The knife glinted in the sunlight
as it hung suspended in space. The hand wrapped around the hilt was stained
crimson, the fingers locked in an unshakable grip. Dirt and a few stray animal
hairs clung to the skin held fast by the drying blood. Dormara brought the
knife down with a tremendous force, burying it deep into the thick neck of the
ox. The billowing of the beast fell on ears that were all too accustomed to the
sound. At first the clamor had been eerie and more than a few new priests had
their nerves shaken. However, years of the ritual sacrifices had dulled the
impact. The ropes holding the animal quivered and stretched, threatening to
break underneath the weight of their captive. Only twice in Dormara’s three
years of service had an animal broken free from its bonds. Both times had
resulted in a gruesomely violent affair as the bleeding animal limbered off in
an attempt to escape the priest. The oxen never really got too far before they
bled out. But instead of the blood being somewhat collected and confined to one
space it was spattered around the stone temple walls and floor creating a
macabre scene.
Dormara
finished the ox with a swift upward motion as he severed the spinal cord. The
animal shook as it gave up the last ounces of strength before letting out one
last breath. The whole process had taken less than a minute, but it was a
minute that was painted in red droplets on the bottom of Dormara’s cloak,
steadily becoming greater as they descended and finally pooling at his feet. In
another matter of minutes he had swiftly gutted the animal and removed the
entrails, placing the heap in a large clay bowl that was resting on the floor a
few feet away. The first five minutes after death were vital to divination.
At Dormara’s
command, one of the guards at the door left to bring the king to the
sacrificial courtyard. Dormara closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. It
wasn’t necessary for the priests to wait for the king’s presence before
starting their ritualistic worship. His mind drained of thought, opening the
door for the gods to enter. His hands lifted in an upward motion, palms up and
open to offer up his sacrifice and receive instruction. His lips moved in a
whispered prayer.
“Oh,
great Ninurta, hear our prayer. Show us the path and light the way for our
feet. We need your direction”.
He
finished his prayer with an incantation that had been handed down through
generations of priests. His eyes opened and he squinted at the bloody mass of
bodily organs that lay before him. As he inspected the stomach he noticed a
full belly of wheat and oats. This animal had been well fed and healthy. His
probing hand shifted through the pile and his trained eyes darted about,
seeking a sign. As he came across the intestine he noticed it had been stretched.
Gluttony. This animal had dined well, truly the gods were smiling down. His
hand dug deeper searching, searching, searching for another sign to present to
the king. His fingers wrapped around something warm and firm. What was this? He
lifted his treasure and his eyes widened in surprise. A fetus! This ox had been
in the first month of pregnancy. It was rare that a sacrifice was pregnant, but
it was an exceptional sign that the gods were favoring the nation.
The
king strode in, his long robes gently swishing along the sunbaked and bloody
stone. His height made Dormara’s short stature seem even shorter. Two guards
flanked each side, their swords concealed within the folds of their cloaks.
“Greetings,
Oh King Sennacherib. All praise and honor to you for your generous rule over
the nation. You are worthy of worship,” Dormara spouted forth the typical
Assyrian greeting.
“Yes,
well? What way do the gods direct us to go?”
“Here,
I will show you.” Dormara motioned for the king to approach the altar where he
had set aside the full stomach and stretched intestine. Hoping to surprise and
gain the favor of the king, he had kept the fetus hidden in the clay pot along
with the rest of the discarded organs. Dormara gave him a rundown of his
discoveries.
“As
you can see, oh king, we have a fine and full stomach here, albeit it doesn’t
smell very appetizing. The oats and the vegetation that fill this animal’s
stomach signify a blessing from the gods. They have given us permission to
proceed with the conquest as planned.”
“Mmm.
Yes, I see. Very good, priest. Very good.” Sennacherib’s tan brow furrowed as
his eyes roved over the altar.
“Next,
oh king, we have an intestine from this ox. Notice the stretching here and
here,” Dormara pointed them out. “These signify success from the gods. The
conflict will be one of success and all nations on earth will come to fear you
through your military prowess.”
“Good,
good, yes, I see.” The king nodded his head and muttered agreement as the priest
explained the importance of the two bits of entrails. For the past several
months, Sennacherib had been planning an intensive and concentrated invasion of
the nation of Israel. Israel controlled some of the best portions of the land,
and Assyria had much to gain from eradicating the scum from their midst.
Sennacherib knew that a meeting with his military advisors was due next. If the
gods were smiling down on them, there was nothing that could stop the power of
the Assyrian empire.
“And
this last piece, oh king, I think you’ll be especially pleased about,” Dormara
continued. Sennacherib followed the short priest over to the clay bowl that
held the mass of entrails that were left over from the sacrifice. A bean-shaped
object lay on the top that immediately captured the king’s focus. He knew what
it was and the meaning it held.
“It
seems that this sacrifice was unexpectedly pregnant, oh king. I’m sure you know
what this means, sire,” Dormara spoke happily as he handed the fetus over to
the king.
“Marvelous!
Riches beyond comparison will soon be mine as I wipe that Israelite infestation
off of the face of the earth. Their puny Yahweh cannot stand a chance against
the all-mighty power of our gods, priest.”
The
king handed the dripping object back to the priest before turning and walking
out of the temple courtyard; his guards followed. He walked up the steps of his
palace and threw open the door to his council chamber.
“Call
the military commanders and officers. I want them here right away; we have no
time to lose.” The messenger standing at attention by the door bowed low and
turned to exit.
“One
more thing. Run by the temple and escort one of the temple prostitutes to my
sleeping quarters. The gods need to be worshiped tonight.” The messenger once
again bowed low and left the king alone.
Sennacherib
pored over the maps that were flattened on a wooden table. The map bore
markings and troop movements of battles and conquests of olden days. His heart
burned inside of him with a hatred for the Israelites. This conquest would be
something the world had not seen up to this point. Even the acclaimed Israelite
king Hezekiah would have no chance of standing up against the mighty power of
Sennacherib.
Pretty
soon the military commanders, officials, and Sennacherib’s sons entered the
room and amidst the planning and organization a military strategy was set forth
that would turn out quite differently than Sennacherib expected.
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