Outside, the clamor increased to a climax in a terrific blatting of trumpets. A tall man next to Finch, trembling with excitement, said: "He comes!" The trumpets died, leaving behind a few voices that finished sentences into an enormous silence, and from the doorway a voice thundered:
"The triumphant general, the turtan Zilidu!"
The trumpets all blew again. The curtained doorway swung back to reveal crowd of figures in the torchlight, of whom the foremost, a smallish man, glittering in gold and dark red, fell on his face and bumped his forehead on the floor. Shalmanesar's voice said thinly: "It is permitted to rise."
The man got up slowly, and Finch could not suppress a cry as recognition and memory flooded in on him together.
The face was the face of Tiridat-Terry-Theodore; and around General Zilidu's neck, on a silver chain and clasped in a silver claw, hung the carnelian cube.
"Incarnation of Asshur!" said the general in measured tones. "In the name of Marduk and Bel, I have been victorious over the Egyptians."
He prostrated himself again, then without waiting for the royal permission, rose and began to advance slowly toward the throne, followed by the motley procession that had come with him to the door of the tent. Shalmanesar watched, chin in hand, and brooding. There were blacks in the procession, their eyes rolling, and a couple of Egyptians with the tall headdresses and short, square-cut beards of the inscriptions, their hands bound, urged along by proddings with spears in the hands of guards. Toward the middle of the group there seemed to be some momentary argument at the door of the tent and people stumbled as they were pushed.
Finch's eye was drawn to the disturbance, and as the procession swept past him, he saw the cause—a woman in flowing garments, her hands held before her, bound in that position by a small golden chain. It was—
"Thera!" he cried, and reached out a hand to detain her.
She turned toward him a woebegone face. "Sir," she said, "it k not well thought on to mock a prisoner and a woman." There was not the slightest sign of recognition in the black eyes. "But don't you-—"
The trumpets let go again, there was a chorus of shouts, and a guard barred Finch from the girl with the haft of a spear. The procession came to a halt and a bull-necked silentiary bellowed: "The Glory of Asshur speaks!"
Finch could not see the throne for the number of people who had crowded in between, but he could hear the King's voice, clear and a trifle sharp:
"The Incarnation thanks you, turtan Zilidu, for your victorious campaign. Hear the judgment of the King and let it be written: an extraordinary sacrifice of thanksgiving to the warrior-gods shall be made; and to each of the men of the triumphant army shall be distributed eleven pieces of silver in addition to his booty."
The officers behind Zilidu burst into an uproar of pleasure and clashed their weapons, but the silentiary brought them to a halt, and Shalmanesar went on:
"And now, O Zilidu, I ask, am I not King under Asshur? Is it not to me there shall be offered the first-fruits of conquest? Am I not the God-on-Earth? Is it not true, as men say, that there is among the prisoners, a certain Princess of Samaria?"
The general's words came, quite small and as though forced from him: "O King, live forever. There is such an one."
"Let her be brought forward."
Heads turned, people pushed to one side, and Finch saw the guard drag Thera away from him into the presence of Shalmanesar. "My God!" he said aloud and in English. "The flutes and dancing boys,"
Only the tall man beside him seemed to notice. He bent down to whisper: "Sssh! The turtan takes his own revenges without need of spells."
Up at the front of the tent Thera had been forced to her knees and Shalmanesar was examining her critically. Finally he said: "The wench is fair. Let her be enrolled among the King's handmaidens." He stood up and raised his hand. "The audience is finished."
There was another trumpet-toot, and Finch struggled in the rush for the door of the tent, thinking furiously. If he could stop the reconstruction before—no, probably it would be too late for that, the thing was too near its climax and Hilprecht would protest. Or somehow get the girl out of there—would she ever recognize him again after that damned psychological conditioning? What did the presence of Tiridat and the carnelian cube mean? If he could get it, would Thera—
A hand fell on his arm, and he found himself looking into the face of Tudkhalijash the Hittite, friendly under the flickering torch-glint. He would rather have seen almost anyone else.
"A notable feasting!" declared the functionary. "I have arranged that meat shall be eaten. Come and view the banquet-table."
"Perhaps later. I have an errand." "It will then be too late. The feasting begins with the rising sun, and it is near." He gripped Finch's arm and steered him through the jostling soldiers, happy over their promised wealth, toward a tent nearly as large as Shalmanesar's headquarters. As they swung round a group of spearmen who were sharing a skin of wine, Finch collided with a petticoated slave, who had something over his shoulder.
The man stumbled and the something came down with a thump.
Finch made out that it was a large cage, with poles fastened to it for carrying. Torchlight caught a yellow gleam inside and he bent close in the uncertain light to see what it was, steadying himself with a hand at one edge. A young lion with its mane just beginning to sprout, looking like an oversize but amiable tomcat.
"The tartan's present to the King, Lord," said one of the slaves.
Finch turned to answer, and in that moment there was the flash of a yellow claw, one-third seen. He yelped with pain, drawing away a hand with a three-inch slash from which the blood welled darkly.
"Let the beast be taken by Lilu!" he cried, with thoughts of blood-poisoning floating through his mind.
"Come," said Tudkhalijash, "and let us seek the King's magician."
"Nay, rather will I get my amulet against lions," said Finch, trying in one movement to get free of the detaining grasp and to wrap the injured member in a fold of his skirt-like garment. There would be iodine in the director's room.
The too-friendly chamberlain clung to his arm. "Yet this is a great good luck, Nintudunadin, To be touched by the King's own lion is a portent of some notable event. You should seek a soothsayer."
He could not get rid of the man, and the torn hand throbbed as he made his way through the crowd in the plaza. In desperation Finch said: "Perhaps after all it would be better to have Burnipal the magician. Could he come to me in my tent?"
They were at the door. "I will bring him faster than eagles," said the Hittite and was gone.