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nder of the city…'to save such a prodigy of architecture from the flames； and your person and family and populace from the sword'； as Trok humorously phrased his demand。 In reply Sargon； sanguine and defiant behind his walls； sent the messenger's decapitated head back to Trok。 The preliminaries having been dealt with； Trok and Naja made a circuit of the walls to allow the Babylonians to view their full might and splendour。
They drove the golden chariots； Trok's drawn by six black stallions； Naja's by six white。 Heseret rode beside Naja； glittering with jewels and wearing the golden uraeus on her high…piled curls。 Behind the golden chariots marched fifty prisoners； Babylonian women captured from the outlying towns and villages between the two rivers。 All were pregnant； some very near their time。
They were preceded by a vanguard of five hundred chariots and followed by a rearguard of another five hundred。 The slow； stately circuit of the city took all that day； and at sunset they came back to the Blue Gate。 Sargon and his war council were gathered on the parapets above the shining gateway。
Sargon was tall and thin； with a shock of silver hair。 In his youth he had been a mighty warrior and had conquered the lands as far north as the Black Sea to add to his domains。 He had suffered defeat only once in all his campaigns and that had been at the hands of Pharaoh Tamose； the father of Nefer Seti。 Now another pair of Egyptians stood at his gates； and he did not delude himself into believing that these would be as merciful as the first。
To confirm him in this belief； Trok had the pregnant women stripped naked and marched forward one at a time。 Then； while all the city watched their swollen bellies were slit open； the unborn infants ripped out and the tiny bodies piled on the threshold of the Blue Gate。
'Add these to your army； Sargon；' Trok bellowed up at him。 'You will need every man you can get。'
It had been a long and exciting day for Heseret； and she retired to her tent with all her slave girls； leaving her husband and Trok to pore over a map of the city by lamplight。 It was a work of art； drawn on a finely tanned sheepskin； the walls； roads and canals drawn to scale； each of the main buildings depicted in coloured detail。
'How came this into your possession？' Naja demanded。
'Twelve years ago； by the mand of King Sargon； I surveyed the city and drew this map with my own hands；' Ishtar replied。 'No other could have achieved such accuracy and beauty。'
'If he missioned it； why did you not deliver it to Sargon？'
'I did。' Ishtar nodded。 'I delivered the inferior draft to him； while secretly I kept the fair copy you see before you。 I knew that one day someone would pay me more handsomely than Sargon ever did。'
For another hour they studied the map； muttering a ment now and then； but for the most part silent and absorbed。 As fighting generals with a professional eye for the salient features of a battlefield； they were able to admire the depth and strength of the walls； towers and redoubts that had been built up layer upon layer over the centuries。
At last Trok stood back from the table。 'There is no weakness that I can divine； magician。 You were right the first time。 It will take three years of hard work to break through those walls。 You will have to do better than this to earn your three lakhs。'
'The water；' whispered Ishtar。 'Look to the water。'
'I have looked to the water。' Naja smiled at him； but it was a serpent's smile； cold and thin…lipped。 'There are canals supplying every quarter of the city； enough water to grow Sargon's six terraces of gardens that。 reach up into the sky； and to water and feed the city for a hundred years。'
'Pharaoh is all…seeing； all…wise。' Ishtar bowed to him； 'but where does the water e from？'
'From two mighty rivers。 After the Nile itself； the mightiest rivers in the world。 A supply of water that has not failed in this millennium。'
'But where does the water enter the city？ How does it pass through； under or over those walls？' Ishtar insisted； and Naja and Trok exchanged a look of dawning prehension。
* * *
Half a mile north of Babylon； outside the city walls； on the east bank of the Euphrates； at a point where the flood broadened and ran sluggishly； stood the temple of Ninurta； the lion…headed winged god of the Euphrates。 It was built on stone piers that extended out into the river。 The multiple images of the god were engraved on a frieze that ran around all four outer walls。 In the Akkadian language； chiselled into the stone lintel over the entrance； was a warning to all who sought to invade the sanctuary； calling down the wrath of the god upon them。
Ishtar the Mede worked a charm on the threshold to nullify the curse； slitting the throats of two captives and splashing their blood on the portals。 Once the way was cleared Trok； with twenty troopers at his back； strode through into the temple courtyard where all the purple…robed priests of Ninurta were gathered。 They were chanting and gesticulating； waving their arms towards the intruder； splashing water from the Euphrates in his path； invoking Ninurta to build up an invisible wall of magical power to turn Trok back。
Trok strode through the wall without a check and killed the high priest with a single thrust through the old man's throat。 Wailing at such sacrilege； the other priests prostrated themselves before him。
Trok sheathed his sword and nodded to the captain； who manded the guard。 'Kill them all。 Make certain no one escapes。'
The work was done swiftly； and when the courtyard was littered with purple…clad bodies Trok manded； 'Do not throw them into the river。 We do not want the city guards to see them float past and guess what we are about。'
Then he turned to watch Ishtar who； once all the priests had been disposed of； had entered the courtyard to work another charm to counteract the baleful influence of the god they had invoked。 At the four corners he burned bundles of herbs； which emitted a thick； greasy smoke that was repugnant to Ninurta and； as Trok remarked jovially； to all gods and lesser mortals equally。 Once Ishtar had pleted the purification； he led the way into the holy places of the temple； and Trok and his troopers followed him； with blood…caked blades bared。
Their cleated sandals rang hollowly in the gloomy recesses of the high； cavernous hall； and even Trok felt a religious chill as they approached the image of the god on his plinth。 The lion's head snarled silently and the wings of stone were spread wide。 Ishtar declaimed another lengthy prayer to the god to placate him； then led Trok into the narrow space between the rear wall and the idol's back。 Here he pointed out a heavily grilled gate built into the body of Ninurta。 Trok seized the bars of the grille； and shook them with all his bear…like strength。 They did not move。
'There is an easier way； all…wise Pharaoh；' Ishtar suggested sweetly。 'The key will be on the body of the high priest。'
'Fetch it！' Trok snapped at the captain of his guard； who ran。 When he returned there was blood on his hands； but he carried a bunch of heavy keys； some of them as long as his forearm。 Trok tried two in the lock on the grille； and the second turned the ancient mechanism。 The gate swung open on creaking hinges。
Trok peered down a descending spiral staircase into darkness。 The air ing up the deep shaft was cold and dank； and he heard the sound of running water far below。
'Bring torches！' he ordered； and the captain sent four of his troopers to take down the burning torches from their brackets。 With a torch held above his head； Trok started down the narrow； unprotected stairwell。 He went gingerly； for the treads of the stone steps were slimy and slippery。 The sound of running water grew louder as he went down。
Ishtar followed him closely。 'This temple and the tunnels beneath it were built almost five hundred years ago；' he told Trok。 Now there was the gleam of water below them； and the s