A tremendous roar, like that of some monstrous beast, resounded through the heart of the village. At once the warriors withdrew from Nimrod, leaving him alone at the center of a great circle.
Then there appeared three great leopards, alike in form, pacing slowly about him.
He drove his spear into the ground and drew his sword, smiling at the turn of fate. The struggle, it seemed, would end sooner—and more strangely—than he had foreseen.
One of the beasts halted before him, its muscles coiling, its hind legs bending in preparation to spring. Yet Nimrod, whose eye missed little, perceived in a single instant that two of the creatures cast no shadow upon the earth. They were phantoms—illusions wrought to divide his attention.
With a sudden leap, and a stroke swift beyond reckoning, he turned—not upon the beast—but upon the sorceress who stood behind him, poised to strike with a poisoned spear.
There was no time for her to react.
His blade took her cleanly. Her body fell lifeless to the dust, while her head rolled upon the ground like a severed fruit.
At the sight of their queen slain, the warriors cast down their weapons at once.
Nimrod seized his spear and wrenched it free from the earth. Thus did he depart the village, unchallenged.
As he advanced upon his path, Nimrod was overtaken by sudden recollections of his discourse with the seeress of Thebes. She had told him that the venom of the basilisk would slay the competitors within three days and three nights—but had not said whether those nights were to be counted from the moment of their feast before the priest.
If so, time stood fiercely against him—for three nights had already passed since that fatal meal.
Yet before entering upon the sacred contest, Nimrod had employed both cunning and authority. Without arousing suspicion, he had gathered knowledge from Egyptian generals and from merchants concerning the geography and topography of the land. From these fragments he had devised a map in his mind, taking Thebes as its center.
Only one uncertainty remained: the journey taken blindfolded, borne in chariots drawn by swift war-horses. These beasts could cover vast distances in little time, and as the competitors had been awakened while it was yet dark, he could not determine precisely the hour of their departure.
Yet one thing he knew with certainty: on the first day, they had crossed a branch of the Nile and were instructed to move toward the setting sun.
If the Temple of Light lay three or four days' journey from Thebes, and could not be set amidst a desolation so hostile, then there was but one place beyond the Nile where it might stand—the sacred city of Noph, known among men as Memphis.
And yet, they had been told that to reach the temple, they must cross a bridge.
There was but one bridge near Memphis—but it led toward the rising sun.
Thus the truth was revealed.
The sanctuary of Semiramis lay not in the west, but in On—Heliopolis, the City of the Sun.
The instructions had been a riddle. The competitors must advance westward only to reach On before the setting of the third day—before the venom awoke within them and brought their deaths.
At this realization, Nimrod measured the height of the sun and reckoned that five hours remained before nightfall.
At once he set off at a diagonal course, wasting no time while turning again toward the Nile. After an hour of relentless running, he reached the sacred river. From there he pressed onward without rest, following its banks, until at last he beheld fair Memphis, inhabited only by priests and scribes.
Men consecrated to the temple came forth to meet him, bearing bread and wine for the competitors—though never before had any arrived.
But on that day, the gods themselves seemed to favor the game—for Nimrod was the second to reach Noph.
He learned this when one of the attendants, unwittingly, spoke:
"Hasten, young warrior, or time shall betray thee. The first competitor has already eaten and now crosses the bridge that leads unto On."
Hearing this, Nimrod refused the bread, but drank deeply of the wine.
He understood that the other had used well the time gained while Nimrod battled the cannibals. That cunning rival had conserved his strength while Nimrod alone broke through the perils meant for all.
With all his might, Nimrod gave chase.
Yet when he reached the temple, the other had already completed the rites of purification and stood ready to claim the jewel of Ra.
Nimrod entered the great hall of white marble at the very moment when that treacherous competitor stood before two young priestesses. One of them spoke in a voice soft and alluring:
"To claim the sacred jewel, thou must prove thy worth by discerning between life and death."
So saying, she approached a portico where two vessels of wine were set. From one she poured into a cup and drank before him.
"Come," she said, "and choose thine, that thou mayest live—or die."
The wicked man smiled, and with a violent gesture seized the cup from her hand, draining it to the dregs.
But the wine was poisoned.
He fell to his knees, clutching at his throat, and before death took him, he cast a hollow gaze toward Nimrod, who now approached.
The priestess moved to bar his path, but the Ethiopian cried:
"Stand aside, woman—or I shall part thy head from thy body!"
She did not yield, and he was prepared to fulfill his threat.
But in that moment—she appeared.
Semiramis.
Fair and radiant as the phoenix rising from flame.
She was tall and slender, her skin of warm hue, her long dark hair flowing down her back like a black cascade. Her face bore noble lines, with high cheeks and eyes of almond shape.
Her voice, soft and ensnaring, fell upon Nimrod:
"Harm her not."
He beheld her—and in that instant knew that he had been born to be the servant of such beauty.
He loved her at once.
Semiramis approached the portico and filled a cup with the same wine the priestess had drunk. With the cunning of a serpent and the gaze of an angel, she spoke:
"This is no idle rite. Choose thy wine, and drink—whether for life or for death."
So saying, she drank.
Nimrod did not hesitate.
In a single motion, he drew her into his mighty arms and drank from her lips. As he kissed her, he beheld the ring upon her finger—the serpent coiled about the crescent moon.
And even as the seeress had foretold, the venom of the basilisk lost its power in that stolen kiss.
On that day was born the greatest—and most terrible—covenant ever known among men.