“I shall present myself before Abzuwas son of Ahhiyawas,” Sharur replied.
Harharu considered that for as long as a donkey took to walk five paces. Then the donkeymaster bowed so deeply to Sharur, his hat fell off his head.
Rain spattered down from a cloudy sky as the caravan entered the valley of Parsuhandas. By that time, guards and donkey handlers had stopped exclaiming in dismay at summer rain, and most of them had stopped making signs and
charms against the evil omens to be drawn from such a phenomenon. For his part, Sharur took the evil weather as a good omen: rain made it more difficult for the gods of the Alashkurru Mountains to peer down and see what he was about.
Stronger than both Tuwanas and Zalpuwas was the fortress town of Parsuhandas, which seemed to have sprung from the stony ground rather than being built. The valley of Parsuhandas was narrow and steep, the fields of the valley small and cramped. Nevertheless, Parsuhandas prospered.
Parsuhandas prospered because many black-mouthed holes had been dug into the sides of the valley, most often where it was steepest. Men went into those holes and grubbed at the ground with copper picks and with pry bars made from branches and shod, sometimes, with copper, and with shovels more often of bone and wood than of copper and wood. Not many men went down into the mines, for the mountains of Alashkurru were like any other land in that their peasants could not raise food enough to support more than a few who were not peasants. But miners there were, who brought copper ore and, every now and again, masses of native copper up from the darkness into the light of day.
Near one of those mines, the largest in the valley of Parsuhandas, dwelt Abzuwas son of Ahhiyawas. A great pillar of smoke rose from his stone home, guiding Sharur and the caravan thither. Yet that home was not afire. Like so many in Gibil, it was also Abzuwas’s place of business, and he the busiest and most clever smith in the valley of Parsuhandas and, probably, in all the Alashkurru Mountains.
As if Abzuwas had been a man of Kudurru, he wore only sandals and a linen kilt. He did it not to ape the men from the land between the rivers, but because he-spent so much time tending his forges, and would have steamed in his own wrappings had he donned the usual Alashkurri tunic.
He stood outside the stone building when Sharur led the donkey train up to him: outside and, too impatient to wait for the rain to do the job, pouring a big jar of water over his head and hairy torso, both to clean himself and to cool his body after some long stretch of sweltering work. “I greet you, Abzuwas son of Ahhiyawas, master of metal,” Sharur called out as he approached.
Abzuwas shook himself like a wet dog. Water sprayed out from his hair and beard. He rubbed at his eyes to get the water out of them, too. “Well, well,” he said, his voice deep and rolling like the voice of a big drum. “Well, well. I greet you, Sharur son of Ereshguna, master merchant’s son. For a man from the land of Kudurru, a man with the knowledge of bronze, to call me a master of metal is praise indeed. It’s more praise than I deserve, but a man fool enough to turn down praise would also be fool enough to turn down a woman if she offered him her body, and, whatever kind of fool I may be, I am not such a fool as that. Welcome, Sharur son of Ereshguna, welcome!”
He walked forward to enfold Sharur in a wet, smelly embrace. No matter how wet and smelly it was, Sharur was glad to have the hug. Since he had come into the Alashkurru Mountains, Abzuwas was the first person to have fully returned his greeting. Since he had come into the Alashkurru Mountains, this place was the first place he had felt welcome.
As he freed himself from Abzuwas’s massive arms, he realized that was literally true. Here by the smithy, he did not feel in the back of his mind the unfriendly presence of the gods of the Alashkurrut. Metal had power, and gave a man power—power that was not, or was not yet, the power of any god.
“So,” Abzuwas boomed. “So! I had not heard you were in the fortress of Parsuhandas. I had not heard you were treating with Yaddiyas, the mighty wanax of Parsuhandas. I had not heard Yaddiyas, the mighty wanax of Parsuhandas, had sent you to me.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “But so what? When I get to working, when the metal pours bright into the mold, I do not hear anything, even things many men think they tell me.”
“Abzuwas, my friend, I will not lie to you,” Sharur said. “I was not in the fortress of Parsuhandas. I was not treating with Yaddiyas. Yaddiyas has not sent me to you.”
“Well, well,” Abzuwas said again, in a different tone of voice. “So you came straight to me, did you? Why did you come straight to me? Why did you not go into the fortress of Parsuhandas? Why did you not treat with Yaddiyas, the mighty wanax of Parsuhandas?”
“I came straight to you because I felt sure you would trade with me,” Sharur replied, sounding more confident than he felt. “I did not go into the fortress of Parsuhandas, I did not treat with the mighty wanax Yaddiyas, because I did not think he would trade with me.”
Abzuwas frowned. “And why is that, Sharur son of Ereshguna? The mighty wanax Yaddiyas has always been glad to gain your swords. The mighty wanax Yaddiyas has always been glad to gain your other goods. I can give you only copper and copper ore in trade. Copper and copper ore are all I have. The mighty wanax Yaddiyas has many different things. He can give you many different things in trade.”
“Copper and copper ore will do nicely,” Sharur said. “They are what draws the men of Kudurru to the Alashkurru Mountains.”
“You did not answer my question.” Abzuwas folded his arms across his chest and looked straight at Sharur. “Why did you come to me, and not go into the fortress? Why would you treat with me, and not with the mighty wanax?”
“For no reason I can see,” Sharur said, almost truthfully, “your Alashkurri gods are angry at me. They have forbidden the wanakes of this land from trading with me. They have forbidden the merchants of this land from trading with me. So far as I know, they have not forbidden the smiths of this land from trading with me!”
“Ah, the gods.” Abzuwas spoke in some surprise. “Yes, the gods.” Sure enough, he needed to be reminded of them, just as a smith in Gibil might go for days without worrying about the will of Engibil. The gods were stronger than he, yes, but they did not much impinge on what he did in his daily labors. “They are angry at you, you say?”
Reluctantly, Sharur nodded. Abzuwas asked, “Why should they not be angry at me, then, if I give you copper and copper ore in trade for your goods? Why should they not be angry at me if, of a sudden, I trade Gibli swords and wine and cloth and whatever else you may have?”
“Because you are a smith,” Sharur answered. “Because you have your own power. Because here in this place I do not feel the weight of the Alashkurri gods on my shoulders.” Because you are more like a man of Gibil than any other Alashkurri I know, even Huzziyas the wanax who would be a lugal if only the gods here would let him. But Sharur did not say that aloud, not knowing how Abzuwas would take it.
The smith understood it even if he did not say it. “I cannot take this chance, Sharur son of Ereshguna. You and I, we are not so much alike as you would think.”
“But we are,” Sharur insisted. “We both have more freedom from the gods than is common here in your mountains or in the land between the rivers.”
“No.” Abzuwas shook his head. “You are nearly right, but you are not right. I have freedom under the gods. I do not have freedom from the gods. I do not desire freedom from the gods.”