THE SHIP OF ISHTAR: Sci-Fi Classic. Abraham Merritt

with them touched his eyes, his mouth, his heart — as though to assure herself that he was real.

      She cupped his hands in hers, and bowed, and set her brows against his wrists; the waves of her hair bathed them. At her touch desire ran through him, swift and flaming. Her hair was a silken net to which his heart flew, eager to be trapped.

      He steadied himself; he drew his hands from hers; he braced himself against her lure.

      She lifted her head; regarded him.

      “What has the Lord Nabu to say to me?” her voice rocked Kenton with perilous sweetnesses, subtle provocations. “What is his word to me, messenger? Surely will I listen — for in his wisdom has not the Lord of Wisdom sent one to whom to listen ought not be — difficult?”

      There was a flash of coquetry like the flirt of a roguish fan in the misty eyes turned for an instant to his.

      Thrilling to her closeness, groping for some firm ground, Kenton sought for words to answer her. Playing for time, he looked about the cabined space. There was an altar at the far end. It was sown with luminous gems, with pearls and pale moonstones and curdled, milky crystals. From seven crystal basins set before it arose still silvery flames. There was an alcove behind the altar, but the glow of the seven lights hid whatever was within. He had a swift sense of tenancy of that flame veiled alcove — something dwelt there.

      At the far side was a low, wide divan of ivory inlaid with the milky crystals and patterned with golden arabesques. Silken tapestries fell from the walls, multicolored, flower woven. Soft deep silken rugs covered the cabin’s floor, and piles of cushions. At back, at left, two wide low windows opened; through them streamed silver light.

      A bird flew upon the sill of one; a snowy bird with scarlet beak and feet; it scanned him, it preened itself, it cooed and flew away —

      Soft hands touched him; Sharane’s face was close, eyes now with doubt more deeply shadowed.

      “You — do come from Nabu?” she asked, and waited for reply; and still he found no words to answer her. “Messenger you must be,” she faltered, “else — how could you board the Ship of Ishtar? . . . And you are clad in Nabu’s cloak . . . and wear his sword . . . many times have I seen them in his shrine at Uruk . . . and I am weary of the Ship,” she whispered. “I would see Babylon again! Ah dearly, do I long for Babylon.”

      Now words came to Kenton.

      “Sharane,” he said boldly. “I do bear a message for you. It is the truth, and our Lord Nabu is Lord of Truth — therefore it must be from him. But before I give it to you, tell me — what is this ship?”

      “What is the Ship!” she drew back from him, doubt enough now in her face —“But if you come indeed from Nabu — you must know that!”

      “I do not know,” he told her, “I do not even know the meaning of the message I carry — it is for you to interpret. Yet here am I, upon the ship, before you. And in my ears I hear command — whispered it may be by Nabu himself — that I must not speak until you have told me — what is this ship.”

      For a long moment she stood, scanning him, studying him.

      “The ways of the gods are strange,” she sighed at last. “They are hard to understand. Yet — I obey.”

      PART II

       Table of Contents

      4 THE SIN OF ZARPANIT

       Table of Contents

      SHE slipped down upon the divan and beckoned him beside her. She laid a hand lightly upon his heart. His heart leaped beneath the touch; she felt it, too, and moved a little from him, smiling, watching him through downcast, curving lashes. She drew her slender, sandaled feet beneath her; mused with white hands clasped between rounded knees. When she spoke her voice was low, words half intoned.

      “The sin of Zarpanit; the tale of her sin against Ishtar; Ishtar the Mighty Goddess; Mother of the Gods and of men; Lady of the Heavens and of Earth — who loved her!”

      “High Priestess of Ishtar at her Great House in Uruk was Zarpanit. Kadishtu, Holy One, was she. And I, Sharane, who come from Babylon, was closest to her; her priestess; loved by her even as she was loved by Ishtar. Through Zarpanit the Goddess counseled and warned, rewarded and punished. Kings and men. Into the body of Zarpanit the Goddess came as to a shrine, seeing through her eyes, speaking with her lips.

      “Now the temple in which we dwelt was named the House of the Seven Zones. In it was the sanctuary of Sin, God of Gods, who lives in the Moon; of Shamash his son; whose home is the Sun, of Nabu, the Lord of Wisdom; of Ninib, the Lord of War; of Nergal, the Dark Hornless one, Ruler of the Dead; and of Bel–Merodach, the Mighty Lord. Yet most of all was it the House of Ishtar, who dwelt there of his own right — temple themselves within her holy home.

      “From Cuthaw in the north, from the temple there which Dark Nergal ruled as Ishtar ruled at Uruk, came a priest to sit over the Zone of Nergal in the House of the Seven Zones. His name was Alusar — and close as was Zarpanit to Ishtar as close was he to the Lord of the Dead. Nergal made himself manifest through Alusar, spoke through him and dwelt at times within him even as did Ishtar within her Priestess Zarpanit. With Alusar came retinue of priests, and among them that spawn of Nergal’s slime — Klaneth. And Klaneth was close to Alusar as I to Zarpanit.”

      She raised her head and looked at Kenton through, narrowed lids.

      “I know you now,” she cried. “A while ago you lay upon the ship and watched my strife with Klaneth! Now I know you — although then you had no cloak nor sword; and vanished as I looked upon you!”

      Kenton smiled at her.

      “You lay with frightened face,” she said. “And stared at me with fearful eyes — and fled!”

      She half arose; he saw suspicion sweep her anew; the scorn in her voice lashed him into quick, hot rage. He drew her down beside him.

      “I was that man,” he said. “Nor was it fault of mine that then I went away — I who have returned as quickly as I could? And your own eyes lied to you. Nor ever think again that mine hold fear of you! Look into them!” he bade her, fiercely.

      She looked — long; sighed and bent away, sighed again and swayed toward him, languorously. His arms gripped her.

      “Enough,” she thrust him away. “I read no hasty script in new eyes. Yet I retract — you were not fearful. You did not flee! And when you speak I shall no doubt understand. Let be!

      “Between Ishtar and Nergal,” she took up the interrupted tale, “is and ever must be unending hatred and strife. For Ishtar is Bestower of Life and Nergal is Taker of Life; she is the Lover of Good and he is the Lover of Evil. And how shall ever Heaven and Hell be linked; or life and death; or good and evil?

      “Yet she, Zarpanit, Kadishtu, the Holy One of Ishtar, her best beloved, did link all these. For where she should have turned away — she looked with desire; and where she should have hated — she loved!

      “Yea — the Priestess of the Lady of Life loved Alusar the Priest of the Lord of Death! Her love was a strong flame by whose light she could see only him — and him only. Had Zarpanit been Ishtar she would have gone to the Dwelling Place of the Lost for Alusar, even as did the Goddess for her lover Tammuz — to draw him forth or to dwell there with him.

      “Yea — even to dwell with him there in the cold darkness where the dead creep feebly, calling with the weak voices of birds. In the cold of Nergal’s domain, in the famine of Nergal’s abode, in the blackness of his city where the deepest shade of earth would be a ray of sunlight, Zarpanit would have been happy — knowing that she was with Alusar.

      “So