The Egyptian swallowed the mixture without complaint, though it passed his throat with evident difficulty. Being parched, he asked Nimrod for water; yet the Ethiopian gave him none of his own. Instead, he turned to the hive before them, cut away a generous portion, and placed it in the dying man's hand.
The youth consumed it as though it were his last meal. Then, feeling the darkness of unconsciousness closing upon him, he gave thanks to the stranger who had saved his life.
But Nimrod answered:
"If the bees do not slay thee, another venom shall."
So saying, he himself partook of the honey. The other competitor fell into sleep, and Nimrod continued on his way.
He walked until the fall of evening, and for that night he prepared a resting-place among the branches of tall trees, unwilling to waste his strength in needless vigils. With vines he wove a firm lattice, upon which he slept, secure from the terrors of the dark.
At the first pale light of dawn, he resumed his march. Before the day had fully broken, he heard from afar a dreadful uproar. He hastened toward it, and the noise grew ever louder. Reaching an open stretch of land, he cast himself low to the ground and beheld a young Egyptian warrior defending himself alone against the assault of numerous native hunters.
Even as he cut them down with his sword, more came forth, drawn by the clamor of battle. These warriors were dark of skin like Nimrod, yet gaunt as corpses. From their disordered manner of fighting, and the crude wooden spears they bore, the Ethiopian perceived that they were no true warriors, but primitive hunters.
Yet one among them seized his moment and hurled his spear, striking the Theban in the belly. The youth bent forward, clutching the shaft with both hands—but had no time to act further. The hunters fell upon him like a swarm of bees and tore him to pieces.
There, before Nimrod's eyes, they devoured his flesh.
By his reckoning, of the seven who had entered the games, but three now remained. Of these, one had been left behind, grievously wounded; and the other was a treacherous serpent, lurking somewhere along the path.
The tribe of hunters did not trouble him overmuch. They did not kill for sport, but from necessity. Perhaps he might avoid them altogether. Yet he chose to press forward. The old seeress had spoken of his victory, and whether the gods could err—or whether he himself was indeed destined for triumph—he would not allow a starving horde of cannibals to rob him of his glory.
Resolved and filled with indomitable spirit, he took up his spear and advanced.
For nearly an hour he walked without sign of pursuit. Above him his falcon flew, silent and watchful. Yet he knew that such calm might at any moment be broken.
And so it was.
As he crossed an open stretch of soft sand, he heard the sudden beating of drums, sounding from many directions, as though messages were being exchanged. Almost at once, warriors seemed to rise from the very earth, like the dead returning from their graves.
An entire host of black cannibals surrounded him, armed with spears and clubs.
Nimrod did not fear. He gripped his spear firmly in his right hand and stood ready, while with the other he adjusted the small shield upon his shoulder. With a swift glance, he perceived that he had erred in his earlier judgment: these were no men.
They were women.
All were hideous to behold, their teeth large and sharpened, filed down with stone to lend them a savage aspect.
Nimrod's spear was of solid iron, so heavy that none but he could wield it. With a movement swift as thought, his sword appeared in his other hand. Measuring them, he judged that they numbered some thirty warriors.
Yet they lowered their weapons.
They gazed upon him—not as prey, but as a prize.
One approached, circling him slowly, examining every measure of his great frame. At length she withdrew and spoke to her companions in a harsh and agglutinated tongue, of which Nimrod understood but little.
Then another came forth bearing a small drum, and began to beat it in rhythmic cadence. From afar, another drum answered.
The one who seemed their leader stamped her foot and gestured wildly, as though commanding a march. The hostility had faded from their faces. Nimrod, perceiving no immediate threat, followed them without resistance, listening as they chanted a dark and foreboding song.
Soon they came to a village of crude huts, fashioned from wood and marsh-mud. The place lay under a pall of grey smoke rising from many fires, choking the air and stinging the eyes.
There awaited them yet another host—also composed entirely of women, their bodies thin and skeletal. About them stood elders and children, all female. From this, Nimrod understood that among this tribe, the male offspring were devoured once they had served to propagate the line.
From the heart of the assembled host there emerged a dark woman, her long hair bound in a single braid. Nimrod judged her to be a sorceress, for she floated above the ground by the height of two cubits. In her hand she bore a cord upon which hung many human skulls—trophies, no doubt, of former consorts.
She approached him and examined him long and carefully. Then, halting before him, she growled:
"Remain with us, and we shall treat thee well. Thou shalt be our king—and the husband of us all."
Nimrod answered plainly:
"I pass through these lands only. I have no desire for what thou offerest."
But the sorceress replied with cold authority, her pale eyes fixed upon him:
"It is no offer. It is my command. Thou shalt remain."
In answer, Nimrod thrust her aside with a single, forceful motion and cried:
At this, the warriors seized their weapons. Yet Nimrod had acted not in rashness, but in calculation. Since entering the village, he had perceived that the smoke from the fires bore a scent that clouded the mind, bringing on a creeping dizziness that would end in unconsciousness.
Now was the hour to act.
With a fierce sweep of his spear, he traced a circle about himself and stood ready. The black queen leapt before him, seeking to strike. He thrust at her neck—but the blade passed through empty air, as though she were no more than a phantom.
She appeared elsewhere.
Again he struck—and again she vanished before the blow could land.
Nimrod was not deceived. He knew these were but illusions.
And so he began to carve his path through the ring of hunters.
Before the might of his spear they fell like straw figures. He pierced them two and three at a time, casting them aside with terrible force. One, seeking cunning, thrust her spear toward his belly—but the crude weapon could not pierce his armor.
Then the Ethiopian hero turned his own spear and hurled it into her chest, drawing her back as though with a harpoon. Seizing her head in one hand, he crushed it with such strength that it burst like an overripe fruit.