, he began to boast of his genealogy, asserting that his sixteenth ancestor in the direct line had been a god. So my father, who was then First Prophet, led this man into the hall and showed him three hundred and forty-five wooden statues of First Prophets, every one the son of his predecessor."

"What did Hekataios say to that?"

"Nought. What could he say? However, for the greatest sights—after this temple—you must cross the river to the City of the Dead, where stand many temples and palaces from the great days of Egypt. There the kings of yore lie buried—or rather, there they did lie buried until the villainous grave robbers plundered them." Jed-hor's beady eyes glared at Myron, like those of an angry snake. "If you would fain lay up credit with the gods and with all men of decent feelings, use your influence at the Persian court to have these tombs properly guarded. Now the satrap sends a couple of lazy spearmen to patrol, and these knaves find a sheltered spot and pass the night in drinking, gaming, and sleeping, allowing the accursed gangs to commit their vile depredations with impunity. May Mertseger sink her fangs into them! But I must not spoil your feast by ill-timed complaints, my friend. Whither are you bound?"

"Your Holiness, our destination is the sources of the Nile. Now, I am familiar with the tale of the two conical mountains, each with a fountain on top. But what more can you tell me about Kush and the unknown lands beyond?"

"Only that the pious priests of Amon of Meroê guide the government of Kush in its courses. Every century or so they send a legate hither to make certain that they still perform the immemorial rituals aright. I understand that they keep an admirable custom there. When the king begins to lose his powers, or if he turns out to be a bad man, the priests command him to slay himself, and this hi invariably does. Who shall say that the Kushites are less enlightened than we? Now, man of Miletos, devise me of the court of King Xerxes. How fares the king in health and spirits?"

"That were difficult to say. The king leads a secluded life, rarely seen by such as me save at reviews and ceremonies ..."

Myron went on at some length about Xerxes. Although he was careful not to say anything that might be held against him, Jed-hor wrinkled up his aged face and said:

"Given time, pride and self-love can turn all the virtues into vices, as water dissolves a lump of salt."

Myron tried to drag the conversation back to things that concerned the expedition. He asked about the dragon of the Ishtar Gate, taking one of his sketches from his scrip to show Jed-hor. But the priest replied:

"Those lands harbor many strange beasts, surely. But for the details I answer not. Animals are out of my ken. Now, Master Myron, tell me of the king's sons Darius and Artaxerxes. Live they in amity or in enmity with each other and with their royal sire?"

Myron told of the characters of the princes, and Jed-hor commented: "Self-interest, acting in divergent directions, can in time make the bitterest foes of the firmest friends and the closest kinsmen."

"How about the people of Kush? Are they as faultless and virtuous as Homer asserts of the Ethiopians, which I take to be the same folk?"

"I have not read your Homer. But, from all I hear, the Kushites are but mortal men, and you know what they are. Besides, does not every virtue, carried to excess, become a vice? May the Hidden One preserve me from faultless men!"

"Another thing, sir. The problem of the shape of the earth has long beguiled your servant. Now, in traveling hither from Syria, I have observed that the constellation we call the Lesser Bear, which wheels about the celestial pole, circles lower and lower in the sky, the farther south we proceed. So the pole itself must be lower. And I have striven to imagine what form the earth could have to cause this change. If the earth were curved convexly, like a section of a sphere, this effect would ensue. But then we should find ourselves walking down a slope that becomes ever steeper, and the Nile would flow south instead of north."

"That were as impossible as that the sun should rise in the west!"

"No doubt; but what says the wisdom of the priests of Amon about these astronomical matters?"

"I know not; some effect of increasing distance from the pole, I suppose. You make me feel very ignorant, my Greek friend."

"I am sorry—"

The First Prophet cackled. "Tsk, tsk; apologize not. I, like other men, own up to minor failings in hope of convincing others that I have no major ones. Continue."

"Well then, what say the priestly archives about the shape of the earth?"

Jed-hor: "That the earth is a hollow oblong box, with mortals creeping about like ants on the floor thereof. However, I am not qualified to dispute such a matter. The exigencies of trying to please the gods, placate the Persian government, and guide the masses absorb what effort I have to give. Now tell me of Artabanus the minister ..."

Myron gave up, as it was plain that Jed-hor was not in the least interested in the shape of the earth, or the fauna of Africa, or any other general question, any more than the Phoenician merchants had been. Myron realized that the old man was no superhuman sage after all. Instead, Jed-hor was a shrewd and cynical politician, determined to wring from his guests every scrap of court gossip and rumor that could possibly help him in his bloodless but unending struggle with the Persian government.

So Myron cautiously talked of Persian politics with Jed-hor, while jugglers, singers, and naked dancers performed. Jed-hor spoke of many matters, and thus Myron learnt of the smashing victory which Kimon the Athenian had lately won over the forces of the Great King at the mouth of the Eurymedon, in Asia Minor.

Skhâ drank deeply, tried in vain to make an assignation with a dancer, and finally went to sleep in a corner. Bessas followed the dancers with burning gaze, while Kothar ignored the entertainment to speak to his neighbors of spiritual matters.

The only untoward incident occurred when a young priest sitting opposite Shimri suddenly sprang to his feet, shook his fist at the Judaean, and poured out a flood of abusive Egyptian. Shimri sat in popeyed, open-mouthed astonishment. Jed-hor called out an order, and two other priests hustled the angry man out.

"Our humble apologies to our guests," said Jed-hor. "The young man drank his wine faster than was good for him. This deplorable conduct will be remembered when the time comes for his promotion. Now, Master Myron, tell me more of the affairs of court. If that of Xerxes be like others, there is usually a knot of the discontented who rally round an opponent of the minister or favorite of the moment; for hatred of favorites is nought but hope of favor ..."

After the party had broken up and the travelers had been led to pilgrims' quarters, Myron said: "Kothar, what happened between the priest and Shimri?"

"You know how Shimri spits as he speaks. He insisted upon talking to this priest, though neither could understand the other. And a tiny drop of spittle flew from the mouth of Shimri to the robe of the priest. To be touched by a foreigner, and worse yet by the spittle of a foreigner, rendered the priest unclean, so he must needs undertake a tedious ritual of purification. Hence the fellow was wroth."

"I can see how he might be. But what did the priest say?"

"I believe he called Shimri a flea-bitten sand dweller, a god-detested son of Seteh, and a spy of that dung-eating tomb robber Achaemenes, if you will pardon the expressions."

Bessas, who had overheard, gave a low rumble of laughter. "Demon land has no fury like that of a priest who is asked to pay taxes as ordinary folk must." He followed Myron into the cell set aside for the twain of them.

"How did you make out with old Jed-hor? He talked to you much more than to me, you garrulous Greek!"

Myron told of his bitter disappointment in the prophet's wisdom. Bessas clapped him on the back in a rough but not unkindly way. "It is even as I told you, man."

"However," said Myron, "a useful thought occurred to me during our conversation." He repeated what Jed-hor had told him about the tombs of the kings across the river and the gangs of grave robbers that plundered them.

"Now," he said, "there may be a more hazardous.pursuit than cutting off the ears of living kings, but if so I haven't heard of it. Could we not, however, get in touch with these grave robbers and arrange to buy an ear from the mummy of one of these long-dead kings? Thus we shall obtain at least one of the objectives of our quest."

Bessas' mouth fell open. "You have the wisdom of the lawgiver Oroxaeus, little man. Kothar!"

The Syrian put his head in the door. "Aye, Lord Bessas?"

"Come hither; I have a job for you...

As Bessas explained, Kothar's mouth turned down. "Ah, me! I forelooked an evening of quiet communion by spirit with a colleague in Hind. Instead, I must prowl through reeking dives and consort with unwashed ruffians."

"There is no help for it," said Bessas. "You speak fluent Egyptian, whereas we know only a few phrases like 'where is the latrine?' Withal, I suspect that, despite your fastidious pose, you have had more to do with the underworld than either of us. So be on your way'"

Next morning a red-eyed Kothar reported: "By the grace of the invisible spirits, I found the man you seek. His name is Tjay, and he plans to lead his gang tonight to the robbery of a tomb at the southern end of the Valley of Kings, as yet unplundered. When I told him what you sought, he demanded fantastic prices, but I chaffered him down to ten shekels for the royal ear. He does impose but one condition: that you and Myron accompany him on the raid."

Bessas frowned. "Why? It seems not in character, for any thief to discover to outsiders the source of his loot. I sense a hidden gin in this jungle."

"The reason Tjay gives is that he would have you satisfied that the ear is forsooth that of an authentic king and not of some royal cook or second butler. Myself, I suspect that he wishes your strong arms in case of conflict. These gangs parcel out the City of the Dead among themselves, assigning plundering grounds by treaty, with metes and bounds like sovran nations. But, like sovran nations, any gang will poach on the territories of another if it thinks it can do so without scathe. Tjay's band, being small, needs reinforcement for such a razzia."

Bessas drew his sword and tested the edge with his thumb. "O Myron, is your blade good and keen?"

"Sharp enough to shave with, did I wish to adopt the Egyptian fashion," said Myron lugubriously. "Had I known what I was getting into, I should have been less ready with suggestions."

Kothar smiled maliciously. "Even a fool, when he keeps his peace, is accounted wise, and he who shuts his mouth is esteemed a man of sound judgment."

"Take a look at your sword, too, Kothar," said Bessas.

The Syrian's smile vanished. "Oh, but good my lord! I had no intention of going on this foray. I am quite un-suited to such nocturnal desperatisms."

"Natheless, you shall come, if only for your command of the Khemite speech. I would not have us fall into some ambush and then try to work out tactics with friend Tjay by sign language."

Kothar paled, sank to his knees, and kissed the hem of Bessas' tunic. "Spare your slave! I will do whatever you command, but not this! You know not what you ask!"

"What do I ask of you?"

"It is not the knives of rival robbers, or the spears of the guardians, or the staves of the priests that I fear, but the sinister supernatural influences that hover over the City of the Dead. You cannot sense them, but to my occult insight they appear as plain as if they were a vast black cloud of bats, sweeping back and forth over that fell necropolis. I feel them; they call to my soul: Come, Kothar bar-Malko, come within reach of our claws!"

The man seemed so genuinely terrified that Myron, whose sympathies were easily touched, might have let him off. Besides, despite his skepticism about spooks, he felt his own viscera crawl with fear at the Syrian's words. But Bessas was inexorable.

"You care not if these demons bear off my soul and Myron's to some unknown hell!" he growled. "My fravashi likes this enterprise neither, but I know my duty. Well, useless though you be with a sword, you still know more spells and other magical antics than the rest of us. So you shall come along and recite manthras to hold your fiendly hosts at bay, whilst Myron and I cope with mundane threats from the material plane."

A swarm of small boats, each flying a single papyrus sail, ferried passengers from Opet to the City of the Dead. As the Nile was at ebb, Bessas, Myron, and Kothar had to jump out into ankle-deep water, wade ashore, and walk over a long stretch of half-dried mud before reaching the bank of the river. After scrambling up a low bluff by a narrow sandy path, they found themselves above the high-water mark of the river.

Ahead, a broad plain spread out before them, dotted with temples, shrines, palaces, and hundreds of huts of temple servants. Plots of cultivation lay amidst the buildings, but the winter's crops had long since been harvested, leaving brown stubble. About a league away, black against a sky still banded with vermilion and gold and emerald from the departed sun, rose the ramparts of the Libyan desert.

Other visitors also came and went. Egyptians, most of them boys, swarmed around with torches to sell and asses to rent. Kothar, snapping: "Ennen! Ruek!" at them, strode through and on across the plain.

The sky darkened; bats whirred overhead. The buffs and browns of daylight darkened to purples and grays. Pilgrims lighted their torches, making orange splashes in the twilight. The Bactrian and his companions crossed a rickety bridge that spanned a small arm of the Nile, now but a dried-up moat lined with black mud cracked into polygonal patterns. The two colossal seated statues of the third Amenhotep, faintly washed with the silvery sheen of the rising moon, towered up on their left against the awakening stars.

"The priests inform me," said Kothar, "that to see the City of the Dead in its greatest glory we should have come here a few centuries back, when wealth was to hand for the upkeep of all these establishments. Now, because of the rapacity of the Persian officials—so they say—some of the temples are reduced to a mere handful of priests, and some have been abandoned to the lizard, the jackal, and the stone-stealing peasant. This distresses the priests full sore."

Myron murmured: "While I love great art of whatever nation, I imagine that the common people whose substance was squeezed out of them to build these fine god-houses might feel a bit differently."

Kothar: "Of course, to a scoffing unbeliev—Yai!" A bat, swooping close past his head, caused him to leap and yelp. "Being doomed to this rash undertaking, I strive to pass it off bravely. But this is hard, because only I understand the full depth of the peril into which we are rushing. You, who comprehend such matters not, can afford to be fearless."

They walked along the path that led to the great mortuary temple of Queen Hatshepsut, a vast, severely symmetrical pile of monumental stairways and endless colonnades. Behind the temple towered a jagged cliff, whose sharp spires soared a hundred cubits above the plain. People, cloaked against the chill of the desert night, passed them coming and going. Egyptian pilgrims, foreign sightseers, and shaven priests flitted by like ghosts. Voices were hushed as the darkness deepened. The torches looked like a surging swarm of orange fireflies.

"By the time we reach this tomb," said Myron, "my feet will be so sore that I could not flee from a toddling babe, let alone from a man or a demon."

"Keep your voice down," said Bessas. "Some know the Syrian speech. 'Tis but a furlong farther."

The temple of Hatshepsut no longer boasted a corps of resident priests. The properties on which the temple relied for support had disappeared by alienation and confiscation centuries before. Sightseers prowled about the deserted fane, which still stood in good repair. A pair of voluble Hellenes were energetically scratching their names in the limestone of one of the square pillars. One scratched with the point of a dagger while the other held a torch.

"That is the sort of thing that incenses the priests," said Kothar. "If those saucy knaves do not live to rue their insolence towards the great queen's ghost, I shall be much astonished."

He led his companions to the right. At the northern extremity of the mortuary temple, where the sides of the half bowl in which the temple stood began to slope up sharply, a voice hissed out of the darkness.

Kothar whispered introductions. "This is Tjay," he said. "He will lead us to the top of the cliff, where his men await."

"Do you mean we shall scale that?" said Myron, almost in a squeak, as he pointed to the cliff.

"Certes; it would not do to take the well-traveled road to the Valley of Kings. This is a mountain path, known to few. Let us be on our way."

Bessas spoke quietly to Myron: "If you are not used to mountaineering, keep behind me, watch what I do, and don't look down. I have done enough climbing in the mountains of Gandara to have the hang of it."

The climb, though not quite so dreadful as Myron had feared, was bad enough for one not used to it. At the top he panted: "Let me—let me catch my breath. Now I know what Pindaros means by the term 'age always hateful.'"

Four more shadows shimmered into view in the moonlight. Kothar explained: "These are Tjay's men. Two others have gone to the temple of Seti to raise a disturbance and draw the guards thither. Come along."

"You mean—you mean we are not there yet?"

"Gods, no! The tomb is another half-league."

The Valley of Kings was a wide-spreading complex of troughs, ravines, and bays. Myron panted, slipped, and stumbled behind his companions over knife-edged ridges and up and down slopes fit only for goats. Kothar, walking in front of him, stopped so suddenly that Myron bumped into him. The Syrian squealed and seized Myron's arm with frenetic force. The guide was trembling.

"What is it?" said Myron.

"Do you see?" Kothar pointed across the rock hills. "It is the cobra goddess Mertseger, who guards the tombs of the dead. She lies in wait for us!"

Myron peered. Was it a trick of the moonlight, or did a long, dark, serpentine shape indeed sprawl across the landscape? Were those a pair of low-hanging stars, or the eyes of the divine serpent?

For an instant Myron almost screamed and ran. Then, by a colossal effort of will, he blinked and shook his head. The vast ophidian form vanished—or did it whip out of sight?

"There's n-nothing there," he chattered. "It is all your im-imagination. And why does she not assail these other miscreants—"

"Blast you two, hasten!" hissed Bessas.

The moon was almost overhead when they came to a pile of tailings, which had been dug away to reveal the entrance to a tomb. This tomb opened into the side of a ravine.

Myron's scalp tingled as he looked into the black aperture. The thieves murmured. Two of them fastened their mantles over the entrance to make a curtain. The others slipped in, motioning Bessas and his companions to follow.

Inside, inky blackness engulfed them until it was shattered by the sparks of flint on steel. Presently the grave robbers had a couple of tiny pottery lampions burning and filling the tomb with the stench of castor oil.

The flickering yellow light revealed that they stood at the head of a shallow flight of steps—or rather, two parallel flights of steps with a sloping plane between. White stucco covered the side walls. At the foot of this double stairway was the main entrance to the tomb. A heavy stone door, already forced, now lay at an angle against one side of the tomb corridor.

Kothar whispered: "It seems that this tomb lies in the territory claimed by Imisib, a rival gangster. Imisib discovered the tomb and planned to loot it at leisure, but one of his henchmen blabbed. So Tjay hopes to clean out as much as he can by one quick raid. Naturally, he is queasy lest Imisib's gang trap us here and cut us all off."

"Now he tells us!" muttered Bessas. "I do not suppose these things have back doors?"

"Nay. Now must I perform my part, for you stand in danger of other than earthly origins. The gods have mercy upon us!"

From under his cloak, Kothar produced a small censer and a bronzen sistrum. He lit the censer from one of the lamps, and a horrid sulphurous stench commingled with the smells of castor oil and of musty antiquity. He swung the censer and shook the sistrum, which gave a shrill unmusical clank. Again and again he sounded the instrument, uttering exorcisms in' a low vibrant voice. At last he spoke in Egyptian to the grave robbers, who filed down the steps.

Over the main doorway was painted a scene showing two goddesses worshiping the divine sun. Inside the doorway were other painted scenes: a winged goddess and a god investing the king with divine powers. Masses of picture writing ran along the wall above and below these scenes. Bright-hued serpent-headed vultures flew along the ceiling. Kothar made one of the thieves hold a lamp still, near the writing, while he scanned the little processions of men, beasts, and plants.

"This man was truly a king, albeit a king of small importance," said the Syrian. "There is his name: Siptah."

Myron trailed the others along the silent corridor, which sloped down for a few reeds*( * 1 reed = 10-1/0 feet.), then ran level, then descended again. A plethron*(** 1 plethron = 100 feet.) and a half from the entrance, the corridor opened out into a broad square chamber, over sixteen cubits on a side. Four square pillars supported the ceiling. Except for the central aisle between the pillars, the chamber was packed and stacked with the dead king's personal effects. The lamplight shone upon an incredible treasure.

There were bedsteads of ivory and ebony; gilded couches; whole chariots of gilded wood; chariot wheels and poles trimmed with gold; cedar-wood chests; bronzen coffers inlaid with fayence; chairs of gold and ebony; alabaster lamps and vases; cups and dishes of gold and silver; swords and daggers with inlaid sheaths, golden hilts, and crystal pommels; gold-headed, jeweled walking sticks; lapis-lazuli cosmetic jars; an ebony shrine on which was coiled a jewel-eyed golden cobra; bows and staves bedight with golden filigree; statuettes of gold and copper and malachite; scepters, riding crops, footstools, headrests, crowns, gorgets, necklaces, amulets, pendants, bracelets, pectorals, fans, rings, chains, embroidered robes, gilded sandals, inlaid gaming boards ...

The gleam of gold and silver, the sparkle of jewels, crystal, and colored glass, and the glow of ivory, fine stone, and rare woods made Myron's head swim. He muttered:

"By Herakles, if this be the hoard of a minor king, I can hardly imagine the tomb of a Rameses or an Amen-hotep! A man could buy a kingdom with a tithe of this stuff."

"Not so easy," grunted Bessas. "Remember, these rogues must dispose of their plunder through fences, who'll mulct them of most of their gains. And the fences in turn must deal with other shady characters who won't give them full price. So, when all is done, the wealth thus liberated will be spread about quite widely."

"The spirits have smiled upon us," said Kothar, "for only rarely do the robbers come upon such a hoard as this. Most of the tombs were plundered long ago, during the ages when the land of Khem was sunken in anarchy. Now Tjay wants us in the burial chamber."

From the pillared hall, the corridor sloped down again and then ran level for nearly a plethron more before it reached the burial chamber, almost as large as the pillared hall and, like it, stacked with royal possessions. Here, the lid of the alabaster sarcophagus had already been pried off by earlier burglars, and Tjay's thieves were now lifting out the painted wooden mummy case. The lid came up with a creak of ancient, bone-dry wood, and there lay the mummy of King Siptah.

Next they pried out the mummy, which, over its wrappings of linen, was bound with bands of gold. These the thieves stripped off with practiced adroitness.

Kothar said: "Tjay says, if we want the king's ear, we must unwrap the mummy cloths. They will be otherwise occupied."

The tomb robbers were expertly going through the chambers. Two held a cloak by its corners while the others tossed into it the objects combining the most value with the least bulk.

"Hold the mummy crosswise on the mummy case," said Kothar, "whilst I unwrap the head."

Round and round went Kothar's hands, unwinding the crumbling yellowed cerements. The little oil lamp, flickering from the floor, cast weird shadows against the walls. These shadows reminded Myron unpleasantly of the beast-headed gods of ancient Khem. He had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. When he should have been observing every detail of the surroundings for future reference, he found that his mind could focus on nothing save an intense desire to be gone.

"Behold King Siptah!" said Kothar, unwrapping the last layer of linen strips. Beneath them transpired the sunken brown face of Siptah, the lips drawn slightly back to expose the teeth in a faint, sardonic grin. On the king's shaven head rested a close-fitting golden headdress, with a cobra rearing its head in front and a vulture's wings coming down over the ears at the sides.

Kothar gingerly pulled off the headgear, whose thin gold gave out faint creaking and rattling sounds. He took out his knife, looked about uneasily, uttered a cantrip, and began to cut.

"This stuff cuts like wood," he muttered.

The robbers completed their work in the burial chamber and left. From the pillared chamber came faintly the clank of metallic objects tossed into the grave robbers' cloak. The three in the burial chamber were alone, save for the mummy.

"There you are," said Kothar at last. He handed the hard, shriveled, dark-brown ear to Bessas, who turned it over and dropped it into his scrip.

"What do you now?" rumbled the giant.

"I am cutting off his other ear," said Kothar. "If one ear will make a mighty magic for Ostanas, I see not why the other should not do the like for me."

"Well, hurry!" said Bessas. "I am fain to leave this accursed place."

The robbers had moved away from the treasure chambers and towards the entrance to the tomb. The sounds of their movements came more faintly to the travelers' ears.

A shout echoed down the corridor. Then came a chorus of outcries, a trampling of feet, and a clash of steel. Torchlight flickered far up the passageway.

Kothar leaped up from his task. He dashed out the door and up the corridor. Bessas and Myron, drawing their swords, started after but met him coming back, his visage working and his eyes large and luminous in the gloom.

"It is Imisib's gang!" he hissed. "They have trapped us! Mertseger has had her revenge!"

"How many?" said Bessas.

"I know not; perhaps a score.'"

"We'll pile furniture across the corridor—"

"Nay! That were but to defer our doom. Come back to the burial chamber with me. Do as I say!"

The Syrian's voice rang with an authority that Myron had never heard in it before. Wondering what scheme Kothar had in mind, Myron followed the others back to the burial chamber, on whose floor the little lamp still burnt.

"Help me to drop the mummy case back into the sarcophagus," said Kothar. "That is right. Now place King Siptah on the floor behind it, so."

Kothar took the golden headdress and put it on his own head. Sounds of combat rolled closer; a man uttered a long, high scream.

Kothar picked up a bunch of mummy wrappings from the floor and wrapped them about his own head, beginning just below the eyes. When his face was unrecognizable, he secured the strip in place. He wrapped his cloak about his body below the armpits and lowered himself into the mummy case.

"Get down behind the sarcophagus!" he whispered. "If I say 'run,' that means that the others will have fled; run after them and mingle with the fugitives outside. If I say 'fight,' sell your lives as dearly as you can. Now crouch down out of sight and hold your tongues."

Sounds of combat from the corridor died away. Soon there were no more noises of scuffling, no more yells of stricken men. Footsteps approached; heavy breathing sounded from the entrance to the burial chamber. Myron, not daring to look up, could imagine a group of ragged tomb robbers, panting and sweating and holding bloody knives, clustered in the entrance, while those behind peered over the shoulders of those in front.

From the sarcophagus came a sound of motion. Kothar sat slowly up and pointed a skinny hand towards the entrance to the chamber. His voice, unnaturally deep and hollow, boomed out in the syllables of the Egyptian tongue:

"Who dares to disturb the rest of King Siptah?"

For the length of three heartbeats there was utter silence. Then piercing shrieks broke from the thieves. With a wild scramble, they bolted back up the corridor.

"Run!" said Kothar, leaping out of the sarcophagus.

Myron ran. On the floor of the corridor lay a couple of knives dropped by the thieves in their flight. Beyond them lay the bodies of two of Tjay's men.

One of the cloaks in which they had been gathering loot lay near them, its precious load scattered across the floor and gleaming faintly in the light reflected from the burial chamber. Myron felt precious relics of antiquity crunch beneath his boots. He raced through the pillared hall, on whose floor an abandoned torch still glowed. He ran up the long passage and bounded up the steps.

The three tumbled out of the entrance into the moonlight that bathed the ravine, and into the milling, gibbering crowd of tomb robbers. One of these addressed a question in Egyptian to Myron, then looked past the Milesian with wide-eyed astonishment. The man pointed and cried out-Myron, turning, saw what was amiss. Kothar still wore the golden headdress of King Siptah. In an instant he, Kothar, and Bessas formed a knot at the entrance to the tomb, swords out, while the thieves ringed them with drawn knives.

"We shall attack," growled Bessas. "I can cut our way through these curs, if you two will guard my back. Follow me I Verethraghna aid us!"

Bessas leaped with the speed of a charging leopard, his sword a silvery blur in the moonlight. One thief went down, slashed to death. The others tried to close around the Bactrian but were driven back by the thrusts and slashes of Myron and Kothar. Myron caught one stab in the folds of the cloak wrapped around his left arm. As his leathern corselet stopped another, he felt his sword cut meat.

Cursing his age, Myron found he was panting and falling behind the other two. His heart pounding painfully, he whirled and slashed in a frenzy of effort.

Then came a distraction. A band of white-clad men came running up the ravine, pointing and shouting. In a twinkling the fight at the head of the ravine broke up. The steep stony landscape was dotted with fleeing figures, pursued by shaven-headed, linen-clad men with swords.

"This way!" cried Bessas, leading his companions with long bounds up the mountain trail by which they had come.

The Bactrian set a fearful pace. Myron stumbled gasping after his leader, never quite losing sight of him but never catching up. Behind, the sounds of flight and pursuit died away. When silence and solitude once more reigned in the Valley of Kings, Bessas halted, dragging his forearm across his forehead. Myron gasped:

"Who—who were those men—who arrived—at the end?"

"A patrol of priests, trying to put down grave robbery," said Kothar.

Myron said: "O Bessas, however did you remember the way? I was hopelessly lost before I had followed this trail for a bowshot."

Bessas' white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "My mind may not be up to such flights of the spirit as Kothar's nor yet such feats of intellect as yours, but I have enough wit to pay heed to where I put my feet! Kothar, in the name of the Sleepless One, take off that crown ere we meet another body!"

Kothar doffed the object and hid it under his cloak. "You are right. If I walked into the temple of Amon wearing this, it might give rise to questions. It might even be deemed in bad taste!"