04 Warlock by Wilbur Smith

Author:Wilbur Smith [Smith, Wilbur]
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Ishtar stood at the edge of the sinking sands and faced the little party on the far bank. His face was covered by the patterns of tattoos. His eyes were surrounded by purple whorls; his one wall eye shone like a silver disc. A double row of red dots ran down his long nose. There were fern-like tracings across his chin and cheeks. His hair was set into long, hard spikes with red shellac. Deliberately he loosened his robe and let it fall to the sand.

He stood stark naked, and his back and shoulders were covered with leopard rosettes. A huge star of red was tattooed on his belly and his pubic hair was shaven, which emphasized his enormous dangling penis. Tiny bells of gold and silver were hooked through his pierced foreskin. He stared at Taita, and the Magus stepped forward to confront him. The gap between them seemed to shrink as they stared at each other.

Slowly Ishtar’s member swelled and the bells tinkled as it stiffened into a massive erection. He thrust his hips forward, pointing the angry red head at Taita. It was a direct challenge, emphasizing Taita’s eunuch status, and exerting Ishtar’s masculinity over him.

Taita lifted his staff and pointed at the Mede’s groin. Neither moved for a long while, projecting all their strength against each other like thrown javelins.

Suddenly Ishtar groaned and ejaculated, spurting all his seed into the sand. His penis shriveled, becoming small, wrinkled and insignificant. Ishtar sank to his knees and hurriedly pulled on his robe to cover his humiliation. He had lost the first direct confrontation with the Warlock. He turned his back on Taita and shuffled back to where the two priests of Seueth and the Nubian shaman squatted. He joined their circle, and they linked hands and began to chant.

“What are they doing?” Nefer asked nervously.

“I think that they are trying to divine the way around the sinking sands,” Mintaka whispered.

“Taita will stop them,” Nefer said, with a confidence he did not feel.

Suddenly Ishtar sprang to his feet, with renewed vitality. He let out a cry like a raven’s hoarse croak, and pointed south down the sand valley.

“He has chosen the route the falcon revealed to us,” Taita said quietly. “We are not yet safe.”

Trok’s regiments mounted. With Ishtar riding beside Trok in the leading chariot they trotted away southward following the winding river of fatal mud. As they passed, the troopers shouted threats and defiance at the forlorn group on the opposite bank.

After the dust settled they saw that Trok had left a small force, five chariots, ten men, camped under the dunes on the far bank to keep them under observation. Soon the last chariot in the pursuit column was gone into the yellow heat haze, and was hidden by the bend in the valley walls.

“Before nightfall Trok will have found the way across to our side,” Taita predicted.

“What can we do?” Nefer asked.

Taita turned to him. “You are Pharaoh. You are the Lord of Ten Thousand Chariots.

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