wilbursmith_warlock-第134部分

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tantly　rendered　blind　and　slobbering　twitching　mad。'
　　
　　Sobered　by　that　thought　Trok　had　knelt　before　the　image　and　remained　silent　while　the　priests　had　brought　in　twin　newborn　infants；　and　offered　them　to　the　god。　Ishtar　had　slit　their　throats　so　skilfully　that　they　made　hardly　a　cry　as　they　bled　into　the　golden　divination　bowl　that　he　held　beneath　them。
　　
　　When　the　small　exsanguinated　bodies　were　dropped　into　the　marble　chute　that　led　to　the　furnace　beneath　the　sanctum；　Ishtar　had　placed　the　golden　bowl　before　the　altar　and　lit　the　incense　braziers。　Chanting　and　mumbling；　he　threw　handfuls　of　herbs　on　the　flames　until　the　vault　filled　with　wreaths　of　blue　smoke　and　the　air　became　fragrant　and　enervating。　After　a　while　Trok　found　it　difficult　to　think　clearly　and　his　vision　became　distorted　so　that　the　shadows　seemed　to　waver　and　dance；　and　he　heard　the　sounds　of　distant；　mocking　laughter。　He　closed　his　eyes　and　pressed　his　fingers　to　the　lids。　When　he　opened　them　again　he　saw　that　the　sweet　smile　on　the　face　of　the　god　had　bee　a　leer　so　obscene　and　frightening　that　his　skin　crawled　as　though　poisonous　insects　were　creeping　upon　it。　He　tried　to　look　away　but　found　he　could　not。
　　
　　The　great　god　Marduk　is　pleased；'　Ishtar　repeated；　reading　the　auguries　reflected　in　the　surface　of　the　blood…filled　bowl。　'He　deigns　to　answer　your　questions。'
　　
　　Tell　Marduk　that　I　honour　him　as　my　peer。　I　shall　send　a　thousand　more　sacrifices　into　his　furnace。'
　　
　　'Marduk　hears　you。'　Ishtar　picked　up　the　bowl　and　peered　into　it。　After　a　long　silence　he　began　to　rock　gently　back　and　forth　with　the　bowl　in　his　lap。　He　looked　up　at　last。　'Behold　Marduk；　the　great　god　of　Babylon！　Speak　to　us；　dreadful　one；　we　entreat　you！'
　　
　　He　opened　his　arms　to　the　golden　statue；　and　the　god　spoke　in　the　voice　of　a　child；　lisping　and　mellifluous。
　　
　　'I　greet　you；　my　brother　Trok；'　said　this　strange　voice。　'You　wish　to　know　about　the　fledgling　falcon　that　spreads　its　wings　and　sharpens　its　talons　in　the　desert　places。'
　　
　　Trok　was　startled　not　only　by　the　disembodied　voice　but　also　by　the　accuracy　of　this　statement。　Indeed；　he　had　intended　asking　for　counsel　on　his　plans　to　attack　and　destroy　Nefer　Seti。　He　tried　to　reply；　but　his　throat　was　closed　and　as　dry　as　the　wrappings　of　an　ancient　mummy。
　　
　　The　sweet；　childlike　voice　went　on；　'You　have　had　good　counsel　from　my　loyal　servant　Ishtar　the　Mede。　It　was　as　well　that　you　hearkened　to　him。　If　you　had　not　done　so；　if　you　had　marched　on　Gallala　when　you　purposed　to　do　so；　you　would　have　encountered　a　disaster　even　greater　than　the　khamsin　winds　that　destroyed　and　buried　your　legions。'
　　
　　Trok　recalled　bitterly　how　Ishtar　had　dissuaded　him　from　leading　another　army　into　the　eastern　desert　to　attack　Nefer　Seti　and　to　capture　Mintaka；　his　runaway　woman。　Long　ago　his　spies　had　reported　to　him　the　exact　whereabouts　of　the　pair　at　Gallala。　He　had　assembled　another　force　of　chariots　and　foot　soldiers　for　the　expedition。　He　knew　that　if　he　did　not　rid　himself　of　this　challenge　to　his　throne；　if　he　did　not　crush　the　boy　pharaoh　before　he　attained　his　full　strength；　then　soon　the　rebellions　and　insurrections　would　spread　through　his　entire　realm。　Once　that　happened　he　knew　that　the　dynasty　he　was　founding　would　end　in　destruction　and　extinction。　As　much　as　he　longed　to　rid　himself　of　the　challenge　and　the　threat　of　Nefer　Seti；　he　longed　much　more　to　recapture　the　only　woman　who　had　ever　humiliated　and　defied　him。　His　hatred　for　her　surpassed　any　other　of　his　emotions。
　　
　　Ishtar　had　prevented　him　marching。　With　predictions　of　dire　consequences；　with　warnings　of　disaster　and　death；　Ishtar　had　persuaded　him　to　divert　his　forces　into　this　joint　expedition　with　Naja　to　the　fabled　city　of　Babylon。　Although；　thus　far；　the　expedition　had　turned　out　to　be　a　triumph；　although　the　booty　and　the　slaughter　had　been　beyond　counting；　still　Trok　felt　himself　unfulfilled。
　　
　　He　spoke　as　much　to　himself　as　to　the　golden　god　when　he　growled；　'I　must　have　Nefer　Seti。　The　double　crown　will　sit　uneasily　on　my　head　until　I　kill　him　and　throw　his　body　on　the　flames　so　that　he　will　never　know　resurrection。　Already　I　have　expunged　his　name　and　the　name　of　his　sire　from　every　edifice　and　monument　in　Egypt；　but　I　must　destroy　him　and　his　memory　for　ever。'
　　
　　In　his　anger　and　hatred　he　sprang　to　his　feet；　and　shouted　at　Ishtar　and　his　god；　'You　have　cheated　me　of　my　destiny　once　before　with　your　ill　omens　and　baleful　warnings。　Now　I　address　you　as　your　peer；　your　equal；　and　not　as　a　worshipper。　I　demand　that　you　deliver　the　person　and　the　soul　of　Nefer　Seti　to　me；　in　justice　and　retribution。　I　will　not　accept　another　refusal　from　you　and　your　minion　here。'　In　his　fury　and　frustration　Trok　aimed　a　kick　at　Ishtar。　The　Mede　saw　it　ing　and　rolled　aside。　Trok's　bronze…cleated　sandal　caught　the　divining　bowl　and　the　blood　of　the　babes　splattered　across　the　flags　and　down　the　front　of　the　altar。
　　
　　Even　Trok　was　appalled　by　what　he　had　done。　He　stood　frozen　before　the　image　waiting　for　the　reaction　of　the　god。
　　
　　'Sacrilege！'　Ishtar　wailed。　Trok　Uruk；　now　your　enterprise　is　surely　doomed。'　Then　he　prostrated　himself　in　the　puddle　of　blood；　so　terror…stricken　that　he　could　not　raise　his　eyes　to　the　image。
　　
　　A　dreadful　hush　had　fallen　over　the　sanctum。　The　faint　rumble　of　the　flames　of　the　sacrificial　furnace　under　the　stone　floor　on　which　they　stood　seemed　to　enhance　it。
　　
　　Then　there　was　a　sound；　soft　but　unmistakable。　It　was　the　sound　of　breathing；　like　that　of　a　sleeping　child　to　begin　with　but　then　growing　harsher　and　stronger。　Now　it　was　the　breathing　of　a　wild　beast；　then　of　some　monster　that　echoed　through　the　temple。　At　last　it　became　the　furious　sound　of　an　outraged　god；　roaring　like　all　the　storms　of　the　heavens；　thundering　like　the　galeswept　waves　of　the　ocean。　So　terrible　was　it　that　even　Ishtar　the　Mede　whimpered　like　a　child。
　　
　　'The　god　will　never　allow　you　to　succeed　now。　You　dare　not　march　against　Taita　and　his　protégé；　not　until　the　Warlock　is　dead；'　Ishtar　whispered。
　　
　　Then　a　terrible　voice　spoke；　so　harsh　and　unearthly　that　it　raked　Trok's　nerves　and　made　him　shudder。　'Hear　me！　Trok　Uruk；　you　mortal　man　who　claims　to　be　part　of　the　godhead！'　The　thunder　echoed　and　rolled　around　the　dark　recess　of　the　sanctum。　'You　know　that　you　are　no　god。　Hear　me；　blasphemer！　If　you　march　against　Gallala　in　defiance　of　me　and　my　prophet；　Ishtar　the　Mede；　I　shall　destroy　you　and　your　army　just　as　I　buried　your　other　army　in　the　sands　of　the　desert。　This　time　you　shall　not　escape　my　wrath。'
　　
　　Even　though　he　was　befuddled　by　the　poisonous　smoke　of　the　incense　braziers；　and　fearful　of　the　rage　of　Marduk　that　filled　the　temple；　Trok　was　still　cunning　enough　to　sense　some　false　note　in　Ishtar's　protestations；　something　not　convincing　in　the　force　of　Marduk's　fury。
　　
　　He　gathered　his　courage；　which　had　been　scattered　by　the　supernatural　manifestations　of　the　god；　and　tried　to　identify　exactly　what　had　given　him　pause。　He　realized　that　the　sound　of　the　bestial　breathing；　and　the　thunderous　voice　issued　from　the　belly　of　the　golden　statue。　He　stared　at　it　hard　and　saw　that　the　navel　of　the　god　was　a　dark　slit。　He　took　a　step　towards　the　statue　and　Ishtar　raised　his　head　in　alarm　and　cried；　'Beware；　Pharaoh！　The　god　is　angry。　Do　not　approach　him。'
　　
　　Trok　ignored　him　and　took　another　step　forward；　staring　at　the　god's　belly　button。　He　saw　a　faint　gleam　in　the　depths　of　the　aperture；　a　shadowy　movement。　Often　in　battle　he　had　sensed　the　exact　moment　when　the　fates　had　swung　in　his　favour　and　he　felt　it　now。　He　steeled　himself　and　shouted；　above　the　awful　sound　of　the　god's　breathing；　'I　defy　you；　Marduk　the　Devourer！　Strike　me　down　if　you　are　able。　Heap　your　temple　fires　upon　me；　if　you　can！'
　　
　　Suspicion　became　certainty　as　that　glimmer　showed　again　in　the　slit　in　the　god's　belly；　and　the　breathing　faltered。　Trok　drew　his　sword　and；　with　the　flat　of　the　blade；　knocked　Ishtar　out　of　his　way。　Then　he　ran　forward；　darting　behind　the　golden　image。　Quickly　he　examined　the　back；　tapping　the　meta