The Philistine Warrior (32 page)

which explained the meanings of the folds and shapes of the different kinds of livers one might find after sacrificing an animal on an altar.

“The omens are favorable,” he announced to Samson. “Divine Inanna is pleased with your sacrifice—and your contrition. The omens also proclaim your marriage to Queen Delai on this day….” Delerious elation was building up in Samson, I could tell; but the heat, the incense, and the strain, were all getting on my nerves. Priest Ibbi continued: “We will feast now with the Goddess, sacred food and drink from the sacrifice.” He tore off hunks of raw meat from the lamb and handed them to Samson; then he blessed a cup of wine, into which he’d mixed some of the lamb’s blood. Samson took the cup, poured out a libation to the Goddess, and then drained the vessel. I think that the awesome holiness of the ceremony was the only thing that prevented him from bursting out in joyful song.

Yet slowly the giant began to slur his speech and wobble on his limbs. “The Goddess blesses you with slumber,” Priest Ibbi intoned. “Come, lie with your bride, for the ceremony of marriage is underway even as we feast!” Ibbi joined their hands; Delai’s were wet with perspiration. “Holy Inanna, Goddess of Love, give Thy protection to Thy Priestess; and to Samson…grant him a son; for Thou hast said…that the fruit of her womb will rule in
Canaan
’s land….” Ibbi paused and stared into the Danite’s eyes. Samson swayed gently, smiling, doubtless thinking of the young thighs he would soon caress…and then he slumped forward, his grip on Delai’s hand relaxed, and he hit the floor with a mighty thud! He didn’t move thereafter.

Grim-faced, swords drawn, Warati and I stepped into the room. “I don’t like this at all,” I told the priest. “Soldiers don’t fight drugged men!”

But Warati scowled; his moment of triumph had come, and he almost forgot the sacred nature of this inner temple: “I suppose
you,
” he snarled at me, “
you
would rather challenge him to single combat, and ruin everything!”

“For the sake of my beloved cousin,” I replied, “I shall deny myself that pleasure.”

Warati ignored me and turned to Priest Ibbi: “You haven’t killed him with your drug, have you, Priest? This man is to be my prisoner.”

Meanwhile, Delai had rushed into my arms: “The secret! It’s in his
hair
!” she cried. “Cut it off and he’ll lose his strength!”

But Ibbi already had a razor in his hand. He knelt by the giant’s head, cut off his locks, and brandished his blade with pride, a glint of self-satisfaction in his eyes. “I suspected all along that it was his hair—and I was hiding inside the statue of Inanna, so I heard everything he said!” That explained why he had a razor all ready for the deed!

“Do you really believe there’s magic in a man’s hair?” I asked, as Ibbi prepared to burn the cuttings. He ignored me.

“I believe it,” Warati interjected. “In any case, we can bind him now and get the hell out of here!”

I didn’t reply because Delai had collapsed, half-fainting, in my arms, soaked with sweat.

There was a half moon out that night, and Venus, Star of Inanna, also helped guide our way. The roofs of Timnath’s business quarter showed up, blue and cold in such light. Guard-wall fires and the torches of patrols cast fleeting shadows around the town; except for these, Timnath might have been a graveyard, so quiet and dark it was. Ibbi led the way, followed by his priests and priestesses; they carried the bound and gagged form of Samson. He was more or less awake, but not struggling; he’d sensed that all was lost the moment we showed him his severed hair…as Ibbi fed it into a fire. He didn’t try to curse or rage or lose his gag; shamefacedly, he evidently regarded it all as a judgment from Yahweh.

This puzzled me somewhat, because it seemed to me an odd way for a god to treat one of His favorites. Ibbi and Delai, of course, preferred to think of it as a victory for Inanna—and Dagon as well.

But Samson, with all of his superstitions, now believed—for so we soon learned—that his marriage, years before, to a Philistine woman,

plus his rages, his drinking, and (especially?) his love for Delai—were not, after all, Yahweh’s will, but his own…the product of his own pride… And that he must be punished; deservedly so. He had apparently abandoned all faith in Astarte.

To me, his sin was all the worse now—his imagining that the Universal Male can be worshiped without the Universal Female by His side, Dagon and Astarte (whatever names they are called); for surely any reasonable person must see that the Universe is a Great Duality, Male and Female! That much even I believed, whatever I thought of omens and the like, such as Ibbi enjoyed talking about so much.

We crawled silently along a garden wall, hidden by bushes from the sight of intermittent patrols, until we reached a forgotten door known only to the priests; then a tunnel under the city wall. In a moment more, we found ourselves outside Timnath, among the shacks of those who for one reason or another did not live inside the city, but clustered around its walls. These buildings, luckily for us, had been abandoned since the Danite war began in the previous year; they were now ideally suited to concealing our escape.

“You see,” Ibbi explained, “we of our sect are accustomed to persecution; that’s why we always know a way out.”

I whispered, “When do you suppose the Danites will discover their loss?”

“Samson customarily spent hours and hours in the
Temple
during the past week, learning of Inanna’s rite; so they’ll think nothing’s wrong, until we’re well away from here. If they are pious, it will take them longer—because I left charms and tabu objects and curse signs all around the entrance to the
Temple
, and the entrance to the inner sanctum. They may never find the secret exit into the garden which we used, not to mention the door in the city wall—what with the bushes covering it. In that case, they’ll probably think we’re still in the city!”

“In a while,” Warati remarked, “we’ll reach the spot where we’ve arranged for our agents to meet us.” His sense of triumph competed with his fear of the supernatural—his fear, perhaps, of Yahweh…or of Inanna, whose behavior could not be predicted,

omens or not. Already we were out of sight of the guard-wall, so the Moon’s light didn’t worry us any more.

Sure enough, our agents were right on time, and soon we changed to camel-back, crossing the plains. Before dawn, we would meet a troop of charioteers which we’d pre-arranged to be sent from
Gath
to escort us.

As we continued on our way, I pondered the Chaldean priest beside me. We were all the more in his debt now, and in the debt of Inanna. Why was Ibbi so interested in the welfare of Delai—and of
Philistia
in general? Why had he risked at best the destruction of his
Temple
in Timnath—the only temple dedicated to Inanna in all of

Philistia
…and, indeed, one of the few Inanna temples anywhere outside of
Babylonia
? And, at the worst, why risk his life and the lives of his fellow priests and priestesses?

In the deep silence of the prairie, I conversed with Ibbi, trying to understand. “Do you really believe that the Danites will respect the magic you left to guard your
Temple
?” I asked.

Ibbi appeared quite satisfied with himself—and with the night’s work—as he answered: “It matters little. We’ve done our duty. If they decide to burn the
Temple
, Holy Inanna will only increase their punishment in the end. And the
Temple
will be rebuilt at another time.”

“By whom?”

“By Philistines, of course,” the priest replied.

“But how can you be so sure? The Danites, after all, still control the northern plain, or most of it—and Sheren Ittai wants to keep up the truce. Well, it’s true that I, for one, still believe in an ultimate Philistine victory—but why do
you
, a Babylonian, believe in it so much?”

“I know because it follows from the prophecies, the omens,” he told me. “Ever since I became Her Majesty’s priest and doctor in
Egypt
, my Lord, the signs have multiplied. Inanna’s willed it all. She willed that the Queen should be the means by which great things will happen. Descendants of her womb will rule in
Philistia
, and they

will restore the pure worship of Great Inanna, according to the ancient ritual. Besides, how can the truce last—now that we’ve kidnapped Samson—not to mention, after Lord Warati
executes
the Danite Judge?”

There it is, I thought: Ibbi is a religious fanatic; he expects his religion to spread all over our land, no matter what temples he may lose in the short run. In the end, we Philistines, his Inanna…and, incidently, Ibbi himself, will triumph. But the cynical smile which almost came to my lips didn’t quite make it. Deep down inside, I, too, believe in the Goddess, as I’ve said before, no matter what silly ideas Her priests might have about liver omens and rituals. Well, then, is it so ridiculous, I wondered, to suppose that Astarte (no matter the name or ritual) has a great plan for us all—that each of us is an instrument in Her plan? Extraordinary things had happened in the past year or so, to Delai, to me, to
Philistia
…and now in Timnath…. Was there nothing in all of this to suggest the supernatural? Of course, Ibbi’s prediction, that the Ekronite truce with Dan would collapse with Samson’s abduction and execution, would likely come true—but that was common sense. Was there something to all the other predictions he had made?

The darkness about me, the brilliance of Inanna’s Star, and the mysterious wisdom of Ibbi combined to produce such feelings in my heart. Come the light and heat of day, I thought, it will all seem like superstition again. Or would it? The Evening Star shown so much that night, brighter, I think, than I’d ever seen before.

My reverie got broken by the sound of jingling harness in the distance. We halted and made our camels kneel. The sound came from the direction of
Gath
.

“The oasis we seek is just over that rise,” Warati growled. “The Danites from Timnath couldn’t have beaten us to it, so it must be our escort; they’ve arrived late, or else they wouldn’t be making so much noise.”

“It could be a Danite war-band…or a bunch of Canaanite rebels coming toward Timnath,” I noted.

One of our camel drivers crept over the rise to see what he could. In a few moments he was back. “My Lords, there are many chariots, and the men are wearing plumed helmets!”

“It’s our escort,” Delai cried. “We’re safe!”