When she had it, she hated it; but when she had it not, she longed for it with a gnawing, furious desire which ever increased in heat and magnitude; wherein it may be seen that Semiramis, though a goddess born, was human—and a woman—after all.
Meanwhile the Messengers of State were waiting patiently for Menon's answer to the King at Nineveh; yet the Governor bade them tarry on for yet a little while, and took to hunting from a vantage point on the back of his good steed Scimitar.
One morning Habal's barking caught his ear, so he followed the sound till he reached the spine of a high, adjacent hill. In the centre of a plain beyond he spied Semiramis, unarmed, and walking slowly; so his heart rose up as he patted Scimitar and loosed the rein. In the night he had vowed no more to plead his cause with a lowly mien, but would break this witch's spirit though he heat her with his fists.
Semiramis saw him coming, and her heart stood still. The lake was far too distant for a haven of retreat, and the plain was bare of bush or thicket through which she might elude pursuit. Should she stand and face him? Yea! By Ishtar, no! He then might fancy that she waited him—she—Semiramis! So she turned and fled.
The maid was fleet of foot, and skimmed the earth with the speed of a frightened fawn; yet her pace, alas, was a paltry match for the splendid stride of Scimitar. Behind her she heard the thunder of his hoofs, but louder still chimed out the notes of Menon's laughter as his joy gave tongue. He was nearer now! He pressed upon her flank! Then Menon bent and gathered up the maiden in his arms. She screamed and bit his hand; she scratched him, raining buffets on his face and breast; but he only; laughed the more, and kissed her on the mouth and eyes.
On, on they sped, with mighty leaps and bounds, for Scimitar knew not what manner of warlocks fought upon his back, so he took the bit between his teeth and ran as before he had never run, while the toiling Habal panted far behind.
Now after a space Semiramis ceased to strive, and lay passive in the rider's grasp. It pleased her thus to be torn from the roots of her own hot willfulness. It joyed her to be battered against a victor's heart, to drink in the pain of a hand wound tight within her locks, and to feel her strength give way beneath his brutal power. For thus it was written that Semiramis should love, in stormy passion, where an humble prayer was trampled under foot in scorn.
So it came to pass that of a sudden she flung her arms about the conqueror's neck and sobbed as though her soul were rent in twain, while he, to soothe the tempest of her tears, bent down and kissed her lips. Again and yet again he bent, till Semiramis raised her head and stared upon him in amaze.
"In the name of the gods!" she cried, "how many wouldst thou take?"
"Not one," laughed Menon, "which thou givest me unwillingly, for I do but return thy courtesies upon the temple steps."