Read Online The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa by Seja Majeed - Free Book Online

soldiers, but could not stop them from ripping their clothes and pinning them down. Chilling cries followed as the men were slaughtered, knives swiped across their necks in the manner of ritual execution.
    ‘Where are your hearts? Have you no compassion?’
    ‘Hearts?’ Nafridos said, walking back to the princess. It was as if he could taste the sweetness of her innocence against his lips. ‘They’re buried beneath the earth, where your body shall soon lie. Now say your farewells, princess, before you find they can no longer hear you.’

14
    King Nelaaz of Aram was a man stifled by bad luck and he knew it. No matter how much energy or wealth he poured into his kingdom, hoping to gain favour with his people, they would always turn rebellious, branding his ideas as laughable and calling for a republic. The short-legged king’s round physique, his spotty and sweaty complexion, had led him to being nicknamed the Clown King of Aram; a name which – if uttered in his presence – carried an immediate sentence of death. In a last attempt to try to save his throne from the hands of disloyal men, King Nelaaz of Aram had asked Marmicus to intervene; it was his last hope of saving his slipping power from those who wanted to disembowel him. Fortunately, Marmicus had agreed to step in, buying some time for the sweaty little king to make the necessary reforms to please his people, and momentarily halting the civil war that was on the verge of erupting. King Nelaaz understood that he owed to Marmicus not only his throne, but his life. Had it not been for his pledge of support, he would have been overthrown and fed to the lions. Despite all this, King Nelaaz was not one to mull over things too long, and his lavish parties always cheered him up when protests erupted on the cobbled streets of his territory – and today was no exception.
    ‘I can’t imagine why your people have any reason to despise you; I’ve never seen such gracious hospitality in all my life,’ said a guest. He savoured the rich smell of roasted pig served with vegetables and wild fruits. Food was laid out along the length of the table, catering for the endless number of guests who celebrated for no reason at all. As in all parties thrown by the chubby king, they enjoyed the company of the women who sat on their laps, joyously feeding them as if they were babies.
    ‘Whenever I’m in the presence of food, I make it a rule never to speak about politics. I’d rather save myself from the indigestion,’ said King Nelaaz. His little nostrils sucked up the rich aroma of succulent meat; his stomach had been rumbling since his guests had arrived, and finally he could relieve the pangs of hunger.
    ‘Every meal must be blessed with a toast! We’re waiting for yours, oh beloved king,’ laughed a guest, a concubine sitting on his lap, pouring wine into his mouth.
    ‘Of course, only if I must.’
    ‘Yes, you must!’ they cheered.
    King Nelaaz staggered to his feet, his knees cracking under the pressure of his weight. He raised his chalice of barley beer into the air, wanting to toast his friends and allies – many of whom he did not know, but trusted. ‘My father, rest his soul, gave me a good piece of advice. He said that a man’s body is a temple where his food goes to worship, so eat well and you’ll certainly please the gods. And, if not, at least you have a reason for your woman to stroke your belly at night! To the gods and all their women – may they be pleased with us all!’
    Laughter erupted, each man toasting his fellows and digging into his food with unmannerly gusto.
    At last I can eat , thought King Nelaaz with a sense of relief as he grabbed the meat, drawing it close to his thin lips, the grease running through his ginger beard. Ah, sweet paradise, I have patiently been waiting for you …
    Suddenly the chamber doors slammed open, to everyone’s alarm, and a group of men entered, holding swords as if prepared for war.
    ‘By the grace of Ishtar,