Part Four

Escape

When the grill opened that evening, Gabrielle set her plan into action. She blasphemed every god she could think of, starting with the Harrian and Egyptian gods. She made it through Osiris when the waterskins fell, and the grill closed. "Okay, they aren't Egyptian." She said, picking up the waterskin.

"Or they aren't religious." Tanit commented, tearing into the bread with strong white teeth.

"Hey, that was funny! Your spirits are returning. Even if they aren't religious, they'd probably chuckle or something if we are cursing their gods. If we can get any sort of a rise out of them, even a gasp, it'd be a good sign. This silence is the worst. If I didn't have someone to talk to, I'd be going mad." Gabrielle said, sitting down.

Tanit shook her head, glancing down into her lap at her folded hands. "No. I would be lost by now, without you here to cheer me. You are a griot, Gabrielle, you raise the hearts of warriors before the battle. But I am no warrior."

Gabrielle threw the waterskin down and grabbed the girl's shoulders, forcing her to look up at the fierce green eyes. "Now you listen to me. You are Tanit, the daughter of Nzinga of Dahomey. You've been drugged and kidnapped, but you've managed to stay alive, and keep looking for a way out. Being a warrior comes first from the heart, not from the amount of blood you've spilled."

The girl's eyes glowed when they met hers. "Did your warrior teach you that?"

"Yeah. Over and over, until I got it." Gabrielle said, with a sigh.

"It must be good, to love someone like that. Enough to keep going." Tanit said, looking away.

"Did I ever tell you how Xena brought peace to the Centaurs and the Amazons?" Gabrielle said, and Tanit looked back at her.

"Yes. And about Prometheus, and the fall of Troy, and the Bacchae."

"Okay. How about the enthroning of Oromenes as Great King in Har, and how Xena became known as the Lord Chabouk?" Gabrielle asked.

Tanit started to laugh, softly at first, then breaking out into guffaws.

"What is so funny?" Gabrielle demanded.

"Was she really called Lord Chabouk? She allowed this?" Tanit asked, when she could speak.

"Of course she allowed it, it was an honor bestowed by the High Priestess Mara, straight from the Goddess herself. " Gabrielle said, feeling protective of Xena's reputation.

"No, no. Not the title, not 'lord.' Who had the gall to call the mighty Xena a Chabouk?" Tanit asked, gleefully.

"Er, the army. The soldiers gave her the nickname. They said it was soldier's slang for a charioteer." Gabrielle had the feeling that the word had a different meaning outside of the Red City. "Tanit, what does 'Chabouk' mean?"

"It's a charioteer's braided leather whip, for driving the horses. It may be Harrian slang for a charioteer, but it's like calling Xena Lord Buggy Whip. A Bedouin would laugh himself out of the saddle if you called her that." The young Amazon said, with a straight face.

Lord Buggy Whip, oh Zeus.- Gabrielle thought. She tried mightily to picture her lover's solemn face as she addressed the army in Har, tried to conjure up all the stoic, sullen dignity Xena was capable of, but it didn't work. She burst out laughing, causing Tanit to loose her dignified expression. The two of them laughed until they were holding their ribs and crying.

"Tanit, do me a favor, let me be the one to tell Xena what her title means."

"As you say. I wouldn't want to be spitted on the end of your champion's sword."

The next evening, Gabrielle worked through the Persian gods and started on the Nubian and Persian. She thought there was a hesitation in the hand that held the waterskin when she was blaspheming Ahura Mazda, but she couldn't be sure. The grill was slammed closed before she could continue.

"Did you see that?" She asked Tanit.

The girl narrowed her eyes. "I think he reacted to your speaking Persian. Ahura Mazda didn't move him. If he were a Persian, he'd have opened the grill and struck you, they are very touchy about their One Lord."

"So he speaks Persian, but doesn't worship their gods? That doesn't make any sense."

"He might be a raider, one of the tribes from the deserts around Kemet. They speak a mix of Persian, with some other stuff thrown in. My older sisters know their talk. "

Gabrielle grabbed her arm, not an easy thing to do with the heavy chains they both wore. "Can you speak any of their language?"

"Some. It's like Persian." Tanit admitted.

"Good. Do you know who they worship? Or how to insult them?" The bard asked, not noticing how Tanit's face fell when she released the girls' arm.

"They worship their fathers. Insult them by calling them women, and they'll draw their scimitars so fast you won't even see it."

"Great! Help me work up a vile series of insults. I want to be sure they get so angry, they beat me." The bard said.

"Gabrielle, they might hurt you! Why would you want to be beaten?"

"Because they'll have to stop, open the wagon and maybe even unchain me, to beat me properly. Trust me on this, Tanit. I don't want to be beaten. But it may be a way out of here." Gabrielle's green eyes found the Amazon girl's, and held them.

"Let me be beaten. I can take the punishment. You should never have a hand raised to you." Tanit said, vehemently.

"No." Gabrielle said, and stopped. She knew that look, the hungry look on the girl's face. It was the desire to prove herself, to become a warrior, but it was something more. It was the same look she'd had, the first minute she'd seen Xena, hero worship, recognition, and love. Oh, Tanit, the bard thought.

"No. I need you free, so you can get the keys from them. You're stronger than I am, and faster."

It took much convincing, but Tanit reluctantly agreed to Gabrielle's plan. She spent the day coaching Gabrielle on the foulest things they could concoct, in a flawless Persian accent.

"Are you sure about that one? It sounds way too pretty, like love poetry." Gabrielle said.

"It's a description of how they were willingly castrated, to be pleasure slaves for low caste foreign men. It is not love poetry." Tanit said, and looked away, embarrassed.

"Oh. That's all right, then. What about the rest of it?" The bard asked, wanting to know what she was getting herself into. Tanit only shook her head, and Gabrielle could have sworn that the Amazon girl was having trouble breathing.

"Never mind."

When the grill opened that evening, Gabrielle launched into a stream of beautiful, classical Persian, sounding like a song of praise to her own ear. The hand hesitated over the grill, and didn't drop the waterskins. She continued, louder, the symphony Tanit had insisted was the worst thing you could ever say to a man. She insulted their parentage, their father's virility, their own sexual habits, their wives fidelity, their courage. She called them castrated pleasure slaves, she called them lovers of boys and animals, she intimated that their mothers had been prostitutes in Babylon.

Then she called them women. The hand jerked back, the grill slammed shut, without food or water being lowered.

"I think that did it." Gabrielle said, feeling weak.

The wagon ceased moving, almost immediately. "Get ready. Don't break." Gabrielle whispered to Tanit, then the door to the wagon was jerked open.

The first thing Gabrielle noticed was the cool evening air rushing in. The figure in the doorway was wearing flowing robes, held closed by a sash, and a cloth covering his head. He unhooked her chains with a turn of his wrist, then savagely seized her, and threw her out of the wagon. It worked, she thought, as she hit the hard packed dirt of the road. The kick came first, lifting her off the ground with its force. She doubled over, feeling the searing pain along her ribs and prayed that they weren't broken. Her wrists were still chained together; she held them in front of her body, the loop of chain protecting her abdomen.

Gabrielle counted on their captors not wanting to kill them. She hoped she hadn't made a mistake, when the blows started falling, not from a whip, but from what felt like a sheathed scimitar. She managed to roll onto her side and get a look at the area. Desert stretched everywhere she looked, the road an amber thread along the center of yellow dunes. One man was beating her; another stood to his left, a few paces back. She didn't see any others.

The man's arm rose and fell, striking her. A scream of denial cut cross the space between her and the wagon. The man near the wagon turned, and met a heavy length of chain, wielded like a flail. It caught him on the temple, felling him instantly. Tanit had broken free.

Rage danced on the face of the young Amazon as she stood over the body of her captor, swinging back the bloody chain for another blow. The man beating her unsheathed his scimitar in one feral motion. Gabrielle knew he'd hew Tanit down in his next stroke. She moved without thinking, tangling his legs with hers, hooking his knee and bringing him down. He fell in a heap on top of her, snarling and twisting away. Her length of chain was trapped beneath his body; she couldn't wrench it free. He discovered this just as she did. The bard could see the flash of teeth in his black beard as he grabbed the length of chain, pinning it. His scimitar raised to lop off her head. The breath went out of him in an explosive grunt, as the length of chain struck him in the back. He writhed like a fish on the hook, throwing himself off Gabrielle. Tanit swung another blow at his head, but he ducked under it, slashing as he went. The Amazon girl cried out, the curved steel catching her naked thigh and sawing through the muscle.

Gabrielle bunched the chain between her hands and struck at the raider's back. He grunted again and dropped his scimitar. The bard followed up with a blow to his knee that took his legs out form under him. He hit the sand, his arms splaying out.

Gabrielle pushed herself up and ran to Tanit, who was clutching her rent thigh. She took one look at the wound, and tore the sash from the fallen raider.

"I'll have to make this tight, to prevent more blood loss." She warned, and the Amazon nodded. "Why didn't you stay in the wagon?" Gabrielle asked, gently, as she tightened the sash around Tanit's thigh.

The girl gritted her teeth. "I couldn't let them beat you."

The green eyes softened. "That was a very foolish thing to do. And very brave. You saved my life." Gabrielle said. The bard fished the keys to the manacles out of the belt pouch of the man Tanit had felled. She unlocked the chains on the girl, then herself, flinging them aside.

"The man I struck. Is he..?" Tanit asked.

"He's dead." Gabrielle said, tightly.

Tanit nodded, her eyes shutting. "I can go home." The girl slumped in her arms, weakened from the exertion and the blood loss.

Gabrielle set her down, as gently as she could. She checked the man who'd been beating her, and found him alive. She closed her eyes briefly, thankful for that. The manacles from Tanit served to bind his right arm to the wheel of the wagon.

Tanit gradually woke to a strange motion. The ground under her was moving, not as the wagon had been moving. She opened her eyes, and saw that the ground was many feet below her. She was on the back of one of the raider's tall horses; her arms tied to the saddle. Her leg throbbed in complaint, and she remembered her wound, the fight, and the Greek Amazon Queen.

"Gabrielle?" She called. The bard was leading the horse. She came around immediately, a smile on her face, and loosened the ties that held Tanit's arms.

"Glad to have you back. I couldn't think of another way to get you to stay in the saddle." The bard was wearing the robe of one of the raiders, as protection from the fierce sun.

"Where are we?" Tanit asked, thickly. The fact of their escape was just dawning on the girl. She was on horseback, free, she had killed her man, and she had saved the life of Gabrielle, Queen of Melossa's tribe.

It came back to her, the fight, watching Gabrielle be beaten by the raider, the instinctive urge to protect the Greek Amazon. She'd gone into motion without thinking, swinging her chain like an extension of her arms. Then had come the sickening crunch, the impact of chain striking bone- the memory sent a wave of nausea over her. She had killed a man.

"Gabrielle. I think I would like to walk now." Tanit said, hoping that she could get out of the saddle before she became ill.

'You can't walk, honey. Your leg is hurt." Gabrielle said, gently, thinking the girl had forgotten her wound.

"Nevertheless, I would like to get down." She swung her good leg over the saddlehorn, then jumped.

The Amazons of Dahomey are not raised around horses. They are the among the finest soldiers in the known world, but they fight from birth on foot, wielding their ten foot spears and oblong shields in well ordered lines. Their weapons, their battle order, their fighting style are not suited to horseback. Nzinga's daughters had seen horses, surely, for their were chariots in Nubia and Egypt, riding mounts in Har, even horse nomads in the desert. Yet, they had never had occasion to mount one, or dismount one. With the added help of a wounded thigh, the task proved impossible for the girl. Tanit collapsed in a heap in front of the startled Gabrielle.

The bard grabbed her arm to help her up. "Hey. I thought I was the one who didn't like riding." She said, concerned when Tanit didn't respond.

The girls' jaw was clenched with effort. Gabrielle turned to the saddle and untied one of the scimitars. She handed it to Tanit in its sheath. "Lean on this. I don't have any wood to make you a crutch. If I'd have been thinking, I'd have grabbed some of the spokes from the wagon wheel, but I just wanted to get away from there."

The Amazon nodded, grateful. The Greek was careless with weapons, but she had handed steel to her, the moment she stood on the ground. It was a good sign, that Gabrielle was thinking of her as a warrior now. It made Tanit's leg hurt less, made the pain of the kill recede.

"The ghosts of our captors will haunt that place, it is good to be gone." Tanit said, deepening her tone.

"Only one ghost, if I'm right. But more than enough." Gabrielle said, glancing away along the road.

"I think there were more men, in the beginning. I don't know why there were only two on the wagon, but if I'm right, more will be coming along this road to join them. We don't want to be here when they do. Tanit, do you know this area?" Gabrielle asked.

The girl shrugged. "Looks like the fringes of Kemet, but we were on the road for a week. I think we are far from Dahomey."

"Okay. Zeus, I wish I had a map! We have to get off the road, find a place to hole up for the night. I saw some hills in the distance, we might make them by nightfall if we strike out off the road. I don't want to venture too far out into the desert, I don't know anything about surviving out here."

When darkness came down over the desert, Gabrielle led the horse into the foothills. The pale yellow stone was pocked with dark spots, yawning cave mouths too regular to be natural. Gabrielle's curiosity flared up, wondering at the hands that labored at carving living stone in the middle of the desert. Night fell too fast to investigate, so she led the horse and the Amazon girl for the first opening she'd seen. The rise was littered with smaller stones, and treacherous, so she staked the horse out on the level.

Gabrielle helped Tanit to sit, then explored as much of the cave as she could, on hands and knees. The moon shone directly in the cave mouth, giving her a silver wash of light to see by. The cave was fashioned by human hands, the floor rough but even, the debris scattered about by wind was enhanced with bits of old leather, stone cutting tools, copper axe heads. Gabrielle's hands closed on a familiar object, and she nearly laughed aloud. She gathered as much as she could carry, then hurried back to the Amazon girl.

"I found wood. They must use beams to transport the stone after they cut it; some of them are broken and scattered on the floor. We have enough to make a fire with good cedar."

Gabrielle set the fire near the cave mouth, so the smoke wouldn't choke them out. It rose, blue and gray, into the night air like a sacrifice. The stillness of the hills, the ancient silence of the yellow cliffs, the cracking of the desiccated wood in the flame all soothed her. She sat down with her back against the cave wall, facing the fire, looking out at the night.

It was the first quiet moment since her capture, and she became aware of the bruised places on her back where the raider had struck, of the exertion of fighting, then fleeing into the wasteland. The wall behind her was rough, poking into her shoulders. Gabrielle wished she were leaning back against a bronze breastplate, encircled by loving arms, inhaling the scent of leather. The absence of Xena came on quietly, settling on the bard. I hope you have a fire tonight where you are, she thought.

"Gabrielle." Tanit spoke, wanting to banish the sad look that came over the bard's face. She had watched the Greek Amazon with amazement as she handled fighting, securing the horse and supplies, the flight, the finding of the cave. Now, after making the fire, some of her own fire dimmed, and she sank down against the wall, turning her head out toward the sky. Tanit knew that she thought of her warrior, and the stab of jealousy was sharp and immediate. I am the one who saved you, not your lost Greek hero, who very well may be dead- Tanit thought. The Greek Amazon didn't seem to hear her, listening instead to a voice that wasn't present.

"Gabrielle."

"Hmn?" The bard murmured, looking at the night.

"Where do you intend to go, in the morning?" Tanit asked. Gabrielle's head turned, her green eyes blinked.

"Go? Back to the road, though I don't like it. We have a way to go before we get back to the border."

"You intend to head for Dahomey?" Tanit asked, trying not to let the joy show on her face.

"Of course. You're hurt; I have to make sure that you get home. Why?" Gabrielle asked.

"I thought that you would seek your warrior." Tanit said, frankly.

"I will. I wish I had a way of letting her know that I'm all right, but I'll find her." The certainty of the statement hurt Tanit more than she wanted to show, so she turned away from the fire, fussing with her bandage.

"Is your leg hurting you?" Gabrielle asked, but the girl shrugged her off. The gesture was so like another warrior's that she smiled to herself. They start so young, denying pain, pretending to be made of stone - the bard thought.

The fire burned down to embers during the night, the bard succumbing to sleep. She twitched and whimpered in Morpheus embrace, unable to find peace. Tanit, awake and watchful, felt her heart constrict at the restless way Gabrielle slept. The Greek Amazon had been the picture of strength throughout their captivity, always bringing her joy or distraction with a story, forming plans to escape, never once giving in to despair. To glimpse her vulnerability as she slept was almost too intimate for the daughter of Nzinga.

Tanit was used to sleeping next to her sister Oseye, in her mother's hut. Izegbe and Enomwoyi both had places of their own, filled with wives and children, noise and confusion. Nzinga's hut had been a quiet place for nearly a year now, since the death of the Queen's wife in a hunting accident. She had been Nzinga's third wife, a woman many years her junior, younger than Enomwoyi, a warrior of proven courage and easy temper. Nzinga had loved her well, and mourned her respectfully. Tanit had been devastated. She'd been too young to remember her mother's other wives, all who had fallen in honorable battle, and had come to see the warrior Mazena as a parent. Nzinga hadn't laughed, hadn't sang or celebrated for a year now, and the time of mourning was drawing to a close. Tanit was of an age that her mother's emotional retreat hit her hard, making her desperate to draw the Queen back into the world. She thought that, if she achieved great things on her coming of age, her mother would smile for her in pride, maybe even celebrate when she took her spear. Then the mourning would end, light would return to their home, and perhaps Oseye might be able to admit that a griot's apprentice had stolen her heart. The excitement of her first kill, the joy of escaping confinement, the fierce protectiveness and uneasy tenderness she felt for the small Greek woman all kept her from sleeping.

Gabrielle was used to sleeping in absolute safety, the circle of Xena's arms. Without her lover, part of her soul could not rest, could not find ease. In sleep she reached out for the black haired warrior, seeking her balance. Gabrielle dreamed of Xena, towering over a bloody field, swaying in the saddle of a desert raider. Her skin was pale, her eyes shadowed and haunted. Blood spattered her face like a mask, only her eyes showing fever bright through the red dappling. The blue eyes were restless, mad, looking past the carnage, never stopping their sweep of the horizon. Oh, gods, she looks terrible - Gabrielle thought. She saw Xena sitting by a fire; a dwarf with a dozen knives in his belt was handing her a wineskin. She sat like a statue or a corpse, staring into the flames that licked at the dripping haunch of lamb. The warrior rose and went to her tent, fell to her knees and wept, head in her hands. Gabrielle's heart was on the ground, unable to bear Xena's pain, unable to assuage it. She moaned, then felt strong arms encircle her, hesitantly. Gabrielle shifted in the embrace, falling into a deeper sleep, the dream vanishing.

Tanit kept her wounded leg propped up, and tightened her arms around Gabrielle's waist. The blond woman quieted down when Tanit's arms went around her, sighing and leaning back. Tanit's heart nearly burst from her ribs. She knew that it was Xena Gabrielle received the embrace from, in her dream, and that was why she relaxed, but a part of her didn't care. She tucked the blond woman more securely into her arms, letting sleep claim her.

Gabrielle woke in a close embrace, which was not unusual, but the feel of it was strange. The arms that held her were strong, but thinner, not quite right. She slid her hand over a forearm, wondering why it wasn't as corded with muscle as it should be. When her hand reached the wrist, it was bare, no leather and bronze bracer. Had Xena taken them off? She couldn't remember. She blinked her eyes open, and saw the dark brown skin under her hand. It came back to her in a rush, Tanit, the cave- what was the girl doing holding her? Gabrielle sat up, the motion waking Tanit.

She retracted her arm, a guilty expression on her face. "You were having a nightmare. I just thought that…"

"Thanks. I'm sure I slept better with you there." Gabrielle said, lightly. She stood and stretched casually, not letting the moment sit between them. She felt for the girl, for the struggle she was going through, and didn't want to make it any harder.

"I bet there's enough wood to fashion you a crutch." The bard said, examining the cave in the morning light. Her eyes fell on a stick leaning against the wall, already smoothed down and formed into a walking stick. "Tanit? When did you do this?" She asked, examining it.

"Last night. I made one for you, as a staff. You always fight with one in your stories. We are good at working wood in Dahomey." Tanit said, with a show of nonchalance.

"You are a remarkable young woman, Tanit." Gabrielle said. The girl fairly glowed at the praise. "Come on, sister, let's see what the day holds."

The Necropolis

They made their way across the broken landscape of the valley floor. By the time they reached the buildings it was midday, and Gabrielle had an eerie feeling that she was very wrong about their use. They were inhabited, but all the inhabitants slept in the arms of eternity. The buildings were mastaba tombs, long, low rectangular buildings of mud brick. They resembled nothing so much as a giant's blocks, left scattered across the end of the valley. Gabrielle walked between the tombs, leading the horse with the Amazon girl silent in the saddle. Both had heard of the Egyptian methods of burying their dead, but neither had been in a necropolis before. The city of the dead brought with it a hush, the weight of immense age, of timeless keeping of culture, endless as the flow of the great river that formed the heart of Egypt. Even the horse seemed muted by the silence of the tombs.

An avenue ran between the mastabas, lined with statues of man headed lions, crouching to guard the way to eternity. Gabrielle paused before a tomb that looked new, the mortar on the stones fresh. A statue, hewn from diorite of a man in a linen kilt with the head of a jackal, stood as gatekeeper. The eyes gazed out on unfathomable gulfs. "Anubis." Gabrielle said, with a shiver. Incongruously, there was sound- the clatter of sandals on paving stone, cries of labor, the sound of mallets striking stone. Had the shape of the valley distorted the sound, hiding it until now? Gabrielle motioned Tanit to stay and sprinted around the corner of the tomb.

There was a gang of four men in ragged khaffiyas, swinging mallets at the back wall of the tomb. Mud brick and limestone paving were splintered, sending up dust and shards. Anger suffused the bard's fair features. She knew what they were. Vultures, thieves, graverobbers, come to steal the tomb goods of a newly deceased countryman.

She reacted without hesitation, giving tongue to a battlecry that would make Xena proud, and charging. Tanit heard the Greek Amazon cry out and reacted instantly, drawing her scimitar. Though trained since she could walk with the long spear, her weapons master hadn't neglected the tools of foreign peoples. She could draw a passable bow, was excellent with a dagger and javelin, and could swing a scimitar in a fashion that would not shame a Bedouin. With the curved steel in one hand, the other clutching the saddle horn she kicked the horse into life. It careened around the corner of the tomb, hooves slipping on paving stones, eyes rolling.

Gabrielle had closed with the four men, dancing in the center of them like a cobra among jackals. Her staff found exposed knees, unguarded ribs, darted in and struck with surprising force. Not for nothing was she the lover of the greatest warrior to walk the earth. The staff was her chosen weapon, whirling like a thing alive in her hands.

Tanit had not thought of the Greek woman as a fighter. She was strong willed, resourceful, and very, very brave, but she seemed too gentle to be good in battle. Tanit saw now how wrong she had been. One man went down, holding his ribs; another fled back, rapped smartly across the jaw. The horse ran right at the group, and Tanit gave up trying to control its mad gallop. Her long arm went up, the scimitar catching the sun like a fish leaping out of water. A bloody furrow opened on one of the graverobbers' shoulders as she passed. His mallet crashed to earth, rebounding. He grabbed at his rent flesh, howling in Egyptian.

It was over in a matter of moments. The graverobbers had not expected to be caught at their foul work, and certainly had not expected two Amazons to batter them to a standstill. They dropped their mallets and fled, knocking into one another as they ran.

The screams were a surprise to Gabrielle, who had turned to congratulate and chew out Tanit for not staying put. One moment the graverobbers were running, the next they fell, long cane arrows standing out from their backs. Gabrielle saw Tanit's eyes go wide, looking over her shoulder. She turned, feeling the air as thick as water.

The end of the avenue of sphinxes was blocked off by two wheeled chariots, drawn by pairs of horses. In each chariot stood a driver, naked to the waist, and a bowman. All wore kirtles of linen, golden armbands and wide necklaces of gold and colored stones. Their hair was black and square cut above brown hawk's faces, framing eyes made supernatural large with kohl. In the lead chariot stood a shaven headed man, a leopard skin slung across his chest like a mantle. He gestured to the driver, who edged the team forward, toward Gabrielle and Tanit.

He paused, his amber eyes sweeping over the scene, the damaged tomb, the mallets, the four bodies pincushioned with arrows. He spoke in a light voice, more cultured than Gabrielle expected from his fierce mien, soft rounded tones that she didn't follow. "Tanit, what's he saying?" Gabrielle whispered.

The girl frowned, then translated. "He says his name is Mekere, he's a...scribe to the local nomearch- the governor of this province. That tomb belongs to his uncle. We...put into darkness? We stopped the jackals who sought to desecrate his uncles tomb, and thereby have done him a great service."

"Oh. Thank him, and tell him who we are, would you?" Gabrielle asked, smiling at the shaven headed man.

Tanit did, her Egyptian coming more quickly. The scribe bowed from the waist to the Amazons, and spoke again. "He says we have to go with him to his house. Should we, Gabrielle?" Tanit said.

The bard looked at the chariots, the archers, and the dead bodies at the end of the avenue of sphinxes. "I think it's not a bad idea."

In the Temple of Har

He made the mistake of standing too near Xena while he bellowed.

One large hand shot out and gripped his throat, lifting him off the floor. His sandals barely brushed the stone, his face turned and angry red. The Harlot stood up quickly, coming forward. "Tell this idiot to go away." Xena growled.

The Harlot recognized her, and bowed. "You may retire, Datin. Do not allow anyone else to come in." Xena released her grip, and the guard fell flat. He scrambled backward like a crab in his haste to get away from the terrible Greek giant. "How may I serve the Lord Chabouk?" The Harlot asked, musically, as the guard fled.

"You have a Royal Messenger here?" Xena asked, without flourish. She had no time, no patience for formality.

The Harlot acknowledged that they did. "All temple are connected by the Royal Messengers to the City."

"Send word to Oromenes. Gabrielle is missing. Xena asks his help."

The Harlot clapped her hands, a girl came forward with scroll and stylus. She inscribed a short message, then sent the girl away. "The messenger rides within the hour, Lord. The Great King will receive your word in two days time."

Xena felt the weight settle again on her shoulders, the despair that threatened to crush her. It had been held off by her anger, by the urge to get to the temple, to send word to the Red City. Now, having done the one thing she could think of doing, her mind went blank again, the grief enshrouded her.

The Harlot watched the warrior's shoulders sag, as if her body could no longer remain upright. She took Xena's arm, leading her to a bench. "Is there aught we might do for you, Lord Chabouk, as you await word? I will have a guestroom prepared here, in the temple. Let me ready you a bath, bring you food and drink."

Xena ran a hand through her hair, mazed. She had trouble thinking, trouble focusing. It had been two days since she took a horse from Geb and rode hell for leather toward the temple of the Great Mother. She couldn't recall when she last slept, last ate. "No." She said, softly. Not without Gabrielle.

The Harlot knelt by the bench, as the warrior set her head in her hands. "I am Belile, Lord. I saw you, at the wedding of Malache and Oromenes. We of the Goddess owe you much. Is there nothing I might do, to ease your mind?"

The blue eyes looked up. "No."

"Harlots have certain gifts, Lord Chabouk. You are a Friend of the Royal House, dear to her own Beloved. I could ask Har where your consort is."

Fingers like steel closed on the Harlot's arms, bruising her. "Do it."

The preparation was simple. Belile took a copper dish the size of a Harrian soldier's shield and filled it with sand. She lit tapers, put out the lamps, and told Datin to keep everyone out, even servants. From under the altar she brought forth a casket of silver, polished to a dull white glow. It was ancient, smoothed down by generations of hands, carved with symbols strange to the warrior's eye. Belile stood before the copper bowl, holding the cask. "Ask the Goddess what you seek, Lord Chabouk."

The warrior narrowed her blue eyes into slits, staring at the statue of the Great Mother on the altar. "I'm not one of your people, Har. But I came when your people sent for me and did my best for them. Now a woman is missing, a woman who was ready to sacrifice everything to see your Great King crowned. If you can see into people's hearts, look into mine. Help me find Gabrielle." The Harlot opened the box and drew forth a snake, a silver so bright that it glowed white in the candlelight. She held it like a precious necklace, cradling it, then kissed it's wedged shaped head and set it in the copper bowl.

The serpent writhed in the sand, leaving tracks like a madman's scribbling. The Harlot bent low over the bowl, reading. "Your consort rests in a cave tomb in the yellow valley necropolis of Kemet, surrounded by the dead. An Amazon of Dahomey rests with her. The Syrian caused them to be there." She said, her voice a chant. Xena swore a sulfurous oath and reeled, the ground giving way beneath her. She sank down on one knee, blind from the pain. It was too much to bear, her mind staggered under it. The fear rose up and savaged her, tearing away the last vestige of her control. With a growl of inhuman rage Xena sought to lash out, to strike away the source of her agony.

She grabbed the edge of the copper bowl, hurling it across the room. The snake flew like a ribbon of moonlight, striking the wall. Sand showered over the floor. Belile shrank back from the madness of the Lord Chabouk The black head flew back, the scream that loosed from her throat bore only chance resemblance to humanity.

The Harlot tried to check the reeling, staggering Lord Chabouk, to calm her, but the only one who could calm her was gone. The snake, having landed in a pile of the scattered sand, continued it's writhing, in a frenzy as great as the madwoman's. The woman that ran from the temple bore little resemblance to the Lord Chabouk, friend of the Royal House of Har. This was a Greek giant in the grip of a frenzy that would make a beserker pale. Datin fainted dead away at the look on the warrior's face, in passing. It was a razor edged whirlwind that caught the saddle of the desert raider's mount, a primal force that hurtled into the gathering night like the rage of a god. And it rode toward the yellow valley necropolis of Kemet.

In the temple of the Great Mother, the Harlot looked at the snake's trail in the sand, and sprang up, shouting after the fleeing Lord Chabouk. Rage, or the drumming of unshod hooves filled her ears, and the warrior did not hear.

Continued in Part 5.

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