wilbursmith_warlock-第132部分
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They met a number of cloaked figures on the way； one or two staggering drunk； but the others scurried out of their way and let the dark column of armed warriors pass。 A woman with a child in her arms called after them； 'May Marduk smile upon you； brave warriors； and keep us safe from Trok； the barbarian of Egypt。' Trok understood just enough Akkadian to catch her meaning； and smiled into his beard。
Disguised in their plundered robes； they reached the end of the avenue without being challenged further； but as the gateway loomed ahead a voice sang out at them from the door of the guardhouse。
'Stand ho！ Give the watchword for tonight。' The centurion of the gate with five men at his back； stepped out into the torchlight。 But they were ill…prepared； without helmets and body armour； their eyes puffy and their faces still crumpled with sleep。
'The honourable emissary of King Sargon to the pharaohs of Egypt；' Trok mumbled in execrable Akkadian； and gave the hand signal for his troops to charge。 'Open the gate and stand aside！' He ran straight at the centurion。
For a moment longer the man stood uncertainly。 Then he saw the glint of swords and shouted urgently； 'Stand to arms。 Turn out the guard。' But it was too late。 Trok was on him； and dropped him in his tracks with a single blow。 His men swarmed over the other guards before they could defend themselves； but the noise had alerted the sentinels on the parapets above the gate。 They sounded the alarm with braying ram's horns； and hurled their javelins down into the attackers。
'Winkle them out of there！' Trok ordered； and half of his men rushed up the ramps on either side of the gateway to reach the parapet。 They were at once locked in close and desperate fighting with the guards on the wall。 Trok kept half of his men with him。
Ishtar had described the gate room that housed the plicated machinery； a system of heavy winches and pulleys； that operated the massive gates。 Trok led his men to the entrance before the defenders within could close the doors； and after only a few minutes of furious fighting they had killed or wounded most of them。 The survivors threw down their weapons； some fell to their knees and pleaded in vain for quarter。 They were stabbed and clubbed as they knelt。 The others fled out of the postern gate； and Trok led his men to the massive winches。 With two men on each spoke of the capstans they began to open the gates。
But the ram's horns had aroused the city guards； who swarmed out of their barracks； some without armour and still half asleep； and rushed to defend the gateway。
Trok barred the heavy door to the winch room and placed men at the entrance to defend it。 On the parapets above the gateway his men had killed the defenders or thrown them from the top of the wall； and now they fought on the ramps； holding off the attacking Babylonians。
The door to the winch room trembled and bulged as the Babylonians battered at it； trying desperately to break in； but the winches revolved slowly to the efforts of Trok's men； and the mighty gates rose from their seatings； the gap under them widening inexorably。
The avenue leading to the gates was by now crowded with Babylonian defenders； but they were hampered by their own numbers。 Only four abreast could mount the ramps to the top of the walls； and Trok's men met them and hurled them back。 Others were still trying to break into the room that housed the winches； but the doors were sturdy。 When at last they smashed them down they found Trok and his men waiting for them on the threshold。
Outside the walls Naja's men had swarmed forward with crowbars and levers。 They forced the heavy gates wider and wider； until at last a squadron of chariots could pass through。 Then they stood aside； and Naja led a phalanx of fighting chariots in a brutal charge through the gateway； and swept the avenue from side to side。 The army of Egypt poured through behind them。 Trok took mand of diem and led them rampaging through the city towards the palace。
The sack of Babylon had begun。
* * *
The defence of the palace was stubborn； led by Sargon himself。 However； by that evening Trok had opened a breach in the outer walls of the first terrace。 He led a strong contingent through and the defence collapsed。 When they burst into Sargon's bedchamber he was kneeling before the image of Marduk； the devouring god of Mesopotamia； with a bloody sword in his hands。 Beside him lay the body of his favourite wife； a grey…haired woman who had been with him for thirty years。 He had given her a merciful death； pared to what she might have expected from Trok's men。 However； Sargon had not been able to steel himself to fall on his own sword。 Trok knocked the weapon out of his grasp。
'We have much to discuss； Your Majesty；' he promised him。 'Was it not you who referred to me as the Black Beast of Seueth？ I hope to convince you that you painted me the wrong colour。'
The women from the zenana were herded out of the palace； only five hundred of them； not the five thousand of which Ishtar had spoken。 Trok selected twenty； the youngest and prettiest； for his personal entertainment； and the rest were given to his senior officers。 After they had enjoyed them； they would be passed on to the mon soldiery。
It took another two days to break into the treasury buried deep in the earth below the palace； for many ingenious constructions and devices guarded it。 Without the expertise and first…hand knowledge of Ishtar the Mede； it might have taken even longer to penetrate to the main treasure chamber。
When the way was clear； Trok and Naja； Heseret following them； descended the stairway and entered the chamber。 Ishtar had lit the interior with a hundred oil lamps； their rays cunningly reflected by burnished copper mirrors to show off the booty to full effect。
Even the two pharaohs and Heseret were stunned into silence by the splendour of the treasure。 The silver had been cast into bars； the gold into conical ingots that fitted into each other to facilitate stacking。 They were all stamped with the goldsmiths' marks and the royal cartouche of Sargon。
Heseret； for once speechless； had to shade her delicate eyes against the dazzle of the masses of precious metal。 Naja walked forward slowly between the stacks； which were higher than his head； stopping every few paces to stroke the ingots。 At last he regained his voice and whispered； 'They feel warm and smooth as the body of a virgin。'
Trok picked up a heavy bar in each hand and laughed with delight。 'How much？' he demanded of Ishtar。
'Alas； splendid and divine Majesty； we have not yet had the opportunity to count it。 But we have consulted the scrolls of Sargon's scribes。 They record the total weight of silver at fifty…five lakhs； the gold at thirty…three。' He spread his tattooed hands deprecatingly。 'But who would trust the count of a Babylonian？'
'Sargon is a greater robber than I gave him credit for。' Trok made it sound like a pliment。
'At least there is enough here to pay me the pittance you promised me？' Ishtar suggested smoothly。
'I think we should discuss that further。' Trok smiled at him genially。 'I am a kindly and generous man； Ishtar； as you know full well。 However； over…generosity is a form of stupidity。 Stupid I am not。'
Once he had finished gloating over the contents of the treasury； there was much else to see and marvel at within the city。 Trok and Naja toured the palace； climbing to the top terrace with its fountains； gardens and groves。 From this height they could look down on both the great rivers and the vista of fields； marshes and papyrus beds outside the city walls。
Next they visited all the temples； for these magnificent buildings were also stuffed with bullion； beautiful furniture； statuary； mosaics and other works of art。 As they removed these Naja and Trok spoke to the incumbent god in conversational tones； as brother gods and equals。 Trok explained that Babylon was no longer a capital city but merely a satrapy of Egypt。 Theref
