Chapter 37

If there was one thing Ar-An took immense pride in regarding his vast Assyrian kingdom, it was the Library of Ashurbanipal. From the very first king of Assyria, the library had been continuously built, expanded, and refined. The Assyrian kings, while constructing magnificent palaces, had never neglected to build this—the oldest library in the world, predating the famous Library of Alexandria in Egypt by four hundred years.

The Library of Ashurbanipal collected various manuscripts copied throughout the Mesopotamia region. Its collection of 30,000 clay tablets encompassed almost all the knowledge of Western Asia at the time, including philosophy, mathematics, linguistics, medicine, literature, and astrology. The world's first epic, *Gilgamesh*, was discovered among its ruins.

However, Ar-An’s favorite was not *Gilgamesh*. Boys always loved various storybooks filled with tales of diverse heroes. But Ar-An had no appreciation for Gilgamesh—that violent, stubborn, and tactless brute who dared to reject the courtship of Ishtar.

Among the reading materials for boys that his father had personally inscribed for him, there were ancient adventure stories of heroes far more captivating than Gilgamesh, Rim-Sin, or Gulparanchakha. When the King of Larsa in Babylon previously asked to send men to copy these texts, Ar-An had refused. Little did he expect that, come dawn, most of these 30,000 clay tablets—including those priceless epics—would be turned into mud by the flapping of that "mother pheasant."

At the time, a minor scribe at the banquet, having left early due to his inability to hold his liquor, recalled the peerless dance upon returning home and sketched the grace of that unnamed dancer. Fortunately, his small mud house was built on a high hill, sparing it from the flood. Three thousand years later, archaeologists visited his "home" and were fortunate enough to learn of this grand event that brought both glory and decline to Assyria.

The archaeologists deciphered the cuneiform on the tablets and found that the songs performed at that banquet were filled with rustic and wild charm:

"Little ram on the hillside, you bleat,
Mounting the ewe, you hop and beat;
People below the slope roll and play,
The girl’s secret place has no guard today;
This heaven and earth become the girl’s bower,
Handsome men come to plow her water-field with power;
My lover,
You wield the plowing tool,
One furrow after another,
How can the plowing tool ever rest?
Little ram, can you or can’t you?
Can you, or can’t you..."

When such a delicate beauty, with clear, dark-and-white eyes and a look of pure, unfeigned innocence, asked the man before her, "Can you, or can’t you?", Ar-An felt an urge to jump into the water-field and become a farmer himself. He swore to the god Ashur that even a castrated slave, upon hearing these words, would lower his voice and roar, "I can, I truly can!"

Ar-An gasped for air; all the men were gasping for air. No one could say Inanna sang poorly, because everyone was too busy gasping.

Inanna was astonished at the effect of the song, but clearly, Ar-An could no longer cut out her tongue on the grounds of poor singing. She cast a triumphant glance at Ar-An, a look so piercing that Ar-An felt a tightening in his groin and hastily squeezed his legs together.

"In that case," Inanna’s tongue flicked as she glanced at the gauze curtain to the side, "King Ar-An, I think I am qualified to serve the noble guest!"

Ar-An was so furious he could almost vomit blood. How could such a stunner be hidden among the crowd? Why hadn't he seen her before? But the words were already out, and his ministers were all watching him with eager eyes. If he retracted his command now, he could never expect anyone to take his word seriously again. He rolled his eyes, thinking of a wicked scheme, when a thunderous roar interrupted his train of thought.

"Ar-An!" Memphis had awakened—perhaps stirred by that very line, "Can you, or can’t you?" His eyes, lined with kohl and burning with demonic fury, seemed to flicker with twin flames as he glared viciously at Ar-An. "You despicable cur! What have you done to Carol? Ar-An, you are a king; if you have any shred of shame left, fight me like a man!"

A man waking up to find his bride-to-be wearing such revealing, bikini-like attire—even if it didn't show much of a figure—was humiliating enough. Not to mention Carol, teary-eyed and with a giant chicken leg stuffed in her mouth, having been left lying on the floor for who knows how long.

Ar-An was also surprised; he hadn't expected Memphis to wake up so quickly, especially given the heavy dose of sedative he had administered. However, he recalled the rumors circulating since the death of the former Egyptian king at the hands of the sinner Taia. It was said she had been infatuated with the young prince and even tried to lure Memphis to his death after her poisoning plot was uncovered. Fortunately, Memphis had been prepared, taking small doses of antidotes daily to build resistance, which was why he hadn't fallen victim to that venomous woman. If Memphis had awakened this quickly, the rumors were indeed true, and it made perfect sense.

But what use was waking up? The bronze chains had him bound tight.

Ar-An immediately tossed the beauty to the back of his mind. He walked toward Memphis with smug triumph, not forgetting to kick Carol, who was lying in his path, to the side. He was so focused on Memphis’s furious expression and insults that he lamented she wasn't a woman, though the thought of Queen Isis gave him another hope. Thus, he failed to notice that Carol, though kicked to the side, winced in pain—she was clearly awake and playing along.

Ar-An didn't see it, but Memphis, whose attention was fixed on Carol, did. With his quick wit, he immediately understood he had to create an opportunity for her.

"Ar-An!" his anger unabated. "If you are a man, duel with me! If I lose, I have nothing to say! If I win, don't blame me for being merciless!"

"Tsk, tsk!" Ar-An thought a beauty was a beauty; even when angry, they were charming. He grinned and leaned in, teasingly picking up a lock of Memphis’s long black hair, taking a deep breath of it, and blowing the stench of his heavy drinking onto Memphis’s face. "Tell me, King Memphis, why resort to blades and weapons? It hurts the feelings between our two kingdoms. Let me give you a good piece of advice: with just this face of yours, you could bewitch anyone!"

Memphis ignored his words entirely. His goal was to lower Ar-An’s guard and lure him close.

Before Ar-An could even laugh, Memphis lunged and bit down on his ear. Ar-An’s scream nearly tore the roof off. Though Egyptians primarily ate bread, they were also bloodthirsty; Memphis’s sharp teeth were no match for the predators of the Nile. Ar-An felt as though his ear was about to depart from his head.

The Assyrian ministers below were stunned by the turn of events, rushing forward only when Ar-An waved his hands and shouted, "Help me!" But they dared not use too much force on Memphis, nor did they dare pull the two apart too violently, fearing they might actually rip Ar-An’s ear off. The scene descended into utter chaos.

It was in this divine opportunity that no one noticed Carol, lying among the heap of smelly feet, had disappeared. Nor did anyone notice that the beauty who had just captured everyone’s attention had curled her lips into a smile and slipped lightly behind the curtain.

Prince Izmir sat steadily upon the couch. Though there were soft cushions beneath his waist, he held his spine straight, yet the calm and indifferent expression on his face made it seem as if nothing happening outside had anything to do with him.

Inanna was drumming her fingers, worried about how the prince would react to her actions. She cast a hurried glance and lowered her head, feeling extremely suspicious: he looked no different than usual, but upon closer inspection, his complexion was a bit pale, tiny beads of sweat were on the tip of his nose, and there was an unnatural flush on his cheeks, though it was faint.

Inanna dared not draw conclusions easily. Although she was becoming more familiar with the prince, she understood that behind this alluring, jade-like face lay a ruthless nature. Izmir was young yet possessed profound depth; the less pleased he was, the more composed he appeared, while when he was actually pleased, he became even more unfathomable.

Izmir did not move, merely setting down his wine cup. Unfortunately, a bit of wine spilled; Inanna felt a jolt of alarm, only to hear him say in a relaxed tone, "You did well, Sukamumu, you did very well!"

Inanna wondered if it was too late to jump out now, but with wolves in front and tigers behind, she would rather be whipped by the prince than dragged to Ar-An’s bed to be whipped. So, when she heard the prince call her over, she hesitated but slowly moved toward him.

Unexpectedly, the prince snatched up the wine cup and splashed it across her face. Inanna angrily wiped her wet face and dripping hair; the liquid was clear Galiban, carrying the scent of mountain springs. Thinking of how hard she had struggled to reach this point, she felt both angry and aggrieved, wishing she could slap this ungrateful prince.

Before Inanna could raise her hand, the prince grabbed her arm and dragged her over. He picked up a corner of the gauze covering her body and wiped her face with undeniable force, scrubbing away the honey-colored medicinal paste, eyeshadow, and rouge until her true face was revealed, before letting go.

Inanna’s face burned from his rough touch, her hands clamped and unable to break free. After a long moment, Izmir stared at her, then suddenly smiled. A rare warmth glowed deep within his amber eyes as he said softly, "You are still so beautiful!"

This made Inanna’s heart skip a beat; she cursed the bewitching power of his beauty. She was no meditating monk—how could she withstand such a display? She forced herself to stiffen her face and pushed the prince, her tone turning cold: "Prince, I have found a way to reach your side; you should think about how we can escape!"

Izmir, pushed against his injured shoulder, swayed. A wave of fury surged within him, long suppressed, and the flame burning beneath him had already reached a fever pitch. The pain in his shoulder shattered his restraint. Izmir grabbed Inanna, who was desperate to stay as far from him as possible, pulled her back, and trapped her in his arms. He imprisoned her hands and clamped his thighs around her waist, forcing her to wrap her legs around him and sit directly in his lap, unable to move.

She looked into Izmir’s startlingly bright eyes, at his fresh, handsome face that seemed so at odds with his desire, while simultaneously feeling the vigorous vitality pressing against her. Inanna groaned inwardly; it turned out that, in the end, all men were the same. No matter how pure they acted on the surface, they were all beasts underneath.

Izmir pressed against the inside of her thighs and let out a long breath. He hadn't lost enough control to do anything here, so he took Inanna’s hand, guided it downward with firm insistence, and commanded stiffly, "Help me!"

To stroke or not to stroke—for Inanna, this was a dilemma from three thousand years ago.