The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Год: 1968
- Язык: английский
- Год: Lancer Books
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate». Краткое содержание книги:
Dragon is probably closest in mood to de Camp's fantasy novels, while Bronze God and Arrows are closer to his science fiction, with their description of engineering problems, and personality clashes among researchers and engineers. Dragon also reflects de Camp's then-recent acquaintance with the Conan stories and other works of Robert E. Howard. Bessas, the huge Persian nobleman, is not only a close match for Conan in physique, but his mood swings, fixation on his mother, and tendency to toss of verses, seems a reflection of Howard himself. (Fortunately, his poems reflect de Camp's verbal dexterity and wit, not Howard's melancholy.)
When the girl had been led away, the high priest, backed by temple guards and armed men of the night watch, confronted the Bactrian. The priest's purple robe was disordered and his tall tiara of gilded papyrus awry, and he panted still from unaccustomed exercise.
"My good man," said the priest in his high castrate's voice, "we cannot suffer you with impunity to turn our city upside down and disturb the sanctity of our holy temple by such such ruffianly acts. Either you shall compensate the goddess for the outrage done unto her, or I will turn you over to these men, who will hale you before the magistrate."
"May the Drouth Horse trample you! If you think to squeeze money from me by blackmail and extortion—" began Bessas belligerently, but Myron intervened.
"Let me handle this," he said. "Holy Father, will you accompany me to the tavern?"
Later, Myron found Bessas sitting in a corner of the quadrangle, drinking in sullen solitude. "I got us off for ten shekels," said the Greek. "He wanted an archer, but I chaffered him down."
"That's robbery! I won't——"
"Oh, yes, you will! Consider your mother. That's better."
Next morning was passed in gloomy silence on the road to Hamath. At the noonday halt, Bessas faced the other two with fists on hips. He gruffed:
"I suppose that, having seen me make a fool of myself, you two have no more respect for me. If that be so, you may leave me; I will release you from your oaths. I'll not lead men who think me nought but blown bladder on legs."
Myron smiled. "On the contrary, old boy, we think more highly of you than before; for now we are aware that you, too, have human weaknesses. Nobody is immune to trouble."
Bessas' brown eyes glared sharply from under his bushy brows. "Do you swear that you speak truth?"
"By Zeus and all the gods I swear it. You, Skhâ?"
The Karian swore also.
"Will you then swear not to mention this matter to others?"
"May I be clawed to ribbons by ten thousand privy-haunting demons if I breathe a word of it!" said Myron. Skhâ also swore.
Bessas broke into a big grin, seized the twain in a double bear hug, and kissed them loudly. "That's better," he said. "I begin to feel like a man and a noble Aryan again." He poetized:
Myron, biting into a slab of cheese, asked: "What happened at the temple? You were not intoxicated, so what led to that astonishing episode?"
" 'Twas as the wench said," said Bessas, munching mightily. "Know that, for all my prowess, I have never been able to take women lightly, as do most warriors. With women of rank I am shy and tongue-tied, and with the baser sort I am easily disgusted. A wisdom-lover I met in India told me to try abstinence, as did the naked ascetics of his fellowship. But I do not find that easy, either, for my lance is strong and easily couched for the charge. Besides—Oh, Ahriman smite the whole fornicating sex! Except my mother."
"I sometimes think," said Myron, "that your mother has kept you too close to her for your own good."
"May you be kinless! Leave my mother out of this!" said Bessas, with such a menacing expression that Myron hastily apologized. When the Milesian had calmed the giant, Bessas continued:
"Nor do women look upon me with favor; they are sure that I shall hurt them because of my size. And I daresay I often do, being as clumsy in rut as a horse on a housetop." He grinned. "You should have included a course in practical erotics when you taught me as a boy, O Myron.
"Howsomever, being neither eunuch nor boy-lover, I am ofttimes driven nigh unto madness by unsatisfied lust. If I have sometimes used you two rudely without just cause, that is the reason, and I now beg your pardons.
"When I walked the path of choice in the temenos of Ashtarth, I saw many of the lassies quail at the sight of me. Forsooth, I should have walked out then, but one boldly met my glance. So I chose her. She is Ghulamath, daughter of a building contractor of Halpa. And, indeed, we beat out a fine marching tune in the hut."
"Who was on top?" asked Skhâ.
"None of your affair. When it was over, I asked if I might gallop a second course, if she would spare a few ush for my sword to recover its temper. Whilst we waited, Ghulamath told me a dismal tale of the hardships of temple harlotry: how she has to accept all kinds of strangers, often unwashed and stinking, and eager only for their own pleasure.
"Now, I know that among these folk such temple service is accounted pious and honorable, but to me it seems foul and shameful for a decent woman. So when the lass wrought upon my sympathies, I fell madly in love with her. And when I love, the woman can do aught that she pleases with me.
"Hence, when she sighed the wish that some hero would 'take her away from all this,' as she put it, I did but seek to pleasure her by taking her at her word. Now I see what a fool she made of me." The giant wiped away a tear.
Full is the earth of ills, and full no less are the waters,
quoted Myron. "But we'll help that broken heart of yours to heal. Let us be off."
VI – The Tower of the Snail
South of the city of Hemesa, where bright sashes were woven, the blue Lake of Qadesh sparkled in the sun. Once this lake had been but a marsh, where the surly Serpentine paused in its headlong rush to the sea. But, in times of immemorial antiquity, the beings who then dwelt in the land had dammed the fractious flume with massive blocks of stone.
South of the Lake of Qadesh, the ancient city of Qadesh stood on the western bank of the Serpentine. The city shimmered in the soft warm air of the Syrian spring.
Orchards and vineyards surrounded the town, while the vivid green of young wheat spread across the plain and up into the foothills of the Libanos.
On the fourth of Ayaru, in his shop off the Street of the Woodworkers, Malko bar-Daniel the wainwright was cutting a tenon in the end of a wheel spoke. Beside his bench was piled a heap of freshly shaven spokes and newly sawn felloes. The hub lay in its wheel pit, waiting for Malko and his son Odainath to hammer the spokes into the mortises spaced around its circumference. Malko had just finished his tenon when one of his grandchildren ran into the yard.
"Grandfather, strangers stand at the gate! They come from Uncle Daniel in Babylon."
Malko, a tall stooped man with a long white beard, unfolded his creaking joints and went to the gate. Three men stood there, sun-bronzed and travel-dusted. One enormous man wore a Persian bashlyk, a Median jacket, and baggy leather breeches tucked into high soft boots. A shorter and older man, of medium height and broad-shouldered build, was similarly clad. The third, young, short, and rolypoly, wore a felt cap pulled over his ears, a tunic down to his bare knees, and stout shoes with the toes curled up.
"Peace," said Malko, touching his heart, lips, and forehead.
"Peace," replied the others, almost in one voice. But their gestures differed according to their origins. The giant thrust out a huge hand to shake. The medium-sized man held up his right hand and flipped it back and forth, with the palm turned inwards towards himself. The short youth crossed his hands on his breast and bowed.
Myron of Miletos introduced himself and his companions and told of their meeting with Daniel bar-Malko in Babylon. Malko said: