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.)
"The fellow has some ability as a captain," said Bessas. "Let's get out of here. Beware of snakes."
Bessas led the way, with Myron limping behind. Beyond the palms lay a band of ornamental shrubs and flowers, planted in rows in the Persian style. Beyond these loomed the temple, tinted pink by the setting sun. On their right they could see the corner of the theater, below which, out of sight, lay the tank of water.
"Merciful gods!" said Bessas.
Issuing from the temple, and winding past the theater and down towards the pool, came a procession of naked men and women. They came in no special order of sex or age: male and female, old and young, lithe and paunchy, all were intermingled.
"This must be Father Meremoth's baptismal procession," said Myron.
From the palm grove behind them came sounds of Orontes' men and snatches of speech: "Look into that dark clump ..."
"No, they are not here."
"Perhaps they have run into the temple ..."
The nude procession wound down out of sight to the right. The tail end of the line passed in front of Myron and Bessas, not over twenty paces distant, but driblets of tardy worshipers continued to issue from the side door of the temple, running to take their places at the end of the line.
Behind Myron, sounds of pursuit came closer. Myron said: "We cannot remain here. But I cannot run, alas!"
"What in the name of Ghu can we do?" said Bessas. "I cannot abandon my comrade!"
"Thanks, old man," said Myron. "Let me think ... By the Dog of Egypt, I have it! Do you see this big shrub? If we conceal our garments beneath it, we can dash out and join the end of the procession without anyone's being the wiser. The Persians would not recognize us without our bashlyks."
"Mithra! Me expose myself in that shameless fashion? I had liefer die!"
"Well, you will soon have an opportunity." Myron began to disrobe. "Those fellows behind us are coming closer. Think of your mother! Besides, we need baths, and these will be free."
With the look of a man led to execution, Bessas imitated Myron. Choosing a moment when no more latecomers were running from the temple, and those already in line were looking towards the pool, Myron limpingly led his huge comrade out of the shrubbery and up to the tail of the line.
They had no sooner joined than one more initiate, a beautiful, copper-haired, superbly formed young woman, fell in behind them. She at once began to chatter:
"Is the ceremony not thrilling? Does not Father Meremoth stage it beautifully? I am sure the gods are pleased. I have not seen you at these rites before; are you but lately initiated?"
Bessas, next to this beauty in line, answered with inarticulate grunts. He kept his head averted, blushing a rosy pink. Fearing that his comrade would arouse suspicion by this churlish conduct, Myron changed places with Bessas and gravely answered the girl's questions.
They were descending the slope to the pool when an altercation broke out behind them. Evidently the temple guards and the followers of Orontes were having it out. A priest, resplendent in a robe embroidered with golden thread, hurried up the steps of the pool, frowning portentously. Snatches of talk wafted down:
"... murderers hid in here ..." "How dare you disturb our divine services?" "Stand aside, or it will be worse for you!" "We will appeal to the governor."
"What is the matter?" said the girl. "Have strangers invaded our holy precinct?"
"If they are unauthorized, no doubt the Lord of the Waters will deal with them in his own fashion," said Myron blandly.
A Persian and a temple guard walked past them, arguing furiously in an undertone. Myron whispered in Greek: "Do not look around or display any interest!"
Bessas held up a skinned knuckle and replied in the same tongue: "I fear I broke that fellow's jaw."
The Persian and the Judaean passed on. Bessas and Myron found themselves at the edge of the pool.
The bald, wrinkled oldster who preceded them stepped down the marble stair into the pool. There a pair of naked priests awaited him, standing chest-deep in water. As the man submitted to being ducked by the priests, cymbals clashed, a drum rolled, trumpets called, and the audience on the theater benches burst into a song in an archaic tongue that Myron did not recognize, but which he supposed to be the dead Philistine language.
"Go ahead," he said to Bessas. "You are expected to swim the length of the tank."
Bessas cast a stricken glance back at his lieutenant and strode down into the pool. The priests pushed him under, and he came up coughing and spluttering. When he got his breath he began to swim slowly and clumsily.
A high, piercing voice, that of Shimri ben-Hanun, called out in Aramaic over the song of the worshipers: "Hail Bessas, the Bactrian hero!" A shriek of laughter in Skhâ's voice followed.
Bessas cast a ferocious glower towards the grandstand.
At once he missed his stroke and went under. He came up, coughing and spitting, and waded the rest of the way. Attendants with towels awaited him at the exit stairway. The scarlet sun sank below the edge of the Syrian Sea.
Back in the pilgrim's quarters, Bessas said: "You damned fool, Shimri, you might have gotten us slain by your folly! I ought to leave you here for that reason alone."
"Oh, master, it was not so bad as that!" said Shimri, giggling. "Nought went amiss. And we were so astonished, seeing you and Myron in the procession, that I could not help speaking out."
Bessas glared round the circle. Skhâ, sitting on his pallet, held his hands over his mouth in a futile effort to bridle his mirth. Even Kothar, who best maintained his usual gravity, allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch a trifle.
Myron said: "What I don't understand, O Bessas, is why you acted so standoffish with that girl behind us. She was a handsome wench and very friendly."
"Would you know, forsooth? The reason was that I have not exercised my lance since Halpa, and I feared that the sight of the filly would rouse my lusts, with results for all to see. Would that not be a fine addition to the cerem—"
A knock sounded, and there stood Meremoth. He came in gravely, exchanged pleasantries, sat down, and then burst into laughter.
"So you are now fully baptized Dagonites, without having been initiated! It is most irregular, but under the circumstances your servant blames you not. At least your sins are now cleansed from you. I have learnt of that gang who pursued you hither." He wiped his eyes. "All I can say is, lucky the lord who has such abandoned rogues as you on his side!"
Bessas managed a wry grin. "Next time I am to be shown to the world in this outlandish fashion, I will try to have my whiskers curled and my visage painted like a proper Aryan gentleman."
"I fear the paint would wash off; nor would the curls fare better." The priest became serious. "But I cannot advise you to tarry. We can afford you but little protection. The Persian governor at Ashqelon has only a few armed men. In the sight of our local magistrates, if one Persian cut the throat of another, that is all to the good and no concern of theirs."
"In other words," said Bessas, "we had better get out whilst our heads still adorn our shoulders."
Kothar said: "The omens are dire for leaving now."
"The omens are a lot worse for staying," replied Bessas. "Can you send a man to rouse us at the beginning of the second watch, Father Meremoth? We shall lie down and go to sleep at once, to strengthen us for the journey!"
Having bid the priest good-night, Bessas proceeded to do just this.
Before false morning raised its misty spear above the deserts of Shos, Bessas' company reached the frontier post of Rapih. Here they crossed from the satrapy of Syria into that of Egypt. Bessas' five mules were heavily laden with leathern water bottles against the hard march along the Sinaitic coast.