“Let Gudea, the exorcist,” sounded the sentence, “die the death by the iron sword. Let his head be set above the Gate of Ilu, and let his body be flung to the hyenas and ravens; so shall all men fear to extort money deceitfully from our lord the king.” “Hearken,” the despairing exorcist had howled, while Khatin and two assistants pinioned him, before haling him from the tribunal: “Am I not the most pious wizard in Babylon? Shall I sacrifice to all the gods for nought?” “Off, off!” commanded the justiciar, quitting his seat; “silence this babble!” Gudea turned to Khatin, struggling vainly to free his hands. “Ah, dearest Khatin, surely you will not let me die. Remember all the pleasant pots we have drained together at Nur-Samas’s; remember our pledges of friendship, and how often I have professed that I love you!” “And do I not love _you_, my precious jackal?” said the headsman, with a snort. “Have I not many a time said, ‘The more love I bear a man, the more joy to see him safely ended.’ Bethink you, sweet friend, is it not pleasanter to slip out of the world with the delightful whir of my sword singing in your ears, than to depart as did the lamented Saruch, with Binit and yourself howling above him?” “Ah,” whimpered the exorcist, so limp now that the others had to keep him on his legs, “it is not the dying only, though that is most fearful; but woe! alas! despite all my sacrifices, what will not the gods do to me? How may I justify myself to Ea? Allat will torture me eternally!” “Fie, my lovely Gudea,” belched the headsman, “what expectations for a man of your piety! Yet be consoled; Ea sends every soul to its proper place, and even Allat can be little less handsome than your dearest wife, especially when Binit’s palm-wine was heady.” “Cursed be you! cursed with a dying man’s last curse!” howled Gudea, all hope vanishing now, as they dragged him away. But Khatin only answered with his mildest chuckle: “I have heard that music whistled by stouter asses than you, comrade. But no grudge; I must drink a double pot to-night at the beer-house,—one for you, one for me,—as token of how I shall miss you.” But Gudea’s only answers came in wordless chatterings. And how it prospered him on the rest of his long journey is not written, even in the wisest book. [Illustration: BELSHAZZAR CHOOSES HIS PATH] CHAPTER XIV