“This I believe,” Sharur said. “Even searching for such a thing without great hope of success, a man might make a better bargain with a god than otherwise.”
“Truly you are a master merchant’s son,” Kimash said. “Truly you shall soon become a master merchant yourself.”
“That is a generous thing for a person of no consequence such as yourself, Izmaili, to say,” Sharur replied with a bow. Kimash, recognizing that he had in fact been addressed in his proper rank, graciously inclined his head.
Sharur started to say something more, but then paused, weighing whether he should. Kimash noticed, but misunderstood his reasons. In a cautious voice, the lugal asked, “Has the god seized your wits, son of Ereshguna? If it be so, can you find some way to let me know it is so?”
“It is not so,” Sharur declared. “I am sorry if I alarmed you, but it is not so. On the contrary. I have another thought you may perhaps find worth hearing.”
“I listen.” Kimash inclined his head once more.
“Hear my words, then,” Sharur said, exactly as if he were speaking to Izmaili the man of no particular consequence rather than to Kimash the lugal of Gibil. “The great gods of the Alashkurrut had this thing, into which they poured a great part of their power for what they thought to be safekeeping. The great gods of the Alashkurrut likewise let slip that Engibil has such a thing, into which he has poured a great part of his power. Could it be that all gods have such a thing, into which they have poured a great part of their power for what they think to be safekeeping?”
Kimash stood some time still and silent. Then he stepped forward and kissed Sharur on both cheeks. “It could be. It could be indeed.” His smile might have appeared on the face of a lion spying a fat gazelle that did not spy it in turn. Slowly, he went on, “I wonder if Enimhursag has such a thing, into which he has poured a great part of his power for what he thinks to be safekeeping.”
That same smile stole across Sharur’s face. “If Enimhursag has such a thing, I wonder who would be more eager to find it and destroy it: we Giblut, or the Imhursagut the god has oppressed for so long?”
“If the Imhursagut were more like us Giblut, my wager would be on them,” Kimash replied. “As things are...” He shrugged. “Perhaps they could do with suitable instruction.”
“Provided, of course, that an Imhursaggi will listen,” Sharur said. “Provided that an Imhursaggi will profit from instruction. Such a thing is possible, I suppose, but by no means sure.”
“Indeed not,” Kimash said. “In their resolute stupidity, the Imhursagut very much resemble their god, just as the Zuabut resemble Enzuabu in their inveterate thievery.” He paused and looked thoughtful once more. “I wonder why we Giblut do not resemble Engibil, who is as lazy and lackadaisical as Enzuabu is thievish and Enimhursag stubborn and stupid.”
“Folk whose god is lazy and lackadaisical needs must do for themselves what that lazy, lackadaisical god will not do for them,” Sharur replied. “We are as we are because Engibil is as he is. And, because Engibil is as he is, we now draw near the point where we can live without him.” He lowered his voice to a whisper for that last sentence—the Giblut might have been drawing near such a point, but they had not yet reached it.
“My great-grandson,” Kimash murmured. “His great-grandson.” He raised an eyebrow at Sharur. “Remember, son of Ereshguna, my great-grandson could be your grandson.”
“That could be, yes, but for him to do as you do”—to sit on the throne of Gibil, Sharur meant, but would not say—“your male line would have to fail, which I pray it may never do. And, now that Engibil has assented to the match my family made for me, I am, as I have told you, content and more than content with it.”
“I had gathered that your match was among other things a love match. Now I see it must be so indeed,” Kimash said. “Only a love match would make a man turn away from power when it is offered to him like a pot in the market square.” He seemed to remember himself and the role he had assumed. “Fortunately, I, Izmaili, a person of no particular account, do not need to concern myself with such things.” He bowed and departed.
Sharur stared after him. He had expected the lugal to be more annoyed at the destruction of the Alashkurri cup, but Kimash had accepted that without a qualm once it was accomplished. He had also accepted Sharur’s avoidance of a marriage alliance more readily than Sharur had thought he would.
Maybe the thought of truly bringing Engibil to heel once and for all pleased the lugal more than any lesser disappointment bothered him. Had Sharur dwelt in the palace rather than in the house of Ereshguna, he knew how much that thought would have pleased him. As a matter of fact, it pleased him quite a lot even though he did dwell in the house of Ereshguna. And the thought of truly bringing Enimhursag to heel once and for all pleased him even more.
Ushurikti frowned. “Are you sure you wish to do this, master merchant’s son? You consigned these slaves to me for sale. I shall have to charge the house of Ereshguna not only for their maintenance while in my hands but also for a part of the price I could have expected to realize from such sale.”
“Unless it be a very large part, I shall not object,” Sharur replied. “Unless it be an extortionate part, I shall not complain.”
“We can settle that in due course,” the slave dealer said. “First, though, tell me, if you would, why you have suddenly decided to set these two Imhursagut free instead of profiting from them.”
“I have a message I wish to send back to Imhursag, and they are the fitting ones to bear it,” Sharur said.
“You must be the judge of that, of course,” Ushurikti replied, “but you must also recall that they are at present laboring in the south for the mighty lugal, and are not here at my establishment.”
“I do indeed recall that,” Sharur said, “but they are laboring in the south for the mighty lugal because they are slaves, or are presumed to be slaves. If you send a runner to the south with word they are in fact to be freed, will the runner not be likely to return to Gibil with them trailing after him as sheep trail after a wether?”
“Likely he will, master merchant’s son.” Ushurikti looked calculating. “As you are doing this of your own will, it is just that you send a runner to the south and you pay him to bring Duabzu and Nasibugashi back to Gibil.”
“Let it be done as you say,” Sharur answered resignedly. Ushurikti instructed the runner where in the south the two Imhursaggi captives were laboring for the lugal. Sharur gave him a clay tablet to show to whatever foreman Kimash had set over them, authorizing their release. He rolled his stone cylinder seal over the bottom of the damp tablet, confirming it had come from him. The runner trotted off, his sandals kicking up puffs of dust as he went.
He returned three days later, with the two Imhursagut trailing after him just as Sharur had foretold. When Ushurikti sent word they had arrived, Sharur hurried over to the slave dealer’s establishment. There he found the men he had captured, both of them anxious to learn what he would do with them.
“Can it be true?” Duabzu asked. “Can you really intend to set us free?” Now that he had tasted the life of a slave, he was no longer so eager to endure it as he had been when Sharur spared his life on the battlefield.
“Have we then been ransomed?” Nasibugashi added. For an Imhursaggi, he seemed, as he had always seemed, uncommonly alert and aware of the consequences of actions in the world around him.
“You are to be freed,” Sharur replied, and both Imhursagut cried out. Sharur went on, “You are not to be ransomed. I set you free without being paid even so much as a barleycorn.” They cried out again, this time in astonishment. Sharur held up a hand. “I have one condition, and one only, I set on your freedom: you must both deliver and spread widely through Imhursag a message I shall give you.”