The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate

On the grass mats that floored the general's pavilion, Myron and his companions sat cross-legged in a semicircle, with Puerma and a score of Kushite officers. A woman sat between each man and the next.

Not knowing Kushite, Myron could not converse with either of his dinner companions. This fact did not stop them from talking to him and to each other about him. Seemingly they were cracking broad jokes, for they laughed uproariously and rubbed their bare breasts against him. Myron tried to learn a few words of their speech but found it hard going.

He downed a mug of beer, belched, and said: "Beshrew me if I am not coming to like the stuff, O Bessas!"

" 'Tis weaker than Egyptian beer," said Bessas. "By the wheels of the sun chariot, they're bringing in a live ox! Are we supposed to rend it asunder with nails and teeth?" He turned to General Puerma and changed from Greek to Aramaic. "My lord, is this beast our dinner?"

Puerma, who had discarded most of his regalia, grinned and scratched his paunch. "You see soon."

"Poor Kothar looks sick," said Myron.

Bessas: "What said you? I cannot hear over this din."

"I said, poor Kothar looks sick!"

"He probably fears that those wenches on his flanks will rape him."

"By Herakles, that were an interesting problem—" began Myron, but a bellow from the ox and an outburst of shouts from the Kushites cut him off.

The beast had been tripped and thrown at the entrance of the pavilion. Despite its thrashing, servitors swarmed around it and held it down with ropes. A pair with knives began to cut into the haunch of the living animal. The ox bellowed frantically; the Kushites shouted encouragement.

"Papai!" said Myron. "This is new to me, and I do not know that I like it."

Bessas grunted. "I have eaten raw meat ere this, when I was caught without food or fire on the Sakan steppes."

"Well, let's hold back and watch the others when we are served, so as to comply with their code of table manners."

"If you can call it that," said Bessas.

A swarm of slaves now crowded round the ox, which continued to moan and bawl as it was flayed and cut up. Blood spread around the entrance of the pavilion in a widening puddle; flies gathered in humming swarms. Nevertheless, the carvers skillfully avoided cutting any major blood vessel, so that the animal's agony went on without cease. The Kushites whooped and cheered at each bellow.

The slaves began to stream into the pavilion with heaped platters. Each platter bore a stack of thin flat disks of leathery bread, half a foot in diameter, and chunks of raw meat, still bleeding and warm. Each slave put his platter down in front of a woman.

As she received her platter, each woman attacked the meat with a small knife. When she had cut the meat into cubes the size of dice, she piled a number of these on a disk of bread, rolled the bread into a cylinder, and thrust the end of the cylinder into the mouth of the man on her left. It was, it seemed, a point of Kushite honor for a man to be fed with his arms hanging limply at his sides, not using his own hands at all. It was also good manners to chew with one's mouth open, making loud smacking and slobbering sounds. Myron murmured:

"Somehow my appetite is not what it was—"

A cylinder of bread and meat, jammed into Myron's open mouth, ended his speech. He almost gagged, but Bessas said:

"If-you throw up, I'll break your neck. The stuff is not bad."

The slaves kept coming, refilling the platters as fast as they were emptied. The women fed the men until the latter signified that they had had enough. When the men were finished, each of them fed his woman partner in the same manner. Myron clumsily dropped his meat the first time he tried to roll a cartridge of bread, but the woman took it as a joke. With a final groan, the ox expired.

The noise subsided as the platters were cleared away. Now the slaves came round with huge pitchers of beer. The sun set; rushlights glimmered. The drinking went on and on. The noise of speech and laughter rose until Myron gave up trying to talk.

The Kushites drank incredible quantities. As the sky darkened, pairs of dining partners became more and more familiar. They shouted, screamed, slapped backs, and burst into hysterical howls. The men nuzzled and fondled the women. Myron's woman seemed to expect the same; but Myron, fearing to pick up another load of vermin and disliking the whole procedure, held aloof.

A little muzzy with beer, he blinked and shook his ringing head. All over the floor of the pavilion, men and women were throwing off their few garments. The scene became one of unbridled satyrism. The chorus of grunts, snorts, belches, gasps, and giggles gave the impression of a vast and agitated farmyard. The mixture of smells was indescribable.

Although Myron sometimes scorned Kothar for the latter's prudishness, he now found that his own most compelling desire was to escape. Looking about for his comrades, he was taken aback to see that Bessas, Kothar, and General Puerma had all disappeared. The thought of being alone in the midst of a barbarous orgy, unable even to speak to those about him, terrified Myron. To the woman, who now lay expectantly beside him, he shouted: