The feast was done; yet within the stricken city's gates another feast was made—a feast of horror—for the victors fell to plundering far and wide, seeking for wine and blood, for hidden gold, for jewels—and for those who wore the gems.
As Fate has written, women must ever shed the tears of war; so now they were hunted from home to home, to fall a prey to the brutish lust of conquerors. Some shrieked for mercy, and received it not; some slew themselves and passed to judgment undefiled; while others still would smile on being comforted. The feast, at least, was done. A red moon hung above the peaks of Hindu-Kush, and dipped into the gloom. A stillness fell on stricken Zariaspa, for the gods of mercy sent it sleep. Anon, the stillness broke to the howling of a dog, or the rustle of some wounded warrior who crawled from out the shadows in search of a cooler spot whereon to die.
CHAPTER XXV
SHIFTING THE BURDEN
The High Priest Nakir-Kish was summoned to an audience with the King, and was bade to bear a sacred fowl for the manifestation of an augury; so he went forthwith and came upon his master, alone and seated on the throne of Oxyartes, with a naked sword across his knees. The High Priest marveled at the strangeness of this thing, but held his peace, bending his knee and asking in what manner he might serve his gracious lord.
Ninus for a space sat silent, combing at his beard, his black brows drawn into a knot above his nose; then, suddenly, he spoke:
"May a King do homage to a dog?"
The priest stepped back a pace; he passed a hand across his eyes, in the fear that, mayhap, he dreamed; but the King spoke on:
"Shall the lord of Assyria keep covenant with a barking beast, whose mind is such that an oath is naught to him?"
Then Nakir-Kish divined. His master would shift the burden of an evil deed, even though he set it on the shoulders of the gods; therefore the High Priest answered cunningly: