by Sam Barone
Sabatu bowed slightly. He’d heard about the Hawk Clan and its status. Daro had spoken of it with obvious pride. But these others? Three cripples, not only allowed into the presence of the King, but welcomed as companions and fellow fighting men. In all of Sabatu’s visits to King Shirudukh’s palace, he had never seen a cripple. Sabatu didn’t know what to say.
King Eskkar paused a moment, to let his words sink in. “Sabatu was tortured in a distant land, but found his way to Akkad. He has only been here a short time, and is yet unfamiliar with our ways. His hands are injured, and he will likely not ever use a weapon again. But I thought it might be good for him to see that there are other ways a soldier can fight. A sword is not always needed to make a man a warrior. Dragan and Ibi-sin proved that. They risked even worse torture and death, but saved hundreds of Akkadian soldiers.”
“King Eskkar is too kind,” Dragan said. “It was little enough that we did. But even if we had died, it would have been worth it to see those who tortured and killed our family destroyed. For that, we will always be thankful to King Eskkar and Lady Trella.”
“The Hawk Clan will always be in your debt,” King Eskkar said.
Dragan glanced at his brother. “If there is anything that we can do to assist Sabatu, we will be glad to help. We understand the pain he suffers.” He turned to Sabatu. “It is said that torture weakens a man, but I say it makes him stronger, even though it may leave him maimed and mangled. As many of us have learned, even a man with a crooked leg or one eye can fight.”
Tammuz leaned forward. “I was only fifteen when my arm was crushed. I thought my life had ended, and I prayed for death. Instead, Lady Trella and King Eskkar took me into their family. Lady Trella arranged a wise wife for me, one who shares my life. For that, she and I willingly went into battle against their enemies.”
Unsure of what to say, Sabatu bowed his head.
“I am glad Sabatu had the chance to meet all of you,” King Eskkar said. “A man needs to know that he is not alone, that others have suffered as he did and survived, even thrived. In the next few days, he may want to spend time with you, and hear your stories.” The King stood. “Hathor, will you see that Dragan and Ibi-sin are escorted home? And my thanks to you, Tammuz.”
“Yes, Captain.” Hathor rose, and with Tammuz helping, they assisted the two brothers out of the chamber.
Sabatu could scarcely keep his thoughts under control. He still wasn’t sure what it all meant. But as soon as the door closed, the conversation took a different tone.
“Sabatu, I asked them here to meet with you, so that you could see that a new life can be made, even when it seems impossible. You have been given that chance, and Trella and Daro say more than enough time has passed for you to choose. Now you must decide what it is you will do, and in the morning you will give us your decision. If you choose not to help us, then you will be given some coins and a horse, and you will be banished from Akkad. You may go wherever you like, but you cannot remain here. I cannot have anyone who is not completely loyal within the City.”
“I . . . I know I am in your debt, King Eskkar. Daro and Yavtar saved my life at the risk of their own. But what you ask is not something that comes easy to me.”
The King nodded. “A soldier’s life is indeed a hard one, with death always at hand. Every man must make his own path, and uphold his honor in his own way. And while we would welcome your assistance, such a choice must be freely made. Otherwise, we could not put our trust in you. But sometimes a man needs to choose who his people will be. I was born in the steppes clan, and I fought against my own kind again and again. But many years ago, I chose Akkad and its people to be my kin and family.”
Sabatu sensed the understanding behind the King’s words.
“But Sabatu, I want you to think on this. If you saw the man who put your family to death walking in the lane, what would you do? Would you attack him, even if it meant the loss of your own life? Or would you let him pass by, unaware of your presence? That may be the choice that you face.”
“King Eskkar, I don’t . . .”
“There is no need to say anything now, Sabatu. Go. Decide what you want to do. In the morning, tell Daro of your decision.”
Surprised at the abrupt dismissal, Sabatu stood. He’d expected more entreaties or threats or promises of gold for his service. But this King offered nothing, merely a chance to serve and become one of his people.
Once again Sabatu bowed low, and then turned and left the chamber. On the landing, he looked down and saw Daro lounging in a chair with his legs sprawled, waiting for him.
The King of Akkad had spoken the truth. The time for a decision had indeed arrived. Sabatu knew he would sleep little tonight.
Sabatu and Daro strolled through Akkad’s lanes, moving at a slow pace as almost everyone they encountered seemed to know Daro and wanted to have a few words with him. They visited the marketplace and the docks, stopped by the site of the new temple being built for the goddess Ishtar, and even paused at the soldiers’ barracks.
While there Daro led the way behind the rambling structures, to an open space where the soldiers trained or practiced with their weapons. A small area served as a narrow archery range, and even this late in the day, Sabatu saw ten or twelve men using the targets.
“The barracks grew too large and crowded, so they moved the regular archery range across the river. This one is used mainly by the instructors to test new bows and shafts, or for any soldiers needing extra work.”
One master bowman functioned as range master, offering guidance or help to anyone who needed it. He made sure that everyone put aside their bows before walking down to examine their targets. The man nodded to Daro, but kept his eyes on the archers.
Sabatu understood. Accidents happened often enough, and a moment’s carelessness might mean someone’s misfortune.
Daro insisted on launching a few arrows at the small archery range. “It’s been days since I pulled a bow.” He selected a new bow from the testing table, strung the weapon, and collected a handful of target arrows. Taking his stance, Daro launched the first arrow toward the target.
Sabatu stood beside Daro, and found himself impressed despite his own experiences with the bow. Daro proved himself a fine bowman, and the heavy Akkadian arrows struck with a powerful force. The typical Akkadian bow stood a hand’s length longer than the bows used by Elam’s archers, and appeared thicker as well.
“Most of the wood comes from the far north,” Daro explained. “Mitrac, he commands all of Akkad’s archers, told King Eskkar about the famous trees of the northern forest. Mitrac’s kin returned home after they settled their blood feud with the barbarians. But since we fought together, Mitrac’s family established a steady trade with Akkad for the select wood. Very rare and expensive, of course, but the bows constructed from the heartwood of the steppes last far longer, and keep their power.”
By now Sabatu had heard most of the tales of the mighty Akkadian archers, and those, too, he had discounted. But after seeing Daro bend a bow, not to mention the obvious pleasure the man took in his craft, Sabatu revised his ideas. When the range master proclaimed a halt, Daro reluctantly lowered the weapon.
“Can I try your bow?” The words slipped from Sabatu’s mouth almost without thought.
Daro’s eyes widened. “If you think you can draw it . . .” He extended the weapon toward Sabatu, then pulled it back. “Wait here a moment. I have an idea.”
He turned and trotted over to the archer’s shed, a flimsy wooden structure that held extra bows, strings, target shafts, wrist guards, and the rest of the items needed for any bowman. After a quick discussion with the boy tending the weapons, Daro strode back to his companion.
“Here, try this one.” Daro handed Sabatu a smaller, sharply curved bow. “This is a little smaller than those that Hathor’s cavalry use, but at close range, it’s just as deadly.”
Sabatu accepted the weapon. Holding it up, he examined its length, and found it similar to those used by
some of Elam’s soldiers. With difficulty, he managed to grasp the bow with his left hand. His stiff fingers resisted, but he ignored the pain in his thumb. Daro handed him a target shaft.
However without full use of his thumb, fitting the arrow to the bowstring proved a challenge. Sabatu felt his frustration rise, but before he could react, Daro moved to his side.
“Let me do that.” He nocked the shaft to the string.
Once again, Sabatu struggled, trying to draw the weapon without losing his grip on the arrow or bowstring. Once, twice, his fingers slipped from the shaft. He grit his teeth, and tried again, this time using all of his fingers behind the string. The bow bent, and Sabatu realized how weak his arm had become.
The other bowmen on the range had stopped their practice and their talking. Every man watched Sabatu’s struggle. Aware of their eyes, Sabatu ignored the ache in his hands. Using all his strength, he drew the arrow back until his fingers brushed his cheek, aiming at the butt. Then he loosed the missile.
The shaft flew through the air. At the barrack’s small range, the targets were only thirty paces away from the shooting line. Sabatu’s shaft struck the bale of straw well below the target, the flight just high enough to avoid landing in the dirt.
Nevertheless, a cheer went up, and every man on the line gave a shout of approval or offered a word of encouragement. Each archer understood the pain that Sabatu must feel, what he must endure, and so they rejoiced in his success. After all, the power of the gods flowed through bow and string to the shaft. How else to explain the magical power of the weapon that could slay a man at a hundred paces?
Daro, a big grin on his face, smacked Sabatu on the back so hard that he nearly dropped the bow. “Well done! A fine shot!”
Sabatu had to pry the fingers of his left hand from the grip of the bow, but he managed a smile. “Not much of a bowman.” He handed the weapon back to Daro.
“Not today,” Daro agreed. “Not today, but tomorrow and the day after, who knows?” He handed the cavalry bow to the range master, and swept his long arm around Sabatu’s shoulders. “I think it’s time we get something to eat.” They resumed their walk, leaving the barracks area and heading back toward the center of the city.
The sun had turned to dusk, and Sabatu felt the stirrings of his appetite, as if launching a single arrow had taxed his strength.
“Tonight I’ve something special planned for you,” Daro said, as he guided Sabatu down the lane. “Since this may be your last night in Akkad, I thought you should at least enjoy yourself.”
“As long as the food is good, I’ll be more than satisfied.”
Daro led the way into the more exclusive part of Akkad, where the houses stood taller and the outer walls higher.
“This is Zenobia’s,” Daro said, as they approached one particularly impressive home. “Here you can sample the finest food in Akkad, along with its most beautiful and skilled women. Only the well-off can afford to visit her house. Fortunately, as a commander in the Hawk Clan, I am allowed an occasional visit.” He grinned at his companion. “They say Zenobia came from the Indus all the way to Akkad, just to favor us with her gifts.”
Sabatu tried to protest, but Daro ignored him. They passed through the guarded red gate, and found themselves in a lush and carefully cultivated garden. Far nicer than the few plants that the King’s Compound boasted, the carefully tended flowers yielded a pleasant perfume that scented the air. The structure’s outer walls shone in the setting sun, no doubt from a fresh coat of whitewash.
A tall woman with blond hair that reached below her waist waited at the door, and welcomed Daro by name, though her smile for Sabatu was just as warm. She escorted them into the main house, where the enticing smells of roasting meat permeated the air, overpowering the more delicate scents worn by their guide.
Sabatu saw the main room held five good sized tables, and though the evening had scarcely begun, four of them were occupied. Women dressed in light brown dresses cut low across the bosom served the seated men, often kneeling on the floor as they offered tidbits of food to their guests.
But Daro headed straight for the wide stairs that led to the upper chamber. “Upstairs are the most expensive rooms and the most skilled girls. I sent a messenger this morning, telling Zenobia that we would be coming.”
Another guard stood at the base of the steps, but he nodded respectfully to Daro as they went up. At the top, another woman, this one will thick dark hair and ochre stain around her eyes, held out her arms and clasped Daro around the neck.
“Daro! It’s been years since you’ve visited Zenobia’s,” she said. “I thought you had forgotten all about your favorites.”
“What man could forget a night of pleasure with you, Te-ara. Even Zenobia says you are the most skilled courtesan in Akkad.”
Te-ara laughed, a long musical sound that brought a smile even to Sabatu’s lips. “She says that about all her girls.” She favored Sabatu with another smile. “And who is this handsome man who I have never seen before? Is this a special occasion for him?”
“Yes, one that requires the finest your House can offer. My friend Sabatu is a stranger to Akkad, and is recovering from his wounds. He may be leaving Akkad soon, and I wanted to give him one last night of pleasure. So don’t tempt me with your charms, save them all for my friend. Just ignore his protests.”
Sabatu did protest, but to no avail. Te-ara put her arm around his waist and rubbed her breast against his arm. “Then we will do everything in our power to entertain the honorable Sabatu.” She moved her lips to his cheek, and let them brush his ear.
Te-ara guided Sabatu down the hall and into a room. It contained a massive bed, one big enough for four people to sleep comfortably. A copper-colored blanket covered its surface, and three bright red pillows rested at the head.
“Take your ease, Sabatu,” Te-ara said. “I’ll be back with food and wine.”
She favored him with another smile and slipped from the room.
Daro lay down on the bed with a long sigh of relaxation, and clasped his hands behind his head. “Zenobia’s cooks are the best in Akkad. And the wine . . . ah! Even Lady Trella’s table can’t match their quality. Some people claim that Zenobia adds a few drops of a secret love potion.”
Sabatu remained standing. “Daro, this is not something I want to do. I feel no urge for a woman. Even if I did, my body is too weak. . . the scars.”
“Just lie down for a moment. You don’t have to do anything. But let us share one last meal together, as friends. Is that so much to ask?”
Before Sabatu could reply, two girls rushed into the room. One struggled with a large tray that held three pitchers and two cups. The second girl carried a platter that displayed bread, oil, dates, and Akkad’s famous sweet cakes. She climbed onto the bed beside Daro, set the platter down, and pulled off her dress, revealing firm breasts that glistened in the light of the room’s two candles.
“My name is Ducina, and I am for you, Sabatu.” She reached out and clasped his hand, and tugged him toward the bed.
“You’d better give in, Sabatu,” Daro said. “The girls get nothing to eat and earn no pay unless their customers are completely satisfied.”
“Yes, and I don’t want to have to whip their bottoms again,” Te-ara said, sweeping back into the chamber. “They enjoy it too much.” She guided a suddenly helpless Sabatu closer to the bed, pulled off her own garment, and jumped onto the mattress. She pulled Sabatu down onto a pillow, and popped a sweet cake into his mouth.
“Let’s start with these,” Te-ara said. “Then Ducina has other delicacies to tempt your lips.”
Daro laughed, a contented sound that filled the room. He reached for a wine cup. “Yes, there are always many delights to taste at Zenobia’s.”
The bright morning sun streaming through the tiny window woke Sabatu. His head hurt from too much wine and not enough sleep, and when he lifted it from the pillow, he found himself still at Zenobia’s. Ducina lay curled up along his right side, lik
e a kitten, sleeping soundly. On his left, Te-ara lay clinging to his arm, her long hair scattered across his chest.
Trapped between them, Sabatu struggled to remember all the events of the evening. Despite his protests, the women had soon removed his garment, even as they kept offering food and wine. Unable to resist, he had drained one cup of wine, then another. Before long, Ducina was kneeling between his legs, sucking on his manhood with an energy that overwhelmed Sabatu.
But it was Te-ara who first mounted his rod, and she rode him with more skill than anything Sabatu had experienced in Elam. With Ducina’s breast in his mouth, he soon burst inside Te-ara. When she finally let him go, he lay there, as exhausted as if he’d mounted her and ridden her for half a night.
The girls scarcely noticed. They kept feeding him and refilling his wine cup even as they worked on his manhood without ceasing. This morning Sabatu could not even remember how many times he spent his seed.
Glancing around, Sabatu saw no sign of Daro, and didn’t even remember the man leaving. The two women, with the help from a few others who stopped in Sabatu’s chamber, had drained him completely even as they erased, at least for a brief time, the pain that burned in his heart.
Now the memories returned. His wife, his children, his family, all dead, their broken and bloody bodies dumped into the river. Nothing of Sabatu’s life remained. His very existence, his place in Elam’s society, had been ripped out by the roots.
The intense feelings of sorrow, humiliation, and defeat that had swept over him when Chaiyanar’s soldiers first tied him to the stake in the marketplace still remained. In fact, they burned as brightly as before, but the gloom and despair had transformed into an urge to take revenge on Chaiyanar.
Perhaps Daro was right. Perhaps something could be done, some way that Sabatu could strike a real blow against the man who tortured and murdered his wife and children. Any blow, even the slightest, would bring some relief to the spirits of his family, and to Sabatu’s own sense of honor.