The Anakim had taken his sword from his thigh, and bound him securely with his own bowstring. He learned by the chief's gestures that Ishtar was safe for the present from insult or ill-usage, and this was his only consolation. Standing, too, among his captors, he saw how hopeless would have been resistance, even had there ridden at his back those ten Assyrian horsemen he longed for so heartily but now. Himself a man of goodly stature and powerful frame, he did not fail to remark that the least of these giants towered fully a span over his own head, while their weighty limbs and fierce bearing brought to mind all the stories he had heard of their warlike prowess, their haughty defiance of Ninus himself,—who hugely admired, while he waged a war of extermination against them,—the many deeds of desperate courage for which they were celebrated, and the marvellous strength which made a common proverb of the question, "Who shall stand before the children of Anak?"
It was natural enough for these sons of the desert to show considerable interest in the dying dromedary. An animal of such extraordinary qualities, as their critical eyes told them it possessed, would have been a far more precious capture in the wilderness than a score of maidens beautiful as Ishtar, a host of warriors stalwart as Sarchedon. A creature that, travelling on without stint or pause, from rise to set of sun, could leave their fleetest horses panting many a league behind, was simply the most valuable property a robber by profession could possess. Therefore, not until the last resources of their skill and experience had been exhausted to preserve life, did they turn sorrowfully from its carcase to the rider who had fallen into their hands.
There seemed some difficulty in disposing of him. Two loose mares, indeed, followed by their foals, had galloped up with the troop; but of these the chief, twisting his bowstring into a halter, mounted one, while the cumbrous furniture of the dead dromedary was packed on the other. Sarchedon could hardly be expected to keep pace with his conquerors on foot, and they took counsel accordingly.
"Better slay the Assyrian where he stands," said a swarthy giant, coolly balancing the profit and loss of retaining an inconvenient prisoner. "The sand is hot, the way weary. It seems cruel to bid him walk, and men like us, my brothers, cannot ask their steeds to bear a double burden." He looked proudly round on his kindred, adding conclusively,
"Besides, we have mouths enough to fill in the tents where our wells are already dry, and there is no millet left to grind!"
"You have said it, my brother!" exclaimed his nearest comrade, tall and savage as himself, raising, while he spoke, the spear that Sarchedon felt another movement of that brawny arm would drive home to his heart. Nevertheless, his eye quailed not, nor did his cheek turn pale. A true son of Ashur, he could look death in the face without flinching. The striker paused with grim approving smile. His comrades, gathering round, expressed in hoarse gutturals their admiration of such manly courage.
Ishtar's looks had never left her lover. Riding beside the chief, she caught him by the garment, and claimed his interference.
"I am your guest," said she, "here in the open desert, even as under the shadow of your tents. All of mine should be sacred in your eyes, and I call upon you to save that man's life."
In two bounds of his lean active mare he was beside the prisoner, and his powerful grasp had seized the threatening arm.
"Hold!" he thundered out. "If I see fit, I will reserve that work for myself. And now, damsel," he added, turning to Ishtar, "you claim this man's body, and why?"