The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate

On Bessas' side lay the darics of King Xerxes—or rather they had lain there. Most of them had now moved over to Puerma's side. As Myron watched, Puerma rattled the three dice in the box and threw.

"Isis!" cried the general, for three sixes showed. He swept up the stake.

"Bessas!" cried Myron. "Your mother—"

"Let me alone," grumbled Bessas. "I am so far down now that I must needs go on."

"But we shall be destitute!"

"That matters not; Takarta's treasure will make it up to us."

"If we obtain it! You must be mad, to—"

"Fear not, Master Myron," said Puerma soothingly. "His luck surely turn. Not fair, not to give him chance to win back his wealth."

After several more throws, during which the stake grew again, Puerma threw a six. He picked up the other two dice and threw again, getting another six; a throw with the remaining die brought forth a third six, making another Isis. Bessas glared as his money departed.

"The Corpse Fiend take these dice!" he growled. "All I can throw tonight are dogs!"

"In the name of Zeus the king!" cried Myron. "Use some sense, man. Another of those and we shall be beggars!"

Bessas' bloodshot eyes flamed dangerously. "I told you to leave me alone!"

"Well, I won't! If you're a fool, I am not! Drop that nonsense, come back to camp, and sober up!"

"Curse you, I suffer no man to speak to me thus!" shouted Bessas, beginning to lurch drunkenly to his feet.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" cried Puerma.

"Excuse your slave," said Kothar.

As if by magic, the sound of the growing quarrel died away. All three men turned to stare at the Syrian, who had been sitting cross-legged, silent, and immobile throughout the altercation. But his voice possessed its strange authority.

"I made a small study of the stars and other omens this evening after I left the rout," he said. "Know that the mystical cosmic forces have combined against Master Bessas. He had no chance of winning this night."

"Why didn't you say so sooner?" groaned Bessas.

"You would not have believed me without a demonstration, and such a claim would only have caused discord. However, if you like, I will take your place; for I believe that my chances are fair."

"Very well. But your winnings shall belong to the expedition, not to you."

"I understand, sir. Let us play, General."

For a few throws the relative positions of the two players did not change. Each made small winnings and sustained small losses.

Then Kothar began to win consistently. Piece by piece, the archers flowed back across the table. The general's pile of winnings melted like the snows of Mount Libanos in spring.

Phyllis brought more beer. Puerma drank in great gulps. But Kothar, Myron suspected, only pretended to sip.

Kothar's winnings continued. Although he sustained an occasional setback, these losses were small and were followed by heavy winnings. Soon Puerma had, besides his golden ornaments, only a few darics left. He yawned and said:

"I wax too sleepy to continue. Besides, you will soon have wrested the treasury of Kush from me."

Kothar looked up with raised eyebrows. "Indeed, sir? Then I believe I am entitled to claim a forfeit from you, as I am ready and willing to continue the game until sunrise."

"Oh? That is right." Puerma gazed at the Syrian with a bleary and wavering stare. Then he shouted: "Phyllis!"

"Yes, master?" said the girl, appearing through the curtain.

"I give you to this man, whatever his cursed foreign name be, as forfeit for breaking off the game. You are his. Obey him in all things. And now good night, my friends. Let us go out the back, so as not to stumble over those who sleep on floor of the dining room."

In parting, Puerma spoke to Myron in a conspiratorial whisper. "Truth to tell, I give away Phyllis because I cannot abide her pale skin. It seem unhealthy; remind me of corpses and leprosy. But you northrons are used to such. Fare you well!"