Max Allan Collins

'I have heard,' Lord Memnon said, 'that your kind trains itself to bear great pain.' With a smile as small as it was nasty, Memnon nodded to his massive second-on-command, Thorak, gesturing for him to remove the trident. 'Well, we'll put your capacity to withstand pain to the test. . ..'

Mathayus spat in the warlord's face.

A tiny sneer preceded Memnon's response— which was to backhand the Akkadian, a blow of such power that blood spattered the tent wall nearby.

'You bleed like any other man,' Memnon pointed out.

Mathayus sneered, too—not a tiny one, though ... a bloody snarl of defiance.

That look vanished, however, as the Akkadian heard a familiar voice: 'What? No more cold, daring words from the heartless assassin?'

The sarcasm had come from a young, lightly bearded man in noble leathers, just entering the room, with a cowhide sack—large enough for a good-size water jug—gripped by its draw ties.

Takmet! The son of King Pheron of Ur ...

And Mathayus now understood why the sorceress had spoken of treachery.

'You, Takmet,' Mathayus said, his eyes wide. 'You are our betrayer?'

This seemed to amuse the king's son, who an­swered by way of a sarcastic half bow.

In the brutal world in which Mathayus had lived his life, a man's word, his honor, was all that sep­arated him from the animals, even the human ones. 'You would betray your own father?'

Takmet shrugged. 'My father was a forgetful old fool.'

The words chilled Mathayus ... one word, any­way: was.

'He deserved no better from the son he slighted.' The slender heir to the throne of Ur turned to the warlord. 'The old man paid for underestimating me ... he was terribly shocked. You can tell by the look on his face.'

And Takmet dipped his hand into the leather pouch and withdrew the head of his father.

Indeed, the expression on King Pheron's face was one of surprise.

Sickened, Mathayus scowled at this excuse for a man, and the guards around, even Thorak himself, frowned; the sorceress turned away, not in womanly fright but in distaste. Only Lord Memnon seemed pleased . .. and darkly amused.

Brandishing the severed head high, clutching it by its gray hair, Takmet said, rather formally, 'With my father's head, I pledge my allegiance!'

With a casual gesture, Memnon said, 'Takmet, your loyalty is proven.... You shall command my left wing, and serve as governor over Ur, after its capture.'

Thorak, at Mathayus's side, frowned a little.

Perhaps glimpsing this, Memnon turned toward his second-in-command, saying, 'And with Thorak leading my right wing, we shall lay waste to all who dare challenge our might.'

Mathayus despised this creature who was Mem­non, but even he knew the man had a charismatic way about him—the red-turbaned guards were hanging on the warlord's every word.

'And by the rise of the demon moon,' the Great Teacher was saying, 'my armies will sweep to the sea... and I will ascend the throne as the king of ancient legend, favored ruler of the gods.... Just as the prophecy decrees.'

Across the smoky floor of the