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n the tallest palm trees of this fertile and well…watered land。
'What is their span？' Trok asked Ishtar the Mede。 'How far is it to ride around this city？'
Ten leagues； Majesty。' Ishtar told him。 'Half a day's ride。' Trok stood taller on the footplate of his chariot and shaded his eyes。 'Is that the Blue Gate of legend？' he demanded。 He knew that Ishtar had lived in this royal city of Babylon for fifteen years； and had learned much of his magic here in the temple of Marduk。
Even at this distance the gateway glimmered like an enormous gemstone。 The threshold was so wide that ten chariots could enter driving abreast； and the carved cedarwood gates were higher than ten men standing on each other's shoulders。
'It is truly blue in colour；' Trok marvelled。 'I have heard that it is covered with lapis lazuli。'
'Not so； Majesty。' Ishtar's face twisted in a condescending grimace。 'They are ceramic tiles。 Each tile depicts one of the two thousand and ten gods of Babylon。'
Trok cast a general's eye along the miles of wall on each side of the Blue Gate。 There were watchtowers at every two hundred paces； and at regular intervals the massive walls were heavily buttressed。 Ishtar knew what he was thinking。
'There is a road along the top of the wall； wide enough for two chariots to ride abreast。 Within an hour Sargon can move five thousand men along it to any point that is threatened by a besieging army。'
Trok grunted； to show that he was unimpressed。 'Still and all； any wall can be undermined and sapped。 We need only one breach。'
There is an inner wall； divine Pharaoh；' Ishtar murmured in a silky tone。 'It is almost as impregnable as the first。'
'If we cannot go through； we will find a way round。' Trok shrugged； 'Are those the gardens of Sargon's palace？' He jutted out his beribboned beard to indicate the terraces that rose in mighty tiers into the sky。 They were so skilfully raised upon each other； a soaring inverted pyramid； that they seemed to float like a mighty eagle with spread wings； free of the bounds of earth。
Ishtar pointed with one sinewy； blue…tattooed arm。 There are six terraces built around a vast courtyard； each wider than the one before。 The zenana alone has five thousand rooms； one for each of Sargon's wives。 His treasury is buried in a deep dungeon below the palace。 It is packed with gold to the height of a man's head。'
'Have you seen these wonders with your own eyes？' Trok challenged him。
'Not the zenana；' Ishtar admitted； 'but I have entered the main vault of the treasury； and I tell you straight； King…who…is…a…god； that in all your army you do not have sufficient wagons to carry away such a treasure as lies before you。'
'And I tell you straight； Ishtar the Mede； that I can always build new wagons。' And Trok threw back his head and laughed with animal high spirits。
The march to Babylon had been one long triumph； an unbroken string of victories。 They had met Ran； Sargon's eldest son； on the banks of the Bahr al Milh： between the chariots of Trok and Naja they had ground his army like dhurra； and swept the chaff into the lake until the waters ran red with blood； and the bloated corpses floated from one bank to the other。
They had sent Ran's severed head to his father； skewered on a spear。 Maddened with grief； Sargon had charged into the trap they had prepared for him。 While Naja retreated before him to lure him on； Trok had circled out to the south then e at him from the rear with a thousand chariots。 When Sargon turned back to defend his baggage train； they had him in a glittering ring of bronze。
Sargon had managed to break out with fifty chariots but he had left two thousand chariots and eleven thousand men behind him。 Trok emasculated the prisoners； an undertaking that took two days to acplish。 But he joined in the work in person； bloody to the elbows like a butcher； and with a ribald jest to each of his victims as he dangled their severed genitalia in front of their eyes。 Afterwards he allowed his victims to bleed to death； their blood an offering to Seueth； the hungry god who loved such fare。 Trok sent the severed trophies to Sargon； packed in salt； in a hundred cedarwood chests。 A subtle warning as to what he might expect when Trok and Naja came to Babylon。
Babylon was built upon the narrow spit of land between the two rivers； the Euphrates to the west and the Tigris to the east。 In his headlong retreat Sargon had not been able to destroy the bridges。 In any case； it would have taken an army to tear down those massive piers of burned brick on which they were built。 Sargon no longer had an army。 He had left one depleted regiment of foot to defend the bridges； but they were demoralized and without chariots to support them。 They had not lasted long against the two pharaohs。
Trok had bound the survivors hand and foot and dropped them from the central span of the bridge into the broad brown river； and the Egyptian troops had lined the parapet to delight in their antics as they drowned。
Now Babylon lay before them； little more than a year since they had marched from Avaris；
'You know the defences； Ishtar。 You helped design some of them。 How long before the city falls？' Trok demanded impatiently。 'How long will it take me to breach the walls？'
'The walls are impregnable； Majesty；' said Ishtar。
'We both know that is not true；' Trok told him。 'Given enough time； men and determination； there is no wall built that cannot be breached。'
'A year；' Ishtar murmured thoughtfully。 'Or two； maybe three。' But there was a sly look on his tattooed face； and his eyes were shifty。
Trok laughed and playfully seized a handful of Ishtar's lacquered spiky beard。 He twisted it until his blue whorled face contorted with pain and his eyes watered。 'You want to play games with me； wizard。 You know how I love a good game； don't you？'
'Mercy； mighty Egypt；' Ishtar whimpered。 Trok pushed him away so hard that he almost fell from the footplate of the chariot and had to clutch at the side of the dashboard to steady himself。
'A year； you say？ Two？ Three？ I have not that amount of time to sit here and look upon the beauties and wonders of Babylon。 I am in a hurry； Ishtar the Mede； and you know what that means； don't you？'
'I know； god without peer。 And I am but a man； fallible and poor。'
'Poor？' Trok shouted in his face。 'By Seueth； you slimy charlatan； you have milked me of a lakh of gold already； and what do I have to show for it？'
'You have a city and an empire。 After Egypt itself； the richest in the world。 I have laid it at your feet。' He knew Trok well by now； knew just how far he could go。
'I need the key to that city。' Trok watched his face； happy with what he saw there。 He knew Ishtar almost as well as the magician knew him。
'It would have to be a key made of gold；' Ishtar mused。 'Perhaps three lakhs of gold？'
Trok let out a great burst of laughter and aimed a blow at his head with a mailed fist。 It was not intended to do damage； and Ishtar ducked under it easily。
'With three lakhs I could buy another army。' Trok shook his head and the ribbons in his beard danced like a cloud of butterflies。
'Yonder； in the treasury of Sargon； lie a hundred lakhs。 Three from a hundred is a small price to pay。'
'Give me the city； Ishtar。 Give it to me within three full moons and you shall have two lakhs of gold from the treasure of Sargon；' he promised。
'If I give it to you before the next full moon？' Ishtar scrubbed his hands together like a carpet trader。
Trok's grin slid from his face at the prospect； and he said seriously； 'Then you shall have your three lakhs； and a convoy of wagons to carry them away。'
* * *
The army of the two pharaohs went into camp before the Blue Gate； and Trok sent an emissary to Sargon to demand the immediate surrender of the city…'to save such a prodigy of architecture from the flames； and your person and family