wilbursmith_warlock-第117部分

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socks；　so　their　heavy　footsteps　did　not　echo　along　the　gloomy　tunnel。　They　marched　in　silence；　every　tenth　man　carrying　a　torch；　giving　just　sufficient　light　for　the　men　who　followed　to　make　out　their　footing　on　the　slimy　stones　of　the　pier。　At　their　left　hand　the　never…ending　flow　of　water　rustled　darkly　by。　Every　thousand　paces　Ishtar　stopped　to　placate　the　god　Ninurta　with　gifts　and　incantations；　and　to　clear　the　way　ahead　of　the　magical　obstacles　and　barriers　placed　by　the　dead　priests。
　　
　　Nevertheless；　the　silent　march　seemed　endless　to　Trok；　and　it　came　as　a　surprise　when　abruptly　Ishtar　stopped　and　pointed　ahead。　The　faint　glimmer　of　light　was　reflected　off　the　shiny　ceramic　walls。　Trok　signalled　the　men　following　him　to　halt；　then　went　forward　with　Ishtar。　Over　their　own　garments　they　wore　headdresses　and　purple　robes　taken　from　the　bodies　of　the　slaughtered　priests。
　　
　　As　they　went　towards　the　source　of　the　light；　they　saw　another　grille　gate　across　the　tunnel；　and　the　distorted　shadows　of　men　thrown　on　the　walls　by　the　light　of　a　torch　set　in　a　bracket　above　the　gate。　As　they　drew　closer　they　saw　that　on　the　other　side　of　the　grille　two　robed　priests　were　seated　on　stools；　with　the　bao　board　between　them；　absorbed　in　their　game。　They　looked　up　when　Ishtar　called　softly　to　them。　The　fat　one　stood　up　and　wobbled　to　the　gate。　'Are　you　from　Sinna？'　he　called。　'Yes！'　Ishtar　assured　him。
　　
　　'You　are　late。　We　have　been　waiting　since　nightfall。　You　should　have　been　here　hours　ago。　The　high　priest　will　be　displeased。'
　　
　　'I　am　sorry；'　Ishtar　sounded　contrite；　'but　you　know　Sinna。'
　　
　　The　fat　priest　chuckled。　'Yes；　I　know　Sinna。　He　taught　me　my　responses　thirty　years　ago。'
　　
　　His　key　jangled　in　the　lock　of　the　gate；　and　then　he　swung　it　open。　'You　must　hurry；'　he　said。　Trok　trotted　forward　with　the　hood　over　his　face；　holding　his　sword　in　the　fold　of　his　robe。　The　priest　stood　back　against　the　wall　to　let　him　pass。　Trok　stopped　in　front　of　him；　and　whispered；　'Ninurta　will　reward　you；　brother；'　and　killed　him　with　a　thrust　up　under　his　chin　into　his　brain。
　　
　　With　a　shout　of　alarm；　his　panion　leaped　to　his　feet；　knocking　over　the　bao　board　and　scattering　the　stones　across　the　pier。　With　two　long　strides　Trok　reached　him　and　chopped　his　head　half　off。　Without　another　sound；　the　priest　fell　backwards　into　the　dark　stream　and；　with　his　robes　ballooning　about　him　buoying　him　up；　he　was　carried　away　down　the　tunnel。
　　
　　Trok　gave　a　soft　whistle　and；　with　the　muted　tramp　of　muffled　feet　his　men　moved　up　into　the　torchlight　with　drawn　swords。　Ishtar　led　them　forward　until　they　reached　the　foot　of　another　steep　stone　stairway。　They　went　up　it　quickly　until　they　came　to　a　heavy　curtain　blocking　their　way。　Ishtar　peeped　around　its　edge　and　nodded。　'The　temple　is　empty。'
　　
　　Trok　stepped　through；　and　looked　about　him。　This　temple　was　even　larger　and　more　impressive　than　the　river　temple。　The　ceiling　was　so　high　that　the　light　from　fifty　torches　was　eaten　up　by　the　shadows。　Below　them　the　image　of　the　god　crouched　over　the　mouth　of　the　shaft　from　which　the　full　force　of　the　aqueduct　spurted　like　a　gigantic　fountain　into　a　deep　pond　with　a　white　marble　coping。　The　corpse　of　the　priest　that　Trok　had　almost　decapitated　was　floating　in　the　pool；　from　which　the　water　spilled　over　into　the　canal　that　carried　it　to　the　city。　Although　the　smell　of　incense　was　thick　in　the　air；　the　great　hall　of　the　temple　was　deserted。
　　
　　Trok　signalled　his　men　to　e　forward。　As　soon　as　they　emerged　from　the　tunnel　they　formed　up　behind　their　captains　in　silence。　Trok　gave　the　hand　signal　and　they　went　forward　at　a　trot。　Ishtar　led　the　smaller　band　through　a　side　door　of　the　hall　into　a　corridor　that　connected　with　the　palace　of　Sargon。　Trok　led　his　men　out　into　the　narrow　lane　behind　the　temple　and；　working　only　from　his　memory　of　the　map；　turned　at　the　second　lane　into　the　wide　avenue　that　he　knew　led　to　the　Blue　Gate。　It　was　still　dark　and　the　stars　blazed　above　the　sleeping　city。
　　
　　They　met　a　number　of　cloaked　figures　on　the　way；　one　or　two　staggering　drunk；　but　the　others　scurried　out　of　their　way　and　let　the　dark　column　of　armed　warriors　pass。　A　woman　with　a　child　in　her　arms　called　after　them；　'May　Marduk　smile　upon　you；　brave　warriors；　and　keep　us　safe　from　Trok；　the　barbarian　of　Egypt。'　Trok　understood　just　enough　Akkadian　to　catch　her　meaning；　and　smiled　into　his　beard。
　　
　　Disguised　in　their　plundered　robes；　they　reached　the　end　of　the　avenue　without　being　challenged　further；　but　as　the　gateway　loomed　ahead　a　voice　sang　out　at　them　from　the　door　of　the　guardhouse。
　　
　　'Stand　ho！　Give　the　watchword　for　tonight。'　The　centurion　of　the　gate　with　five　men　at　his　back；　stepped　out　into　the　torchlight。　But　they　were　ill…prepared；　without　helmets　and　body　armour；　their　eyes　puffy　and　their　faces　still　crumpled　with　sleep。
　　
　　'The　honourable　emissary　of　King　Sargon　to　the　pharaohs　of　Egypt；'　Trok　mumbled　in　execrable　Akkadian；　and　gave　the　hand　signal　for　his　troops　to　charge。　'Open　the　gate　and　stand　aside！'　He　ran　straight　at　the　centurion。
　　
　　For　a　moment　longer　the　man　stood　uncertainly。　Then　he　saw　the　glint　of　swords　and　shouted　urgently；　'Stand　to　arms。　Turn　out　the　guard。'　But　it　was　too　late。　Trok　was　on　him；　and　dropped　him　in　his　tracks　with　a　single　blow。　His　men　swarmed　over　the　other　guards　before　they　could　defend　themselves；　but　the　noise　had　alerted　the　sentinels　on　the　parapets　above　the　gate。　They　sounded　the　alarm　with　braying　ram's　horns；　and　hurled　their　javelins　down　into　the　attackers。
　　
　　'Winkle　them　out　of　there！'　Trok　ordered；　and　half　of　his　men　rushed　up　the　ramps　on　either　side　of　the　gateway　to　reach　the　parapet。　They　were　at　once　locked　in　close　and　desperate　fighting　with　the　guards　on　the　wall。　Trok　kept　half　of　his　men　with　him。
　　
　　Ishtar　had　described　the　gate　room　that　housed　the　plicated　machinery；　a　system　of　heavy　winches　and　pulleys；　that　operated　the　massive　gates。　Trok　led　his　men　to　the　entrance　before　the　defenders　within　could　close　the　doors；　and　after　only　a　few　minutes　of　furious　fighting　they　had　killed　or　wounded　most　of　them。　The　survivors　threw　down　their　weapons；　some　fell　to　their　knees　and　pleaded　in　vain　for　quarter。　They　were　stabbed　and　clubbed　as　they　knelt。　The　others　fled　out　of　the　postern　gate；　and　Trok　led　his　men　to　the　massive　winches。　With　two　men　on　each　spoke　of　the　capstans　they　began　to　open　the　gates。
　　
　　But　the　ram's　horns　had　aroused　the　city　guards；　who　swarmed　out　of　their　barracks；　some　without　armour　and　still　half　asleep；　and　rushed　to　defend　the　gateway。
　　
　　Trok　barred　the　heavy　door　to　the　winch　room　and　placed　men　at　the　entrance　to　defend　it。　On　the　parapets　above　the　gateway　his　men　had　killed　the　defenders　or　thrown　them　from　the　top　of　the　wall；　and　now　they　fought　on　the　ramps；　holding　off　the　attacking　Babylonians。
　　
　　The　door　to　the　winch　room　trembled　and　bulged　as　the　Babylonians　battered　at　it；　trying　desperately　to　break　in；　but　the　winches　revolved　slowly　to　the　efforts　of　Trok's　men；　and　the　mighty　gates　rose　from　their　seatings；　the　gap　under　them　widening　inexorably。
　　
　　The　avenue　leading　to　the　gates　was　by　now　crowded　with　Babylonian　defenders；　but　they　were　hampered　by　their　own　numbers。　Only　four　abreast　could　mount　the　ramps　to　the　top　of　the　walls；　and　Trok's　men　met　them　and　hurled　them　back。　Others　were　still　trying　to　break　into　the　room　that　housed　the　winches；　but　the　doors　were　sturdy。　When　at　last　they　smashed　them　down　they　found　Trok　and　his　men　waiting　for　them　on　the　threshold。
　　
　　Outside　the　walls　Naja's　men　had　swarmed　forward　with　crowbars　and　levers。　They　forced　the　heavy　gates　wider　and　wider；　until　at　last　a　squadron　of　chariots　could　pass　through。　Then　they　stood　aside；　and　Naja　led　a　phalanx　of　fighting　chariots　in　a　brutal　charge　through　the　gateway；　and　swept　the　avenue　from　side　to　side。　The　army　of　Egypt　poured　through　behind　them。　Trok　took　mand　of　diem　and　led　them　rampaging　through　the　city　towards　the　palace。
　　
　　The　sack　of　Babylon　had　begun。
　　
　　*　　*　　*
　　
　　The　defence　of　the　palace　was　stubborn；　led　by　Sargon　himself。　However；　by　that　evening　Trok　had　opened　a　breach　in　the　outer　walls　of　the　first　terrace。　He　led　a　strong　contingent　through　and　the　defence　collapsed。　When　they　burst　into　Sargon's　bedchamber　he　was　kneeling　before　the　image　of　Marduk；　the　devouring　god　of　Mesopotamia；　with　a　bloody　sword　in　his　hands。　Beside　him　lay　the　body　of　his　favourite　wife；　a　grey…haired　woman　who　had　been　with　him　for　thirty　years。　He　had　given　her　a　merciful　death；　pared　to　what　she　might　have　expected　from　Trok's　men。　However；　Sargon　had　not　been　able　to　steel　himself　to　fall　on　his　own　sword。　Trok　knocked　the　weapon　out　of　his　grasp。
　　
　　'We　have　much　to　discuss；　Your　Majesty；'　he　promised　him。　'Was　it　not　you　who　referred　to　me　as　the　Black　Beast　of　Seueth？　I　hope　to　convince　you　that　you　painted　me　the　wrong　colour。'
　　
　　The　women　from　the　zenana　were　herded　out　of　the　palace；　only　five　hundred　of　them；　not　the　five　thousand　of　which　Ishtar　h