“Let us go on to Gibil,” Sharur said. One of the peasants gave Nasibugashi a push. Outrage still mingling with astonishment on his face, the Imhursaggi noble stumbled south toward Sharur’s city.
Engibil might not have warned the folk of Gibil that the Imhursagut were invading, as Enimhursag had assembled the folk of Imhursag for the invasion. But news of trouble with Imhursag had far outsped Sharur’s coming to the city. Already, peasants with spears and bows and clubs and shields were forming into companies to oppose the Imhursagut. Already, nobles in donkey-drawn chariots rode north toward the canal that marked Gibil’s boundary with its hostile neighbor.
“Where are your warrior-priests?” Nasibugashi asked as yet another chariot rumbled past, ungreased axles squealing.
“We have only a handful,” Sharur answered. “Most of our priesthood serves the god in his temple. That is his home. That is where he needs servants. Men take care of the business of the city.”
“Madness,” the Imhursaggi noble said. “Madness.”
“It could be so,” Sharur said. “But I, a mad Gibli, deceived Enimhursag, and had no great trouble in doing so.” He exaggerated there. He knew he exaggerated there. But Nasibugashi did not know and would not know he exaggerated there. He went on, “And, when we mad Giblut go to war with Imhursag, who these days comes off victorious?”
“It will be different this time,” Nasibugashi said.
Sharur showed his teeth in what was not quite a smile. “I doubt it,” he said. “Come—now we go into Gibil.”
“Well, well,” Ereshguna said when Sharur and the Gibli peasants led Nasibugashi into his presence. “Well, well. My son, you not only thrust your hand into the jaw of the lion again, you come home with a prize as well. He looks as if he will make a fine slave.”
“Actually, I, was thinking of ransoming him, if we can get a good enough price,” Sharur said. “He is a noble in Imhursag; I am not sure how well he would take to slavery.”
“A taste of the lash would probably convince him to obey—it does with most slaves,” Ereshguna said, his voice dry. “Still, he is your captive, and so your property. You may do with him as you wish.” He examined Nasibugashi more closely. “Mm—perhaps you are right. He does look to have a wild horse’s spirit doesn’t he?”
Nasibugashi threw back his head and gave forth with the bugling cry of the donkey’s untamed relative. Sharur and Ereshguna stared at him, then burst into laughter. Sharur said, “These men need to be rewarded for helping me bring this horse from the border with Imhursag to the city. I promised them we would repay them for their aid.”
“We shall do it,” Ereshguna said at once. ‘‘We should have done it even had you not promised.” He gave all the peasants small broken bits of gold.
They were loud in the praises of the house of Ereshguna. One of them told Sharur, “Truly, master merchant’s son, you knew whereof you spoke when you told us your family did not stint.”
“How can you have so much gold, to give of it to peasants?” Nasibugashi asked as those peasants, rejoicing, headed back toward their village. “The gods hate Gibil. Folk from the surrounding cities, folk from the surrounding lands, hate Gibil. They will not trade with Gibil. And yet you have gold, to throw away to peasants. How can this be?”
“I have honor,” Ereshguna said. “I have pride. Were it the last gold I possess—and it is far from the last gold I possess, Imhursaggi—I would give it to these peasants for the sake of my honor, for the sake of my pride. I am a man. These are the things a man does. Do you understand that?”
“In Imhursag, these are the things the god would have a man do,” Nasibugashi said.
“I do not need the god to tell me what to do,” Ereshguna said. “By myself, I know what to do. This is what being a man means.”
“You Giblut are strange,” the captive Imhursaggi noble said. “Word by word, what you say makes sense. Idea by idea, oftentimes what you say is madness.”
Horns blared outside. A bronze-lunged herald shouted the name of Kimash the lugal. Down the Street of Smiths came Kimash, not in his usual litter but in a chariot with gilded sides drawn by donkeys with gilded reins and harnesses. His helmet, all of bronze, was also gilded, as was his armor, and as was the bronze head of the spear he brandished.
People on the Street of Smiths cheered themselves hoarse when Kimash and his retinue went past. The lugal’s guards were less splendid only than Kimash himself. Their gilded shields and helmets sparkled in the sunlight. They looked hard and tough and at least a match for any of the warriors Sharur had seen in the Imhursaggi force.
“Great is the lugal!” cried the people. “Mighty is the lugal! Strong in Gibil’s defense is the lugal! The lugal and his bold men will drive back the wicked invaders! The lugal and his men will bring home slaves and booty! Engibil loves the mighty lugal!”
“So this is what it means to have a lugal,” Nasibugashi said. “You have made him into a god, and mention the true god of your city only as an afterthought.” His lip curled to show what he thought of that.
“No city can be without a ruler,” Sharur said reasonably. “We have a ruler who is one of us, not one who treats the men and women of Gibil as if they were cattle and sheep in the fields.”
“We are the cattle of our god,” the Imhursaggi noble said. “We are proud to be the cattle of our god. Enimhursag is our master. Enimhursag is our lord. We are his, to do with as he would.”
“We are ours, to do with as we would,” Sharur answered.
Ereshguna pointed to Nasibugashi. “What shall we do with this divine cow here?” he asked. “We, too, shall have to go to war against the Imhursagut, you know, and we can hardly take him with us.”
“I know, Father,” Sharur said with a sigh. He had succeeded better than he expected, and started a larger war between Imhursag and Gibil than he had thought he would. As his father had said, Gibil would need every man who could afford good bronze weapons and armor of leather and bronze. He sighed again. “This is liable to interfere with our other business.”
“So it is,” Ereshguna agreed. “That cannot be helped, though, not when Gibil depends on its men to save it. And I have a scheme for dealing with that other business.”
“Have you?” Sharur said. “Good.” Neither he nor his father spoke of Habbazu or Engibil’s temple or the cup within Engibil’s temple, not in front of Nasibugashi. Now Sharur pointed to the noble he had captured. “Let us give him into the hands of Ushurikti the slave dealer for safekeeping.”
“Wait!” Nasibugashi cried. “You said I would not be a slave—well, you said I might not be a slave. Have you now changed your mind?”
“No,” Sharur answered. “Ushurikti will house you and keep you from escaping until you may be ransomed. We will pay him for your keep, and add the cost to the ransom we receive for you. Only if your kin or your god refuse to ransom you will you be sold as a slave.”
“It is good,” Ereshguna said. “So it will be.”
“It is not good,” Nasibugashi said. “I believed you, Gibli. My god believed you. You deceived me. You deceived my god.”
“I do not serve Imhursagut,” Sharur said. “I do not serve Enimhursag. I serve the Giblut. I serve Gibil.” Here, he did not bother adding that he served Engibil. He was used to deceiving his own god. Since he had done that for so long, deceiving another god came easier.
Ereshguna said, “Come. Let us take him to Ushurikti.”