by Brian Godawa
It was too late. Humbaba released the cords around Enkidu to set him on his way.
And that is exactly what Gilgamesh wanted.
Enkidu had been raised by lions. And lions go for the throat and the eyes.
Enkidu was about one third the size of Humbaba. But he was stronger of bone than Gilgamesh, had a past as a Wild Born, was a skilled warrior, and he had a score to settle.
He sprung. He clawed the giant’s eyes. Enkidu’s fingers dug deep and had Humbaba not been of extraordinary constitution, would have popped them right out of his head.
Humbaba screamed and moved to protect his eyes.
Enkidu then went for his throat. His teeth sunk in deep.
But Humbaba was one of the mighty Rephaim. He tore Enkidu from his throat and slammed him into a cedar pillar. The house shook like an earthquake.
Humbaba was dazed and choking, blood pouring from the open wound on his neck.
Enkidu spit out the chunk of flesh. Humbaba would have his senses back any moment, so Enkidu only had that moment to dive for the pile of confiscated supplies and find the serpentine sword called Rahab in the pile. It was rolled up and sheathed in a leather case that would have been overlooked by Humbaba as a tool of some kind, not the death wielding whip that it was. He only found a dagger. A small human-sized dagger at that.
Humbaba rose to his feet with a roar. When he spoke, it was with difficulty as his windpipe received part of the damage of Enkidu’s bite.
“Enkidu! Why have you betrayed me?” Humbaba gurgled. “Would you betray your own birthright?”
Enkidu did not answer. He threw the dagger at Humbaba, who dodged it with ease. But Enkidu was not aiming for Humbaba. It hit the wooden pole inches above Gilgamesh’s head. It would have hit him in the forehead had Gilgamesh not ducked. He reached up, grabbed the blade out of the wood with his bound hands and began to saw at the bonds around his torso.
Humbaba swatted Enkidu with brutal velocity and he flew into the mountain wall. The stone cracked at the force. Rocks crumbled down upon Enkidu’s spinning head.
Enkidu immediately stood up. The blood rushed to his head and he almost passed out. He fell back down to the ground on his rear. He was not returning to the fight any moment soon.
Humbaba turned to take care of Gilgamesh. But he was gone, cut free from the pole. Humbaba jerked around looking for the king. He could not find him.
At twenty feet high, the giant was not thinking of looking way down at his feet, where Gilgamesh was on his hands and knees. Gilgamesh stood up and jammed the dagger into Humbaba’s groin. The blade was only a human sized blade, but it was enough to pierce with significant harm.
Humbaba screamed and instinctively grabbed the blade and Gilgamesh. Seizing the king tightly by the shoulders, he lifted him up to his face.
Humbaba said, “You will not be returning to the city of the goddess who bore you.”
He threw him against the rock wall and Gilgamesh hit one of his comrades chained to the wall. The blow was cushioned by the captive who was crushed by the force. But he was already dead. Gilgamesh slid down dazed at the feet of the hanging victims of Humbaba’s wrath. The crash had also loosened one of the torches on the rock wall. It fell to the ground.
Gilgamesh picked it up and threw it at Humbaba. The giant swatted it away.
Humbaba reached down at his feet and picked up an iron mace. It was a pear-shaped club honed by years of war for efficient bludgeoning of the enemy.
He limped over to Gilgamesh and raised it high. It would be all over for Gilgamesh in a second.
But that second never came.
A voice boomed out from behind Humbaba, “HO, HURRAH!”
A flexible metal blade wrapped around Humbaba’s hammering hand. With a mighty jerk, it was sliced from Humbaba’s arm and fell to the ground. Humbaba screamed in agony and grabbed his stump that was now gushing blood.
Enkidu had found Rahab.
Gilgamesh stood and approached Humbaba. Enkidu stayed behind him with Rahab ready.
They were so intent upon their combat that no one noticed the torch that Humbaba had swatted over to the entrance of the sanctuary. It had started the entrance curtains on fire.
Humbaba wept, “Mercy, O mighty Gilgamesh. Spare my life!”
Gilgamesh looked down upon Humbaba with contempt. Then the giant prostrated himself at Gilgamesh’s feet.
“I will be your slave. Let me dwell here for you in the Forest of Cedar. I will cut down as many trees as you command for the pride and glory of your palace at Uruk.”
Gilgamesh was amazed at how quickly this massive giant, this mighty Rephaim was reduced to a babbling victim pleading for his life. It must be another trick. A response to Gilgamesh’s own drama.
And yet, Gilgamesh found his heart taking pity. Somehow, he knew this was not a play act. For he had been just as honest moments before with his own pain. The two of them were truly more alike than they were contrary.
Humbaba turned his head in the direction of Enkidu. “Enkidu, my life lies in your hands. Tell Gilgamesh to spare me, I beg of you.”
Enkidu stared at Humbaba without a sliver of mercy. He spoke to Gilgamesh, “You have your enduring fame to think of. How Gilgamesh slew Humbaba the Terrible.”
Then they noticed that the entire doorway to their room was engulfed in flames. The ceiling was an inferno above their heads. The torch had done much more than anyone could have imagined. The palace was on fire.
Gilgamesh stepped back and gazed upon the pathetic form of this once terrible monster. He mused, “Enkidu, let the captive bird go free. A broken wing impairs him”
“A freed captive returns to its nature,” said Enkidu.
“The gods will be angry,” said Humbaba. “You would execute their guardian and bring down their wrath?”
Enkidu said, “A man cannot serve two masters.”
Suddenly, Humbaba stiffened and hardened his resolve. He said with spite in his voice, “Enkidu, I should never have shown you mercy and tried to raise you as my family. I should have hung you by a tree at the entrance of this forest and let the vultures feed on your…”
Humbaba’s speech was cut short with the force of his head being severed from his neck by the swinging blade of Rahab in the hands of Enkidu.
Gilgamesh and Enkidu stood gazing down upon the body of their enemy.
Finally Enkidu said to the corpse, “You are not my family. You murdered my family.”
Enkidu looked at the massive flames licking the dry timber walls like a whirlwind of impenetrable fire. They were in the heart of a furnace about to implode upon them.
“Our exit is blocked,” shouted Enkidu.
Gilgamesh looked at the cave entrance by the terebinth tree. “The only way out is into the mountain.”
Enkidu said, “Are you kidding me? Enter the assembly of the gods, the two of us? That would be worse than plunging through a palace of flames!”
Gilgamesh said, “Shut up, Enkidu. We are going in.”
Chapter 24
The smoke of Humbaba’s burning palace of cedar rose high in the sky like a black pillar up to heaven.
Gilgamesh and Enkidu escaped the inferno through the tunnel into the heart of Mount Hermon, following the trail of smoke that was sucked inward toward the source of cool air from within.
The tunnel opened up to a magnificent cavern full of sparkling jewels that lit the vast hollowness with ghostly luminescence. Huge stalactites and stalagmites throughout the cave gave the impression of being inside the mouth of Rahab the sea dragon of chaos, or more precisely, the seven mouths of Rahab’s offspring, Leviathan.
They were barely into the cavern before they were greeted by a large Shining One with arms crossed as if waiting for them. His glowing blue eyes brought a shiver down the spine of Enkidu.
Gilgamesh immediately went down to his knee in worshipful obeisance. He pulled down Enkidu to follow his lead.
The god spoke, “You, king Gilgamesh, have caused quite the ru
ckus in our assembly.”
Gilgamesh spoke with a humility that Enkidu had not seen in him before. “O Mighty Shamash,” he genuflected.
Enkidu thought, So this was the sun god Gilgamesh had spoken so frequently of at Uruk. He was wondering just how real these gods might be.
Gilgamesh finished his entreaty, “I pray thee, before you smite me, I beg an audience before Enlil and the assembly to plead my cause.”
“Of course,” said Shamash. “If I wanted to smite you, you would already be smited.”
Shamash herded Gilgamesh and Enkidu along the tunnel until they found themselves facing the assembly of gods in the heart of the cavern. Behind them was a lake of black pitch with a flame flitting across its surface. This was a portal of the Abyss. Before them was a throne with Enlil, Lord of the Storm. Around him were seventy gods and assorted mal’akim. They all had names and identities, but as of yet, Gilgamesh only recognized Shamash and Enlil.
Gilgamesh kissed the ground before Enlil and offered a leather bag at his feet. “I present to you the head of Humbaba the Terrible.”
He recited a lyric for mythopoeic ornament, “The ravines did run with his blood.”
Enlil looked enraged. “Gilgamesh, why do you vex me so? Have I not granted you greatness of stature and station in Uruk? Are you not satisfied with your might as a demigod? Yet, you come into my forest and create havoc. Did you not expect to be punished for such hubris?”
Gilgamesh averted his eyes as he spoke, “Mighty Enlil, forgive me, but I have as my only defense my obedience to the commands of Shamash.”
Enlil looked at Shamash expecting an answer. Shamash was blindsided by the appeal. He searched his memory, quickly replaying the conversations of his few visits to Uruk in his forays into Mesopotamia. Of course, he was supposed to be checking in on his patronized followers, but in fact, he used the opportunity as an excuse to “explore” other travel experiences. He was not about to reveal his excursions of irresponsible wanton excess of debauchery through the cities of Sumer. For that, he would receive punishment he did not want to experience again. The brutal lashes on his back were reminders of his failure before the Flood.
He was Utu the sun god back then, and he and Enki had been under the command of Inanna to secure the Tree of Life. But he abandoned his post with Inanna when they realized the war would not be won. Even though he only received half the lashes of Inanna, it was still enough to solidify his determination to never again be caught in an error or impropriety.
Unable to pull up a memory of such a conversation, Shamash said to Gilgamesh, “I have made many commands. To which do you refer?”
“To the dreams,” said Gilgamesh.
Damn it, thought Shamash. He is being too general. I still cannot figure out what he is talking about. “Explain yourself, half-breed. I am not about to recount the details to the pantheon on your behalf.”
Enkidu’s instincts tingled as he watched Shamash struggle to reply to Gilgamesh. He could swear that the sun god appeared to not know what the Sheol was going on. Hardly the level of omniscience one would expect of a god.
“Forgive me, O mighty Shamash, but I refer to the dream of the bull and man who gave me water to drink after saving me from being crushed by the mountain of the gods.”
“And what did I tell you?” said Shamash.
He was trying to sound impatient, like he knew what was in the dream and was urging Gilgamesh to hurry up and finish. But Enkidu was sure he detected a slight hesitation of question in his voice as if he did not.
Gilgamesh continued, “You bid me awake after I offered you a sacrifice of a lamb.”
Enkidu glanced over at Gilgamesh. It was not a single lamb, it was two kid goats. Ah, so Gilgamesh was a step ahead of me, thought Enkidu. He is testing Shamash, the tricky scoundrel.
“I remember the lamb,” said Shamash. “But when did I ever tell you to kill Humbaba and burn down his house?”
“You spoke to my mother, the goddess Ninsun, your high priestess in Uruk.”
“Ah, see, there is where you are wrong,” said Shamash. “I did no such thing.”
Enkidu stepped forward and followed Gilgamesh’s humble stance. “My gods, if I may,” said Enkidu. “I am the king’s Right Hand and I was there at the temple of Shamash. I am witness to what Lord Gilgamesh claims.”
The dirty toads, thought Shamash. They are conspiring. I will have their heads.
“Well?” said Enlil. “What say you to these claims confirmed by two royal witnesses, Shamash?”
The assembly all stared at Shamash. He scrambled for what to say.
Both Gilgamesh and Enkidu thought at almost the same moment, What kind of gods know nothing of prayers and dreams or that the palace fire was an accident?
Shamash hit on the perfect cover. “It must have been Inanna.”
Everyone looked surprised at him.
“She must have impersonated me in order to deceive these flesh bags to do her bidding.”
Then Shamash let the zinger loose, “She is probably come back and is already engaging in diabolical plans, no doubt.”
It was outrageous. Unbelievable. And just the sort of thing Inanna would do if she had survived the judgment.
Enlil responded, “But we have not seen her since the Flood. We assumed she had been bound in the earth with the others.”
Shamash was flying high now. He spoke without hesitation as if he knew what he was talking about, “True, we have not seen her all this time. But we do not know what happened to her. And considering her tendency to seize power, she may have been conspiring this entire time for a takeover of the assembly. Or maybe someone found her and released her from the earth.”
Shamash had no idea just how close to the truth he really was. He was too busy priding himself with how quickly he had recovered without being sure what he was going to say next. It was as if the lies just came to him as smoothly as the truth might come to someone recounting what really happened. He was quite a good liar. He had Inanna as a shining example. He would have to thank her if he ever did run into her again.
Gilgamesh found it the perfect opportunity to ask a question that was burning on his mind like the palace of Humbaba. “O mighty Enlil, may I ask why the pantheon of gods is hidden away in this cosmic mountain? Why do you not live amidst your people of the alluvial plain as you did before the great Deluge?”
It was a strategic move by Gilgamesh. He figured that there must have been some shame or fear behind the gods’ refuge in Mount Hermon. By drawing it out, he could play off their pride and hopefully manipulate them into mercy out of their own self interest.
Brilliant, thought Enkidu. He is forcing their hand.
Enlil contemplated his answer. He liked this king. He had real backbone, balls of brass to walk into their lair and face certain death. And he was a Naphil, one of their own progeny after their own image. If they wanted to rekindle their control over the land, this could be the very mediator the gods would need. A hybrid gibborim warrior with a mythical reputation; a sole monarch who could possibly unite humanity under the rule of the gods again. But they would need his full support to do it right. He would have to see his own self-interest satisfied. What did this cocky and audacious one want? To become a god?
And was it too soon to come out? The gods had been hiding out in Mount Hermon because of the thoroughness of devastation wrought by the Deluge. The Creator, Elohim, that despicable deity of Noah ben Lamech had wiped out their plans with such comprehensive cataclysm that those who survived were afraid to show their faces for fear of further reprise. They were not sure what Elohim might do next, so they decided to stay low for an undetermined period of time and plan how they might begin anew their scheme.
He decided to spin the tale, and hope that he could seduce this haughty Gilgamesh into his spell.
“I will tell you the story of the Deluge,” said Enlil. “The gods once suffered work and toil like men. They were the Igigi who served the Anunnaki. The Igigi we called Nephil
im, and they dug the canals for the cities of the river. But they complained and revolted against me in a gigantomachy that had to be put down.”
It was masterful. Enlil incorporated just enough of what really happened so that it would carry a ring of truth. But now, he must get creative. “So I summoned the birth goddess Nintu, before the assembly of the gods to create mankind. I said, ‘Let man bear the toil of the gods.’ So the Creatress slaughtered a god and mixed his flesh and blood with clay. He was spat upon and became man. And mankind was given the toil of the gods.
“But after many years, the peoples multiplied and became too numerous for Mother Earth to sustain them. The land bellowed like a bull before my ears. I was disturbed by the uproar and the clamor. They consumed too much, complained too much, and the uproar of their ways disturbed our sleep. So I let the winds come. I held back the rain, and caused famine on the earth. But the clamor of mankind became more oppressive and the humans began to eat their children. So I sent pestilence and plague. But the people did not diminish. So I decided to send a Deluge upon the land to cleanse it from the filth and start all over.”
“Unbeknownst to the pantheon, Enki secretly went to the city of Shuruppak and warned a man in that city of the coming destruction.”
“Was that Noah ben Lamech?” interrupted Gilgamesh. He was riveted by the tale, and had heard a version of it himself from his mother.
Enlil was annoyed. He did not like being sidetracked. “That is what some called him. But his name was Atrahasis, or Ziusudra to others. And Enki told Atrahasis to build a large boat a full acre square and one hundred and twenty cubits high, and covered in and out with pitch. And on this boat he would take animals of every kind to save from the coming flood.”
It suddenly struck Gilgamesh, Is this god the high god of the pantheon and he is too stupid to know that a square ship would never float properly? Or the sheer ridiculousness of thinking that a boat with that height as a cube would not tip over in the waves. Why was he lying? What was he hiding?
Enlil continued, “For six days and seven nights, the wind continued and the Deluge demolished the land. And when the waters subsided, the boat came to rest on the mountain of Nimush. Atrahasis left the boat and offered a sacrifice unto the gods. We smelled the sweet savor and gathered around the sacrifice.”