Chapter 28

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Inanna, whom Aryan treated as the treasured darling of his heart, was now helping General Hazas clean up the aftermath.

Inanna had come to realize that this ancient capital possessed all the makings of a champion actor. Luka, who had lain in wait at Carol’s side for so long, had once again laid the crucial foundation for the prince’s victory. After going down into Egypt and discovering the god’s daughter floating up from the river, he had pretended to escort the long-lost future princess back to Thebes with Unas and the others. Yet when Queen Isis launched her attack, he had secretly fled alone with Carol into the Syrian desert, then broken into Prince Izmir’s negotiation camp and allowed the soldiers to knock him unconscious. That way, he could deliver Carol to the prince without exposing his identity as a spy.

Inanna stared speechlessly at Carol, who had been hastily wrapped in a filthy rug with a rag stuffed into her mouth to keep her from shouting. She could not help wondering how she and Carol had become so strangely fated to cross paths.

General Hazas was warning the soldiers involved that they must not leak news capable of shaking every nation in the region. At the same time, he grabbed Carol—who continued to whimper “Mmm, mmm”—and tossed her into his own tent, where he would guard her personally. Then he stroked his beard and gave a crafty, knowing smile.

“Sukhamum, the time has come for your test. Find a way to pass this news to the prince and let him prepare in advance. Assyria is cruel and cunning. If they discover that the Daughter of the Nile has fallen into the hands of another kingdom, forget about concluding this alliance. They may tear up the agreement and turn against us on the spot.”

His concern was not unfounded. Inanna herself cared little for the politics between the two nations, but any normal woman would inevitably feel some degree of disgust toward King Aryan. Or rather, no self-respecting female creature would willingly remain within reach of his hands.

At that moment, a burst of uproarious laughter erupted from the tent. It was the sound of men indulging themselves amid clinking cups and merriment. Inanna frowned, then saw the prince’s personal attendant lift the curtain and step outside.

“Sukhamum, the prince summons you inside!”

General Hazas raised his chin toward her, signaling that the opportunity had arrived.

Inanna had no choice. She first entered the old man’s tent and asked for the dagger at General Hazas’s waist. Ignoring Carol’s terrified eyes, which nearly bulged from their sockets, she used the blade to cut off a lock of hair beside Carol’s temple and held it in her palm. Then she loosened the ox-tendon hair tie and let her shoulder-length black hair fall loose. She dabbed a little spikenard balm behind her ears and onto her wrists, made herself ready, and went forth to play the part of a messenger—and paid companion.

Inside the tent, Jomari was dancing with abandon. She spun so swiftly that the pearl fringe around her waist nearly became a silver-white flying disc. The exposed mystery of her femininity could not be seen clearly through the speed of her movements. One foot remained planted while the other struck the ground in an extraordinarily rapid rhythm, lending her momentum. In her hand, a small drum with a gilded handle and a hide-covered face snapped and crackled beneath her blows, matching the rhythm of her stamping feet in a dazzling yet harmonious display.

Every gaze had gathered upon that spinning-top of a woman. Except for a few sober participants, no one noticed that the curtain had been opened a narrow slit.

Jomari noticed, however. At her level of mastery, dancing was a bodily instinct and required little of her concentration. She was the only woman inside the tent, while another stood outside—and that other was the woman favored by the handsome Prince Izmir. Inanna had dared to speak recklessly even in Aryan’s presence, displaying audacity and insolence. Jomari no longer feared provoking a woman she envied.

She stamped her foot several times in succession. The drumbeat accelerated until it was almost impossible to see how she had transformed into a red flame, with only indistinct glimpses of the bewitching body within. Then, just as the drumbeat reached a sudden fever pitch, she let out a shriek. The little golden drum flew straight toward the tent entrance.

Inanna was momentarily stunned by the brilliance of the ancient dance. Then she realized that the woman had sent a hidden weapon flying directly at her face. Without the slightest panic, she tilted her head aside and caught the drum in one hand.

Every eye turned toward her. Since this was an exclusively male gathering, many of the men had already drunk themselves half senseless. The tent was unbearably warm, and most of them had nearly stripped off their clothes. Inanna was unused to such a scene—or perhaps women of the Central Plains were simply more modest by nature. A touch of the nervousness and blush peculiar to a girl in her teens appeared very appropriately upon her face.

Jomari’s ambush had failed, yet she felt not the slightest remorse. She stood where she was and extended a hand imperiously, indicating that Inanna should return the drum.

Several men below had already noticed the contest between the two women. They secretly glanced at the men behind them, wondering how each would react. King Aryan appeared wholly absorbed in Jomari’s beautiful figure, while Prince Izmir drank one mouthful at a time at an even pace. His long eyelashes trembled faintly, as though he could scarcely withstand the wine.

At that moment, Inanna smiled and tilted her head. As she lifted the curtain and slipped sideways through the opening, her straight, lustrous black hair—unlike anything found in the western lands—turned lightly upon her shoulders before settling neatly against the back of her head. It was a beauty too fleeting to be grasped clearly. Yet beneath the lamplight, the girl was still only a girl. Only her ivory skin, washed with golden light, and her softly curved eyes seemed to carry a hazy, elusive grace.

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She said nothing. She walked straight up to Jomari and, with a look of goodwill, offered her the drum.

Jomari held the delicate little foreign-looking girl in utter contempt. In her eyes, how could Inanna possibly deserve to stand beside the greatest man of the age? She gave a disdainful snort and reached out to yank her drum away.

It did not budge.

Her almond-shaped eyes widened. She glared at the girl who was still smiling at her, then flew into a towering rage and began to pull with all her strength.

Inanna found it effortless to deal with her. Apart from Jomari’s limited physical foundation, Inanna’s arms had grown strong during the days when Hattusas had made her stir milk for General Hazas. She was no ordinary woman.

The men around them began shouting their approval. The scene was much like a pillow fight between beautiful women in bathing suits from a later age—except that these spectators were also watching the attitudes of the men behind the women.

But Inanna was not the sort to turn herself into a spectacle. From the corner of her eye, she saw both Izmir and Aryan unconsciously straighten in their seats. Jomari was baring her teeth and refusing to yield. So Inanna simply released her grip.

Jomari went tumbling backward onto the soft carpet, landing flat on her back with her arms and legs flung wide.

She wore almost nothing below the waist—indeed, women of this era wore nothing there at all. Sitting on the ground with her legs spread, she drew every man’s bloodshot gaze as they craned forward to look. Jomari, however, behaved with complete composure. She merely twisted her waist and pointed at Inanna, who was walking toward the prince, then complained to Aryan:

“My king, your own woman is being bullied!”

Izmir had no experience with such matters. Even his father had never forced him to attend this kind of rowdy gathering. Yet he knew that since King Aryan had ordered his beloved consort to perform at the feast, he could not conceal his own woman and appear miserly. Doing so would only arouse unnecessary curiosity about Inanna.

And so he had summoned her inside. He had not expected that, against the seasoned and difficult Jomari, Inanna would not only avoid suffering a loss but also win him considerable face. Even Aryan could find nothing to say. A quarrel between women was hardly worth a man’s intervention, yet it still concerned a man’s honor.

He raised a hand, signaling for Inanna to sit behind him as before and continue pouring the wine. Jomari, meanwhile, acted as if she had suffered the greatest injustice in the world. Like a water snake, she writhed and rubbed herself against Aryan’s embrace. Unfortunately, Aryan showed little interest in her. From time to time, his gaze drifted toward Izmir instead.

Izmir was still feeling awkward when Inanna, who had originally been sitting behind him, suddenly placed one hand against his back and slowly let it climb toward his neck.

His entire body stiffened. Yet he could not bring himself to reprimand her. He turned, took her hand, and gently drew it to his chest. Then he smiled at Aryan, who was watching them.

“Sukhamum sometimes enjoys playing around.”

Aryan was startled. He had not expected the girl beside the prince to be mute. What a pity. If Jomari was a dazzling ruby, then this girl was like the silver-white electrum of Lydia. He could not tell whether she was gold or silver, and he almost wished for a knife with which to cut her open and find out.

Izmir felt somewhat uncomfortable, but he was not repelled as he had been by the women who had deliberately tried to seduce him in the past. Inanna had been at his side for more than a day or two. Even though he could not determine her true background, he knew she would not try to tempt him. Through Inanna, Izmir seemed to glimpse his former self. He understood his own convictions, just as he understood certain principles that belonged to Inanna.

Inanna leaned her head close to the prince’s chest, deliberately blocking any speculative gazes from outside. To anyone watching, they appeared to be whispering intimately.

She caught a faint scent of an expensive fragrance. Only Prince Izmir throughout the palace was permitted to use it. At the time, the same scent had even stained her own private garments. The palace attendants had deliberately perfumed them while cleaning and preparing the prince’s clothing, leaving Inanna deeply conflicted.

She did not dare think too much about it. She only wanted to stay as far away as possible from this chief of slave owners. She took his hand and slipped the lock of hair into his palm.

Using his wine cup as cover, Izmir lowered his eyes and saw the golden strands resting in his hand. Excitement flashed instantly through his eyes, but he suppressed it at once. He no longer had any interest in remaining at this banquet of false smiles and empty courtesies. When he set down his cup, he did so with noticeably greater force.

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Aryan gave a mocking laugh.

“Well, well. It seems these women who do not know how to appreciate favor have driven Prince Izmir to desperation… Heh heh, am I not right, Jomari?”

A flash of jealousy crossed Jomari’s face and vanished. She caught hold of Aryan’s robe and simpered:

“My king, the prince cannot wait any longer. Why not favor me a little as well?”

As she spoke, she began climbing him hand over foot like a great tree.

That was precisely the sentence Izmir had been waiting for. He did not bother to be discreet. In full view of everyone, he led his own “woman” out of the tent and, at General Hazas’s signal, plunged straight into one of his subordinate’s tents.

The moment they were gone, Aryan pushed Jomari away in irritation and began drinking alone.

He had first tasted a woman at the age of twelve, and the number of women he had bedded since then was impossible to count. At his level, rolling about with women in bed had long since surpassed the realm of mere release. It had developed into something higher—ever more pleasurable, ever more exquisite, ever more delightful.

The allure of a woman required eyes such as his: eyes tempered through countless experiences and skilled at discovering beauty. The girl he had seen today possessed a bottom that was small yet full and powerful, with an enticing curve. Given time, she would surely come to embody the “exquisite” quality he so cherished.

What a pity. What a pity.

He could only sigh regretfully. The girl did not belong to him. Yet she did not belong to Izmir either. Could anything about a woman’s body—where she had or had not been touched—possibly escape Aryan’s notice?

If Aryan had known that Izmir was making this “exquisite” beauty stand guard with an old man in the desert night wind, he would certainly have shouted that Izmir was a foolish goose wasting a priceless treasure.

Meanwhile, Inanna listened to Carol’s muffled cries from inside the tent:

“No!”

“Prince, let go!”

“Manfred, help!”

She yawned hugely and thought coldly to herself:

Prince Izmir, who would have guessed? You certainly have an ugly way of eating.

Author’s Note:

Yesterday, one reader raised a very interesting and perceptive question. She asked: If the God of Amurovat is an Egyptian god, why use a little white demon to trick the Egyptian pharaoh Manfred?

To put it simply, Amurovat is not actually an Egyptian god. It is merely the Egyptian name for the concept of a curse. Venus, Aphrodite, Ishtar, and Isis are all essentially the same kind of deity.

The God of Amurovat can be understood as the goddess Eris from Greek mythology, the goddess of strife and curses—the one who brought the golden apple, sparked discord, and ultimately caused the Trojan War. She belongs to no particular nation. She plays with whoever she wishes, because to the gods, human beings are too insignificant to matter.

I give this example because it relates to the way I designed the heroine. Those unfamiliar with the subject may simply enjoy the melodrama and spectacle. Those who have already figured it out, please keep it secret for me. Mwah.

What do you all think of King Aryan and Princess Jafuna as a couple? Do you agree? They have even shared a kiss to seal their feelings.

The Legendary Tale of Isis: Daughter of the Nile, Chapter 28 — Full chapter updated and complete!