"I am sure you could get a well-made carriage over the roads, with a little local help to push you over the bad spots," said the Syrian. "After all, the king rides chariots and carriages all over the Persian Empire. When he finds a stretch of bad road he has it fixed, or somebody loses his head ..."
When the harness had been bought and paid for, Daniel bar-Malko invited Myron and Bessas to his house for dinner; for a warm friendship had sprung up between the friendly and voluble wainwright and the moody Bactrian.
At Daniel's house, near the Enlil Gate, the Syrian's women glided about, plying the three men with food and wine while, Daniel held forth:
"... if I could only get capital to start in business for myself, I should soon show these stodgy Babylonians a thing or two. What is wanted here is the light sporting chariot of the Egyptian type. Know you, my masters, that no less than six such chariots have been brought all the way from Egypt to Babylon in the past year, for sale to rich youths who are fain to cut a dash? I have talked my tongue off to make Shamu see the light; but no, he insists that the traditional Babylonian chariot—a slightly refined ox cart, in my opinion—has sold well ever since the Flood ..."
When his turn to speak came, Bessas told of some of his wild adventures on the eastern frontiers. He told, for instance, of the time some Massagetai caught him and stripped him for torture. He told how he broke away, vaulted on one of their horses, and galloped fifty miles with the whole tribe pounding after him. When his horse foundered, he escaped by diving into the Oxus River, coming up under a pile of driftwood, and spending a whole day there with his nose alone out of the icy water while the nomads raged up and down the banks in search of him.
At parting, Daniel lit the end of a link in the hearth fire and thrust it into Bessas' hand. "This will see you back to the barracks," he said. "Turn right as you go out, walk thirty paces, and you will be on Enlil Street. Oh—if you are fain to hire a guide in Syria, you could do worse than to obtain my brother's services."
"Oh?" said Myron.
"Aye. Ask in Qadesh for Kothar bar-Malko." Daniel chuckled. "You will find my brother a strange man. He is a former priest of El, cast out of his priesthood for unlawful magic. His family disowned him. Since then he has made a chancy living as a guide, trader, and wandering wizard. He is not what you would call respectable, but he is an able guide. He has been to Egypt several times and fluently speaks the speech of that land."
Daniel kissed his guests good-by and showed them out, saying: "May honey drip upon you, my friends! Tell me of your adventures when you return. Remember the name, Kothar bar-Malko."
A light overcast veiled the moon and transformed it into a faint opalescence high in the heavens. The link burnt with a smoky red flame, which threw writhing, misshapen shadows as Myron and Bessas, laden with their purchases of the afternoon, picked their way along Enlil Street.
Once they came upon a detachment of the night watch: four men of the merchant class, wearing pointed helms of an antique pattern and carrying pikes. These halted the travelers at the sight of the gear they bore and the swords they wore. But a flourish of documents from Myron, some gruff replies by Bessas, and the mention of their recent host convinced the watchmen of their honesty.
"We all know Master Daniel," said one. "Anyway, thieves do not carry links to light their way."
The twain continued northward until Bessas halted, saying: "By Mithra and Verethraghna, we are followed!"
Myron listened but heard nothing. They walked forward again, and this time he thought he heard stealthy footsteps behind them. When they halted, the footsteps halted.
"Are you sure it's not the echo of our own feet on the walls across the street?" whispered Myron.
"Not unless I'm growing deaf with age. But I have a trick for that. Come along."
They hurried ahead and soon reached the crossing of Marduk Street. Here Enlil Street ended, unless an alley opening on the north side of Marduk Street were to be deemed a continuation of Enlil Street.
Bessas turned to the right on Marduk Street, as if to take in the jog to Sin Street, where the diagonal road from the Zababa Gate crossed Marduk. Then he halted and set down the link, carefully so it continued to burn.
"Now run!" he breathed.
Bessas crossed Marduk Street with giant strides and turned left. He plunged into the alley that continued Enlil Street. Myron panted after him, staggering under his burden.
Darkness closed in about them. Noisome stenches made Myron gasp; he felt soft nameless substances under his boots. Ahead, Bessas stumbled and cursed luridly under his breath.
"This should be a short cut through to the diagonal road," muttered the Bactrian.
The alley bent this way and that and forked. Bessas halted, so suddenly that Myron blundered into him in the dark. In the instant that he stood silently, panting, Myron heard the sound of many running feet, from no definite direction.
"Take the right," said Bessas. "The other way will get us lost in the alleys."
They plunged off to the right but soon halted again. "The gods damn me to the House of the Lie for a stupid oaf!" breathed Bessas. "This is a bag-end. We shall have to try the other—"
"Too late," said Myron. Sound and motion from the mouth of the close revealed that their pursuers had trapped them.
Bessas dropped his burden, doffed his cloak, wrapped it around his left arm, and drew his sword. Myron did likewise, desperately wishing that they had with them the warlike gear they had bought the previous day, which now reposed in the barracks.
"Keep on my left and a little behind me," said Bessas. "Guard my back, and let them not grapple us."
"Well, don't amputate my head with one of those wild swings," said Myron, whose heart was pounding with painful intensity.
Without further words, Bessas charged their pursuers, who had penetrated only a few paces into the close. They were shadowy figures. Nothing about them stood out definitely, save that the faint traces of moonlight that seeped down between the high dark walls struck feeble gleams from their blades.
The Bactrian, moving with the swiftness of a storm wind, was upon them before they could brace themselves. The long Indian sword whistled. There was a hard sound of cloven bone, and the first man was down with a split skull.
Little clash of steel was heard. The attackers seemed to be armed with knives and short swords, but none had a weapon of the reach of Bessas' blade, and in the darkness there was little opportunity for fencing.
Myron, pressing after Bessas, stumbled over a form and stabbed downward, fetching a groan from the victim. He lunged at the man before him. The man gave back, and Myron heard and felt his own cloak rip as a foe's blade caught in it. Another man screamed and fell back before Bessas' attack. There was a slap of sandals and a hiss of hard breathing.
"Got you!" said Bessas. Another man shrieked.
From behind the throng at the mouth of the close came a voice, urging on the attackers: "Go on, fight! Get in close! They are but two! Go in low and stab upward! Seize them about the knees and throw them!"
"If you'll step up, General," snarled Bessas, "I will give you a chance to demonstrate."
The mob surged forward again. They could not get behind the travelers, as they could not advance more than three abreast. Bessas and Myron between them filled the alley from wall to wall, die Bactrian taking up the space of two ordinary men.