At her left hand, a woman of medium height was fully wrapped in traditional bandages, her hands crossed on her chest, holding a crook and an ankh. A golden mask covered her face and a jeweled, golden sun-disk holding a layered eight-rayed star lay on her breast. The Khazar woman frowned, seeing the star, old memories intruding. How odd… she thought. Why does she bear a crest from old Persepolis? The death masque showed a personage of no great beauty, but even across the centuries Shirin felt a palpable chill to look upon the likeness of Kleopatra, Lord of the Two Lands, Queen and Empress. Small ceramic jars lined the stone bier, wrapped in gold and silver vestments, accompanied by goods of all kinds.
Another crash reverberated through the dusty air. Shirin wrenched her hand away from the star jewel. No time for souvenirs! she thought guiltily. The second coffin held a man-tall, proud, with broad shoulders-though his silver masque revealed a petulant lip and his strength of personality paled in comparison to the Queen. For him, the Khazar woman felt only pity before dismissing him from her mind.
Orange light flared bright against the wall and Shirin faded into deeper shadow. Penelope was already gone, the sound of running feet fading in the tunnel. Halfway up the steps, Shirin paused, looking back into the tomb, wondering if a familiar figure would appear, silhouetted in the light. Instead, a man appeared in the broken door, leading with a long straight sword. The metal flared bright in the darkness and Shirin drew back again.
At her breast, the ruby became suddenly warm and she clasped a hand over the jewel, hiding an unexpected pale red glow. Entirely surprised, Shirin ducked down behind a fallen column, wondering what could possibly have excited such a response in the jewel. Where did Thyatis get this thing?
The Roman soldier crept forward, torch sputtering in one hand. "There are two coffins here," he shouted, "and they've been disturbed!"
The scrape of a sandal on stone registered in the periphery of Thyatis' attention and she spun left, blade rising into guard, even as a hurled spear flashed past. One of the fellaheen staggered, the iron head driven between his shoulder blades with a slapping sound. The man barely had time to cry out in pain before blood flooded his mouth and he was on his hands and knees, shuddering with death tremors.
"Ware!" Thyatis shouted, the tip of her sword flickering in the air. Another spear point lunged out of shadow and was deftly knocked aside. "To me, Romans! To me!" She bounded forward, snatching a dagger from its sheath on her belt with her free hand.
Men rushed around the toppled slab, curly beards gleaming in the light of fallen torches. One of them, towering a head above the others, leapt into Thyatis' path. For a single, frozen second she thought dead Chrosoes had returned to life-so closely did the bareheaded man swinging a spiked mace at her face resemble the King of Kings. She leaned aside, the mace blurring past, and lunged. The tip of her sword sparked from the man's breastplate, then skittered to one side. He jumped back, slapping her thrust aside with his own blade. They circled, the world narrowing down to the scrape and rustle of feet on stone, mirror-bright metal cutting the air, harsh breathing filling their ears.
Beyond the Persian's shoulder, Thyatis caught a glimpse of Mithridates swinging his pry bar over his head like a stave, a wild, hoarse shout roaring from his lips. The fellaheen, pinned against the tomb wall, were wailing in fear, and another hurled spear cut one down.
The Persian lord attacked, mace smashing overhand as he led with his right foot. Thyatis bobbed aside, evading the blow, then slashed her blade at the man's face. His own sword snapped up and sparks shivered in the air. A furious passage followed, blade on blade, the Persian stamping on the attack, Thyatis nimbly evading his powerful strokes. She blocked a sharp cut with the dagger, letting the blades bind, going hilt to hilt with the man. He grunted, feeling the strength in her arm, then shoved.
Thyatis spun aside, letting his motion carry him off-balance, then let her own momentum slam her left elbow into the side of his head. The iron vambrace on her arm cracked against his ear, drawing a shout of pain and spattering blood. She cut viciously with the sword, though the Persian rolled away. The Roman blade scored a long gash across his thigh, just above the knee. He went down.
Another Persian shouted wildly, charging at Thyatis. She whirled, blocking his spear down and away with her sword and dagger en crosse, then snap-kicked him in the face. The Persian staggered, stunned, and Thyatis' wrist flicked over, driving the point of her spatha into his jugular. Choking, the man fell backwards, fingers groping wildly at his throat.
In the same moment, Mithridates bellowed, catching two of the Persian soldiers across the chest with his pry bar, lifting them bodily from the floor. Massive muscles straining, the Numidian slammed them into the nearest pillar with a ringing clang! Breathless, the Persians were flung to the floor, armor creased by the blow. Grinning wildly, Mithridates sprang forward through the gap. Another Persian soldier threw himself at the Numidian, cutting sideways with both hands on his longsword. Mithridates parried with one end of his iron staff, smashing the blade from the man's hand, then lashed the bar across the Persian's face. Metal met metal with a ringing bang! and the side of the Persian's helmet caved in, spraying blood across a nearby statue. The stricken man crumpled like an empty sack.
Thyatis wrenched her attention away, wildly parrying an overhand blow from the big Persian's sword. In her brief moment of inattention, he had regained his feet. Now he attacked furiously and Thyatis met him blade for blade in a whirl of strike and parry and counterstroke. They lunged back and forth across the stone floor, barely cognizant of the melee swirling around them.
Her arms burning with fatigue, Thyatis slowed a fraction as she tried to evade another blow. The haft of the mace slammed down on her right arm, knocking the dagger loose. The blade spun away across the floor. Bloodfire surged, driving her limbs to new speed. She slammed the Persian's blade away, then rotated smartly, hewing down with the spatha in both hands. The man tried to wrench the mace away, but the keen edge of the Roman sword struck the wooden haft and squealed through dense oak.
Casting the stub away with a grimace, the Persian circled, panting, both hands on the hilts of his blade.
Thyatis did not pause, rushing the man, her blade singing in a deadly figure eight. The Persian parried, then blocked, grunting as the Roman woman put her shoulder into the blow. They locked hilts, sandals sliding on the bloody floor. Her vision narrowed to a shimmering gray-ringed tunnel, Thyatis realized the man hadn't used the point of his blade at all, relying instead on a blizzard of cuts and slashes. Blade shirring on his, she flicked the tip of her spatha up. Eyes wide, the man flung his head back, narrowly avoiding losing his lower jaw to the bright metal.
Taking the opening, Thyatis slammed his breastplate with a lightning-quick kick, sending him to the floor in a clatter of metal. Regaining her balance, she danced in, stabbing viciously as he scrambled away, sword lost, across the stone floor.
An upflung hand took one of her blows, the spatha biting into splinted mail on the Persian's forearm. Thyatis wrenched the blade back, then sprang away as the man kicked at her legs.