CHAPTER SIX - CRUMBLING WALLS

It was dusk, the sky in the east already dark and Larsa submerged into the black of night.

To the west, the sky was a weakening red above the horizon. At the border of dying day and resurgent night, the lone star of Inanna shone in heaven; The lightbringer.

The Queen of Heaven demanded war.

The sound of clanking gears, the intricacies of machines built from bronze and timber; siege engines, hurling destruction at the city. Stones and jagged rock were released from moaning wooden constructions before smashing into the defences. Scorpion mechanisms spat metal spikes at the battered battlements, seeking to impale flesh. The snap of the whip as sweat drenched slaves scurried to reload.

Eneduanna slowly passed the engines, reveling in the power they wielded.

She had left behind her throne, instead walking bare feet over the dry expectant earth.

Wherever she went the whip lashed out tenfold, man’s suffering increased. Their painful groans delighted her as they worked to the point of exhaustion and collapse.

Each release caused Larsa’s outer layer to shake and crumble, stone by stone. Pulverised dust rose from the walls, indentations and cracks visible, but for the time being the city endured.

Its defenders, whatever the city managed to arm in haste, had been sent up in masse and now occupied the walls.

The stubborn Larsans held on, their helmeted heads ducking everytime a projectile screamed overhead, whilst their spears bristled in defiance.

Enedduana closed her eyes and listened to hear if Larsa spoke - like they had done on the barren fields. But above the din of creaking machines, the whips and the screams, and the thunderous impacts of the rocks she heard nothing.

No Utu was called from thousands of throats, no Lord of the Sun and Justice was invoked this evening.

Then it had caused her great discomfort in the searing, oppressive heat. But now the day was faltering, cool air on her skin, and her victim-city was silent as it endured.

The Larsans no longer sang the name of their Lord. Their pride and eagerness had disapeared, lost with the men - their fathers, brothers and husbands - that had marched out and never came back. Their lack of united voice showed Eneduanna that no hope remained behind those great walls.

Yet still they refused her will. The gates remained closed. They dared.

The tiny amassed faces of the defenders followed her every step, still peeking out as projectiles targeted them, braving the torrent that was hurled towards them just to look at her figure in the distance. Even they could not help but give her their complete attention.

Would their masters had not been there to force them to fight they would have thrown themselves at her feet like all the others. Sadly for them the right to worship her feet had to be earned.

All men should be used purposely, and the purpose of the resisting Larsans was that of being an example. All the Kingdoms would learn the price of defiance.

Going beyond the amassed siege engines she moved towards the very doorways to the city.

A reinforced gatehouse, fortified and manned, thick stone barriers shrugging off the rock that hammered it continuously.

On the open dirt before it a sea of red cloth and bronze armour, already awaiting her arrival on their hands and knees. Hundreds, thousands, their backs turned to the cowering defenders.

The mass of submitted men stretched out far and wide. They were silent in their obedience towards her, while a dusty wind blew over their backs.

She stood before them, far taller than any man in their midst, and let the moment of submission linger on. Their minds were willingly dedicated towards her will. Their work, their struggle, their suffering, it served none but Eneduanna.

‘Rise!’ She finally commanded, her tall arms stretching out with palms upwards.

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The prostrated army of Uruk rose from the ground. Banners ascending with the men; eight-pointed stars, many figures of Inanna both crude and refined, and imagery of lions and roses.

Uruk’s most violent, many carrying ears around their necks taken from previous victims, trembled before her. They shook with the miasma of fear, reverence and desire, as well as the built-up eagerness to kill in her name.

Soon they would let it all out, but they were not ready just yet. A final ritual to complete the spell of madness before they would tear apart Larsa.

This evening she spoke no sorcerous words, that had already been done; her tongue sick of speaking prayers and incantations.

The final ritual was one delivered in the form of alcohol, in mind altering herbs and vials, in toxins and low-dosed poisons. Ingested, inhaled, injected, given out by her priestesses.

These women in red, scarlet sisterhood, directly serving under Eneduanna herself, had whispered lies and truths and anything they wished to implant in the ears of the men.

During the campaign the warriors of Uruk endured the sisterhood’s endless manipulations, and by now their hatred for Larsan life was set in stone.

During the march the priestesses had remained covered up in precious fabrics, their fair and soft skin hidden from the men.

Now they emerged from their dresses, completely naked save the white masks they wore over their faces. Objects of lust, carrying blessed amphora of altering states.

All was done to summon what lies deep within every man, turning them into the beasts that the High-priestess needed.

The masked women pressed against the warriors with their skin, touching and caressing.

They Incited - besides the fury and the anger - also the lust; Unbridled want.

And the warriors, losing control of themselves, surrounded the women, fondling their bodies and grabbed with their hard fingers.

In response the priestesses receded and left, laughing dismissively; Suddenly forbidden for the warrior’s touch.

Denied their needs and with veins increasingly coursing with intoxicating substance, the men of Uruk now turned into the creatures Eneduanna wanted.

Their eyes glassy, hazy, reflective like night-time animals.

Their lusts became a singular goal, and the eagerness to kill and conquer to fulfill their ignited needs became an absolute will.

The masked priestesses took up whips, punishing the men for their intrusive touch.

Howls of pain and anger, the warriors turned away from the torturous lash and were driven towards the city. They needed not more incitement. They saw what had to be done, and to whom.

***

Uruk came upon Larsa like a red wave, a consuming tide, tearing down the stones and the men that stood upon it.

Eneduanna looked on with joy as men clambered up with ladders and hooks. She noted tiny figures falling from the heights, helpless flailing limbs, red cloth flappering during the rapid descent and then the bottom, an unmoving broken body.

It had no effect on the fanaticism of her men. They chanted at the base, they fought atop the wall.

Larsa was under assault, she would see how long it would resist.

***

There was one group not yet moving. They sat tightly together, kneeling, with their heads bowed and their mouths mumbling prayers. They wore bronze plating and scarlet red. A hundred armoured warriors, carrying a thousand ears around their necks.

They were the King’s trusted followers. His hunting-pack, fierce lions led by the Warchief of Uruk.

Their master stood before them. The broad-shouldered Kitun, golden crown atop his long hair.

A host of priestesses surrounded him. They washed, caressed, dressed and invigorated him with stimulants. He willingly accepted his treatment, even as they put needles in his arms and forced him to drink bitter brew.

He noticed the High-priestess watching from a distance and solemnly bowed his head towards her.

Eneduanna acknowledge his existence with a slight nod, then continued to higher-ground so she could oversee the siege of Larsa.

A procession of servants followed, a small army of clerks, musicians, guards and of course her winged-brass throne, brought up to her on the backs of her willing slaves.

She seated herself and watched the bloodshed unfold.

Amongst her divisions she caught a glimpse of orange-white robes; The Hurrian, quickly disappearing in the churning mass of screaming fanatics. Soldier of Sin.

Red men continued to climb up on the walls, fighting over stone slick with blood, eagerly taking the place of their fallen kin.

They were fearless in the the hail of arrows, stones and boiling tar that was thrown from above.

Once over the battlements they flung themselves onto the defenders, striking with sharp bronze and drawing their first blood under howling exoltations. More and more of them crawled over the top, too many to hold back, and the frightened guards of Larsa soon stood face to face with their opponents.

Broad, dark-bearded men, wide-eyed in blind rage and wearing the ears of their previous victims.

Larsa had no reply to their savagery, and the defenders turned into mutilated corpses, body parts taken as trophies.

A slaughter at the towers, and Eneduanna's sacred star rose over the gatehouse.

A mass of warriors still awaited before the walls, feverishly chanting.

With a roar the gates were opened, and red poured into the city.

Eneduanna - Eneduanna- Eneduanna.