Chapter 6: Fight
-Honor is not a virtue.
Knighthood, Chivalry & Tournament Glossary of Terms
When Lock-Nah strolled away with his strange companion, Lateef gasped in horror:
- But, My Lord, you are wounded! You cannot fight!
- Don't worry, boy,- answered High Priest with mirthless smile,- it
won't be a fair
combat. I know something
about beliefs of these barbarians. They are ancient, their roots goes
deep into history
of humankind, possibly even to the time when Gods were like humans.
Mortal.
- Mortal gods?
- For shame, priest of Osiris! Don't you know that your God died once,
killed by his
own brother?
- But he resurrected again.
- Of course. As the husband of their queen should resurrect in me. I
said, this ritual is
ancient, half-forgotten in our land. Every year the god should die
to fertilize with his decomposing flesh theGoddess of earth.
- That's horrible.
- No more horrible than human sacrifices to Sobek, I would say.
- But we sacrificed slaves, not kings!
- Yes. And it's not to kings' credit. Because they savages consider
it as a great honor,
as you've heard -again crooked smile curled Imhotep's lips.
Instantly one of the soldiers interrupted their talk.
- And what they are going to do with us, priest? Murder on their damned
altar and then
eat on supper?
That's what going to happen?
Hysterical notes in his voice made Imhotep frown. He was responsible
for their lives,
regardless of his disdain for their cowardice and stupidity. And for
life of young priest.
And for his own, because he had to return to Egypt and find out who
wanted his
death. If not for anything else, he wanted to survive just because
somebody needed
his death that much.
But aloud he said only:" They won't do nothing to you until the fight
will be over. Don't
do anything that can provoke them. Just wait for my move."
Lateef looked at him hopefully, with kind of touching faith in his eyes,
bit it hadn't
please Imhotep a little because he wasn't so confident in himself;
and soldiers
grumbled and muttered in discontent but didn't dare to avow their doubts.
Red sun rolled down the sky, coloring ground, houses and men faces in
purple. In the
dusk the square again was alive with swarming crowd, and this time
the movement
was more organized. People gathered around open space in the center,
in front of
Goddess statue, and surrounded it in several circles. Part of the villagers
brought
stones and they were now busy arranging them around the opening.
Then the tall figure of priest approached to the cage, of course followed
by the
Nubian. Priest was carrying big horn of bull, and judging by caution
of his steps it was
full of some liquid.
-Hantara pe!-ordered old man.
-Drink this-translated Nubian with mean smirk on his face-Don't be afraid,
it's not
poison.
Priest handed the flask to Imhotep, and he sipped the contents of it.
It was bitter, with
faint taste of blood and wormwood. Immediately the world around started
to waver
and spin around him. Voices became too loud, colors too sharp. He was
now able to
see minute grains of sand on his palms, twilight was transparent as
the water in clear
brook, and all the world separated to black and white, light and shadow.
He heard a stiffened cry behind and whirled around. He noticed that
his movements also became swift and alert, much faster than of usual man.
And it was something
else…Power. Strong, overpowering feeling of force, overflowing his
mind, drowning
reason and prudence. He was able to break man's neck with two fingers,
to smash
this cage, to fight with savages and defeat them all. To conquer the
world. And it
would be a worth thing to do.
Ominous smile curled his lips …and then his glance fell on young priest's
face. His
boyish features twisted in grimace of horror and disgust.
-My Lord…what have they done to you?
Cold wave of awakened reason washed away the delusion.
It was just a potion. He should keep self-control, at least he should
try to do so. He
closed his eyes, to stop the world whirling around. Then he spoke,
not being able to
recognize his own voice, which turned into deep growl:
-I'm ready. What are we waiting for?
Old priest nodded with content and waved at several of his attendants
to unlock the
cage. Imhotep stepped out of his temporal prison, still feeling that
he could kill all the
enemy warriors with his bared hands. The feeling was good but by no
means
dangerous. He tried to guess whether the same potion was fed to his
adversary, to
make the battle more entertaining.
When he came closer to crowd, it parted, letting him pass, and erupted
in furious cry.
Then the same cry sounded from the opposite pat of the square, obviously
greeting
his opponent. And then the people silenced, as if giant hand of God
covered the
crowd.
The Queen, hyena-headed woman stepped in the opening, illuminated by
the red
light of torches mingled with blood-colored moonlight.
She had got on all four, raised her head to the statue of Goddess and started to wail.
It wasn't a wail of human or beast, but something between them-the plea,
the
complain and the threat at the same time. Body of strange woman was
bathing in
reddish moonlight, throwing the huge black shadow on the sand-and suddenly
Imhotep realized that it wasn't shadow of human female, but one of
the big hyena.
She wasn't human, this strange Queen of savage tripe. Possibly, she
was a Goddess,
abandoned by her mortal worshippers, half-forgotten, banned to live
in desert among
the wild people and wild animals. But still powerful and dangerous,
still demanding
sacrifices.
And one of them stayed on the opposite part of the square. Imhotep
looked in the
eyes of his future adversary and saw the doom and submission to this
doom in their
dim depth. Tall, muscular man with glinting black skin, he must have
been great
warrior, but was going to meet his fate with the meekness of bull under
the knife of
butcher. If he have been crying, fighting, or simply complaining- Imhotep
would
respect or at least pity him, but how one could pity the cattle going
to slaughters?
The howl stopped abruptly, and Imhotep realized that it's his turn to
act. He walked
inside the circle, enclosed in stones, and at the same minute the dull
racket rose over
the crowd and village- people started to bang smaller stones against
the boulders of
fence, and ragged drumming melody floated to the dark sky.
Flame of torches, wild music, smell of filthy flesh, sweat and blood-it
all mingled
droned in Imhotep's head as enormous gong. Black warrior, still with
this look of
victim in his eyes, stepped towards him-and tried to strike, but Imhotep
easily dogged,
using his new- attained ability to move faster then the wisp of smoke
in the strong
wing. One hit under the knee, one on the back of his adversary's head-and
the black
giant was lying on the ground, his face brushing the dirty sand. Imhotep
glided to him
and seized his neck with left forearm, raised warrior's chin and then
pressed his spine, where the neck transits into the shoulders, with another
hand. Dry cracking, quiver- and the defeatedman remained lying motionless
onto the ground.
Crowd gasped, ready to cheer-but Imhotep didn't stop his motion. In
one move he
crossed the open space and snatched the axe from the hands of Lock-Nah.
Then, still
in this continuous glide, he sliced Nubian's chest open, and, driving
his weapon on
sloping arc, plunged the blade into the neck of hyena woman. She gurgled,
felling on
her knees, blood fountained from the terrible wound.
"When the gods were mortals "-thought blinked in Imhotep's mind and
disappeared,
washed out by the tide of fierce joy. He was moving through the crowd,
easily
avoiding their ill-aimed blows, slicing through the bulk of bodies
as knife through the
butter, heading for the cage. On his way he yanked the torch from the
hands of some
bewildered villager and threw it on the roof of nearest hut. Dried
reed, covering it,
flared up immediately, and now the crimson fire danced in Imhotep's
dilated pupils,
flushed his face, which wasn't the face of human being anymore, but
the mask of
enraged God or rather demon Ammit, devourer of human souls. He continued
his
motion to the cage, leaving behind chopped corpses and pools of blood.
**********
Golden bark of Amon-Ra floated up the sky river, and luminous God squinted
at two strangers, staggering through the endless sands of desert. One of
them, covered in dried blood from the head to the legs, was almost carrying
another, who slumped helplessly on his companion's shoulder.
SHOULD I CONTINUE?