conquests of Alexander, these barren lands somehow inspired conflict, a wasteland where a score of warring tribes sought dominion.
Imagine, then, a golden papyrus map of that region—at that ancient time, three thousand years before Christ, such a map would depict the entire known world—encompassing the fabulous storied kingdoms of Babylon, Mesopotamia and those most infamous of cities, Sodom and Gomorrah. Such realms seem the stuff of legend, yet ancient books of truth—the Bible is but one—say different; these were places as real as the world around us, and just as dangerous.
Picture now that map stained with blood, and follow a glistening red trail of destruction, whose path leaches out, soaking up everything in its way. Look deeper and imagine the hordes of charging horsemen, a horizon lined with archers sending arrows streaking into the sky, and multitudes of foot soldiers, marching inexorably onward.
The warlord who commanded these armies was called 'Teacher of Men '—Memnon, in their ancient tongue—but the lessons he taught were strict indeed... how destruction could pave the way for conquest, how death could vanquish one people and make way for another, invading one. Memnon imparted his wisdom by taking male prisoners only to put them to death, to 'liberate' females for purpose of ravishment and slavery... the sword and chains were his teaching tools.
The populace all across those bleak lands took these lessons to heart—men of every race and color and creed gathered their wives and children and fled their homes, running in panic, in terror, and sometimes escaping. Sometimes. Other men stayed to fight, as soldiers, in defense of their homes, their land... and were defeated.
And those soldiers who did not die in battle—and were not officers, earmarked for execution—would line the roadside beyond their burned, looted village, waiting under a scorching sun for the victors to pronounce sentence. Trembling, terrified, their bravery beaten out of them, they would stand weaponless, smoke and flames rising from the ruins to lick the sky, as if hungry for more conquest.
And among them would move a giant on a snorting steed, a human nightmare with a scarred battle-shield of a face, his red turban signaling his allegiance to the invading army.
His name was Thorak, and he had long since lost count of the men he had killed. And to the vanquished army he would bellow, 'Kneel before Lord Memnon!'
As if presenting an actor on a stage, Thorak would gesture behind him as the warlord himself, astride a regal black Arabian, seemed to materialize among them, clip-clopping through the smoke of combat. Not the brute that his second-in-command was, Lord Memnon—glittering in gold chain mail— looked no less fearsome, a muscular man with carved handsome features, sides of his head shaved, a shock of dark hair riding a fine skull, a beautiful man, yet virile. Around him, some on horseback, some on foot, a phalanx of red-turbaned guards, each man a vicious exemplar of fighting prowess, provided protection; yet somehow Memnon seemed above them ...as if he could fend for himself, and only put up with the armed guard for purposes of ceremony.
Inevitably, the defeated soldiers would drop to their knees—better to pay obeisance to Lord Memnon, better to join his fearsome ranks, than to stay here in the charred ruins of a home that was theirs no longer, and douse the land uselessly with their blood.
Memnon would stare at them, from horseback, as if considering whether their addition might be worth his trouble, weighing whether or not to simply slay them. And sometimes this would indeed be his decision. But more often the great teacher accepted these pupils into his school of slaughter, nodding to Thorak, then wheeling his horse around and thundering away through the sea of his own soldiers.
In less than ten years, Memnon had conquered all but a few scattered tribes, and only one solitary kingdom remained—and if you will again picture that map, imagine only the tiniest corner remaining, free of blood, free of Memnon. . . a scrap of land near the Red Sea called the Kingdom of Ur.
This tiny corner, and a few brave men and women, were all that separated Memnon from the destiny he sought to claim: to be king of the known world, to fulfill the ancient prophecy:
By tolling bell and thunder's swell,
a flaming star falls from the sky.
By a full moon's glow, in House of Scorpio,
