THE SHIP OF ISHTAR: Sci-Fi Classic. Abraham Merritt
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gods had decreed in the Du-azzaga had come to pass. With Zarpanit was I and half a score of the temple girls she had loved. And with Alusar was Klaneth and a pack of his black acolytes. They had given us oarsmen, sturdy temple slaves — a twain for each oar. They had made the ship beautiful, and they had seen to it that we lacked nothing.”
A flame of anger pulsed for an instant through her eyes.
“Yea,” she said, “the kindly gods did all for our comfort — and then they launched the ship on this strange sea in this strange world as battleground for Love and Hate, arena for Wrathful Ishtar and Dark Nergal, torture chamber for their priestess and priest.
“It was in this cabin that Zarpanit awakened — with the name of Alusar upon her lips. Then straightway she ran out the door, and from the black cabin came Alusar calling her name. I saw her reach that line where black deck meets this — and, lo, she was hurled back as though by thrust of arms. For there is a barrier there, messenger — a barrier built by the gods over which none of us upon the ship may pass — but then we knew nothing of that. And Alusar, too, was hurled back.
“Then as they arose, calling, stretching hands, striving to touch finger to finger, straightway into Zarpanit poured that Sister–Self of Ishtar, the Angry One, the Destroyer, while around Alusar black shadows deepened and hid him. At last — the shadows parted — and what had been the face of Alusar peered from them and it was the face of Nergal, Lord of the Dead!
“So it was — even as the gods had decreed. And that immortal twain within the bodies of those mortal two who loved each other so — battled and flung their hates like brands against each other, while the slaves chained to their oars in the pit cowered and raved or fell senseless under the terrors loosed above them. And the temple girls cast themselves upon the deck or ran screaming into the cabin that they might not see. Only I did not cry out or flee — who, since I had faced the gods in the Du-azzaga, could never again feel fear.
“And so it fared; how long, how long I do not know, in this place where time seems not to be, since there is neither night nor day as we knew them in Babylon.
“Yet ever Zarpanit and Alusar strove to meet, and ever Wrathful Ishtar and Dark Nergal thrust them apart. Many are the wiles of the Lord of the Shades and countless are his weapons. Many are the arts of Ishtar, and is not her quiver always full? Messenger, how long the pair endured I know not. Yet always they strove to break that barrier through, driven by their love. And always —
“The flames within them burned on,” she whispered. “Nergal nor Ishtar could dim them. Their love did but grow stronger. There came a day —
“It was in mid-battle. Ishtar had taken possession of Zarpanit and stood where this deck touches the pit of the oarsmen. Nergal had poured himself into Alusar and hurled his evil spawn across the pit against the goddess’s lightnings.
“And as I crouched, watching, at this cabin’s door, I saw the radiance that covered Ishtar tremble and dull. I saw the face of Ishtar waver and fade — the face of Zarpanit look out from where the face of Ishtar had been.
“The darkness that shrouded the Lord of the Dead lightened as though a strong flame had shot up within it!
“Then Ishtar took one step — and another and another — toward the barrier between black deck and this. But it came to me that not by her will did she so move. No! She went haltingly, reluctantly, as though something stronger than herself pushed her on. And as she moved, so moved Nergal within his shadows to meet her!
“Closer they came and closer. And ever the radiance of Ishtar would wax and wane. Ever the shadows clothing Nergal would lighten, darken, lighten again. Yet ever-slowly, unwillingly, but inexorably they drew closer and closer to each other. I could see the face of Alusar, the priest, thrusting itself into sight, stripping itself of Nergal’s mask.
“Slowly, slowly the white feet of Zarpanit carried Ishtar to the barrier; and slowly, slowly, ever matching her tread, came Alusar to meet her. And they met!
“They touched hands, touched lips, clasped — ere conquered god and goddess could withdraw from them.
“They kissed and clasped. They fell upon the deck — dead. Dead — in each other’s arms.
“Nor Ishtar nor Nergal had conquered! Nay! Love of man and love of woman — these had conquered. Victors over god and goddess — the flames were free!
“The priest had fallen on the hither side of the barrier. We did not unclasp their arms. We set them adrift, alock, face to face — their bodies.
“Then I ran forth to slay Klaneth. But I had forgotten that neither Ishtar nor Nergal had conquered one the other. Lo, into me poured the goddess, and into Klaneth returned Nergal! As of old these two powers battled. And again as of old the unseen barrier was strong, holding back from each other those on ivory deck and black.
“Yet I was happy — for by this I knew that Zarpanit and Alusar had been forgotten by them. It came to me that the strife had gone beyond those two who had escaped. That now it mattered not either to Wrathful Ishtar or to Nergal that priestess and priest had gone — since in my body and in Klaneth’s they could still strive against each other for possession of the ship . . .
“And so we sail — and fight, and sail — and fight . . . How long, I do not know. Many, many years must have passed since we faced the gods in Uruk — but see, I am still as young as then and as fair! Or so my mirror tells me,” she sighed.
6 “AM I NOT — WOMAN!”
KENTON sat silent, unanswering Young and fair she was indeed — and Uruk and Babylon mounds of timeworn sands these thousands of years!
“Tell me, Lord”— her voice roused him; “tell me, has the Temple at Uruk great honor among the nations still? And is Babylon proud in her supremacy?”
He did not speak, belief that he had been thrust into some alien, reality wrestling with outraged revolt of reason.
And Sharane, raising her eyes to his troubled face, stared at him with ever growing doubt. She leaped from beside him, stood quivering like a blade of wrath in a sweetly flowered sheath.
“Have you word for me?” she cried. “Speak — and quickly!”
Dream woman or woman meshed in ancient sorceries, there was but one answer for Sharane — the truth.
And tell her truth Kenton did, beginning from the arrival of the block from Babylon into his house; glossing no detail that might make all plain to her. She listened, her gaze steadfast upon him, drinking in his words — amazement alternating with stark disbelief; and these in turn replaced by horror, by despair.
“For even the site of ancient Uruk is well-nigh lost,” he ended. “The House of the Seven Zones is a windswept heap of desert sand. And Babylon, mighty Babylon, has been level with the wastes for thousands of years!”
She leaped to her feet — leaped and rushed upon him, eyes blazing, red-gold hair streaming.
“Liar!” she shrieked. “Liar! Now I know you — you phantom of Nergal!”
A dagger flashed in her hand; he caught the wrist just in time; struggled with her; bore her down upon the couch.
She relaxed, hung half fainting in his arms.
“Uruk dust!” she whimpered. “The House of Ishtar dust! Babylon a desert! And Sargon of Akkad dead six thousand years ago, you said — six thousand years ago!” She shuddered, sprang from his embrace. “But if that is so, then what am I?” she whispered, white lipped. “What — am I? Six thousand years and more gone since I was born — and I alive! Then what am I?”
Panic overpowered her; her eyes dulled; she clutched at the cushions. He bent over her; she threw white arms around him.
“I