The Heir To Ishtar's Legacy

Prologue - Ishtar

Ishtar was fuming. She was not used to being dismissed in such a manner and with no explanation either. Gilgamesh's refusal to grant her an audience was more than embarrassing; it was downright degrading.

Her maids ducked behind a table as the Mesopotamian Goddess launched a goblet of wine through the air. It landed with a dull clunk on the floor, its contents sprayed over the wall and floor alike. Luckily, none of the maids were hit by the flying vessel.

"Who does he think he is?" Ishtar demanded of no one in particular. Her maids muttered in a huddle, reluctant to say anything aloud for fear of another outburst.

The Goddess paced back and forth in her sumptuous bedchamber, her skirts swishing as she spun and retraced her steps. Her golden headdress, bejewelled necklaces and bracelets also clinked and rattled as she stormed around the room.

A knock on the door drew the maids' attention before they looked at each other, wondering which one was brave enough to cross the room and see who was at the door. Another knock sounded - this time insistent.

"Are one of you going to answer that?" Ishtar challenged the quivering girls.

Nahrina stood shakily, and after offering a brief bow to her Mistress, she obeyed and crossed the room. A look of relief flashed across the young girl's face when she saw who stood on the other side. Ashur-Dan, the High Priest, was a man of great wisdom and knowledge with a propensity for calming the impetuous Goddess. 

The servant girl stepped aside as Ashur-Dan entered. He surveyed the room, noting the three other girls still cowering near the balcony. With nothing more than a look, all the serving girls vacated the room. Nahrina was last to leave, and she quickly yet quietly closed the door behind her.

Ishtar, still angry, glared at the High Priest. "What are you staring at?"

Ashur-Dan's stony features remained impassive. He was accustomed to cold responses from Ishtar, especially when she was annoyed. His light-grey robe rustled as he crossed the room to the balcony. His eyes reflected the wine stains on the voiles and the dented goblet discarded on the oven-baked brick floor. He stooped down to pick it up and placed it on the nearby table. "I take it your audience with Gilgamesh did not produce the desired result?" he said calmly, turning to face the Goddess.

Ishtar huffed. "I was not even granted an audience!" She threw herself down on the Halub wooden longue, and started preening the Ostrich feathers which adorned the backrest. Her anger was still simmering. 

Ashur-Dan cocked an eyebrow. "I see."

"No. You don't."

The High Priest moved over to where Ishtar sat, and he stood like a sentinel in front of her. 

The petted Goddess toyed with her skirts, rearranging the material and fringes to cover her long legs. She shot the High Priest a warning look.

The beauty's body was of no interest to Ashur-Dan, so the underlying threat in her eyes worried him not. He continued standing, unfazed, watching her closely.

Eventually, Ishtar forfeited her frustration, lowering her eyes to the floor. She was the Goddess of love, war and fertility, but she still required the wisdom and guidance of her High Priest and Seer, especially in times when her womanly wiles failed to achieve what she so desperately desired. Aeons ago, she'd learned how persuasive sex could be, the glories it could yield, and the subsequent status and power it would deliver. Therefore, beauty and seduction soon became her weaponry. 

Yet, Gilgamesh, King of Uruk, resisted her charms time and time again. She was at her wits' end, uncertain how to proceed. Now, she needed direction from her devoted High Priest. She took a deep breath. "Tell me what I need to do, Ashur-Dan."