Swords & Heroes Story #21

I Will Not Give My Glory to Another by R. E. Diaz

Mar 18, 2025

S&S One Story at a Time

This is Rudy’s second appearance here in S&H eZine and this offering is similarly mytho-poetic in style - this time touching upon the Ishtar mythos yet with a historical twist. As mentioned before, Mr. Diaz is one of our OGs with a story dating back to 2007 published in my first online iteration of speculative fiction, Residential Aliens. I find his storytelling and the various historical situations, epics, and settings he taps entertaining and compelling. With a growing collection of such tales, I’m encouraging him to pull them all together in one volume. Let him know in the comments if you like the idea! + Ed.

‘I Will Not Give My Glory to Another’ by R. E. Diaz

“Mistress!” Having uttered that exclamation aloud, Kalumtum, youngest of the bondmaids of the palace, panicked. All prudence had vanished at the utter surprise: at seeing her alone, unguarded, in the market street by the eastern gate of the city.

Biting her lip, Kalumtum scanned the evening crowd and saw no change in the general hubbub. No one had noticed. Her heart started to settle. She crept closer and, approaching from behind, whispered, “Mistress, you should not be here. I will deliver the message.”

But her mistress did not respond. And Kalumtum had no recourse but to gently nudge her arm.

As she did so, she realized that the resplendent robe draped over those beautiful shoulders was like nothing she had ever seen in the palace. She had just repeated “Mistress Ishtar” when she saw that the gold filigree on the hem of the fabric was not sewn in but drifted over it like lilies on the Euphrates. She had just finished asking “Why are you here?” when she realized that she was now the only person moving in that crowd. And the panic returned.

“Child,” the woman replied with a smile in her voice, “I was looking for my gate.” Kalumtum felt her knees buckling as the woman faced her and continued, “But it is not here.”

The face, the dark curly hair, the eyes, they were so much like her mistress’s, but the splendour that emanated from the woman’s presence was overwhelming. Finally, as Kalumtum’s eyes recovered from the unearthly glow, she could see the differences. The details: the crown of the steppe on her head; the small lapis lazuli beads around her neck and twin large egg-shaped ones covering her breasts; the eyes painted with the mascara called ‘Let him come, let him come’; and the pectoral which is called ‘Come, man, come’ draped over her bosom.

“Inana Ishtar!” Kalumtum gasped, recognizing the figure that had graced royal seals, vases, walls, and temples for centuries in the land of her ancestors. She knelt fully and lowered her eyes to the ground, flustered. How can it be? she started to ask, and that only heightened the turmoil gripping her heart. For surely, she had always believed in the gods of her people.

Of course, it could be! She chided herself. But no one she knew had ever seen a god, or spoken to one, or even had a prayer answered by one – at least, as laid at the altar. Such encounters only happened in the poems of old.

Maybe only the heroes of myth were worthy enough to stand in the presence of gods. But that attempted explanation also betrayed her. For it brought to mind the story of Gilgamesh the mighty. And he had scorned Inana Ishtar. How could that have made him worthy? Maybe the seers had gotten that story wrong.

Kalumtum trembled as each succeeding thought forced her to face contradictions she had accepted all her life. She trembled because to stray further into those thoughts could only bring her to the edge of doubt and apostasy. And the paradox that she could entertain such doubts while in the tangible presence of such a being, only made the fear deepen.

Tears started to accumulate at her eyes. No, she told herself, I believe! The gods exist enshrouded in mystery for good reason. Too lofty for mankind, that’s it. Their affairs are far beyond mortal comprehension. That is why they never speak, for no human could stand the sound of such a voice. Yes!

She had used that argument before against her doubts. That had been her retort when her mistress first challenged her fears. Back then, her mistress had been only one more girl brought into the palace harem. Back then, her mistress had been only one more candidate to assuage the whims of King Artaxerxes for a night.

But now…now her mistress was queen; and Kalumtum had learned to love and respect her. And though Queen Ishtar never used her position of power to coerce the conscience of her servants, she still spoke freely of her trust in the god of her ancestors, whose name none would dare pronounce; a god that none could ever see – not even as carved image – yet who acted on behalf of his people. A god above every other god.

~*~

“Indeed?” Inana Ishtar said that aloud; but the rest of her response – I will not give my glory to another! – never crossed her lips. For this child did not deserve her anger. Instead, with a tinge of curiosity, she reached down and gently touched the tear moistened cheek. Her fingers slid under Kalumtum’s chin and raised her face. “Stand, child. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Kalumtum stood, trembling, about to speak –

“Yes,” Inana Ishtar replied, “I heard your thoughts. Still, you have nothing to fear. I have had my fill of violence for this lifetime.” The shining being paused to look around again at that crowd, frozen between heartbeats, noticing the subtle differences. “How long has it been?” she asked herself.

A look again into the eyes of that young maid told her there was no answer to be had there, at least no coherent answer. Hardly breathing, the young bondmaid was about to faint. So, Ishtar smiled at her, held her arms as a mother does to get the attention of a child, and she spoke gently.

“It is I, Inana Ishtar. I have returned to my people. I have been…” a momentary frown creased her beautiful forehead “…I have been delayed.” She finished that with a raising of her brows as the memories started to crystalize.

To bring them fully forth, she spoke them aloud, the words painting the images in the girl’s mind. “Tammuz…I loved him. And then I was told he had been killed. I would not have it. So, I set my mind on the great below. I abandoned heaven, abandoned earth, and descended to the underworld with my seven divine powers. To the palace Ganzer I went, the palace of my elder sister Erec-ki-gala, and I pounded on the gates guarded by Neti.

“I lay my offer before him: I will hold the funeral rites for lord Gud-gal-ana, the husband of my elder sister holy Erec-ki-gala. I will honour his death and offer libations at his wake.”

The flow of the images was suddenly interrupted as the goddess chuckled and shook her head. “What was I thinking, child? It was I who killed Gud-gal-ana. But it had been a fair fight; his ten armies against the song of my whirlwind.

“Instead of opening the gates, Erec-ki-gala had Neti bolt them beyond my power to break. And she set the purchase price: for each crossing, one of my powers. I accepted that price, for I was sure once I stood before my sister, her heart would bow to my plea and give me back my Tammuz.

“Past the seventh gate I stepped, naked, ready to beg. But upon seeing me, Erec-ki-gala stood up from her throne, stepped to its side, and with a sweep of her arm bid me take her place. I rejoiced and did as she willed. For, as queen of the underworld – even if for an hour – I could command my beloved’s release.

“But it had been a trap. Hidden beyond my sight, the Anuna, the seven judges, had been called, assembled to witness my trespass: the queen of heaven daring to usurp the kingdom of the dead. If I dared that, what else would I not dare? They rendered their decision: cast their eyes on me with the look of death, spoke the sentence with the speech of anger, and their united voice shook the worlds with the shout of heavy guilt. I was reduced to a corpse and hung like a carcass on a meat hook for all to see.

“I risked everything for Tammuz. But it was all a ruse. While I hung dead in the underworld, he took over my throne. Neither Father Enlil, nor Father Nanna would relent. But someone, I do not know who, someone turned Father Enki’s heart toward me. He sent the kur-jara with the leaves of the life-giving plant and the gala-tura with the life-giving water; and set me free.

“I returned to my palace and faced the usurper. And, believe me, Tammuz paid the price. For I will not give my glory to another.”

~*~

Kalumtum gasped as the story suddenly ended, but she no longer trembled. For as alien and terrible as those images had been, somehow her heart owned them as true; and that made Inana Ishtar much more than a goddess…it made her a woman.

Inana Ishtar heard that thought in the young girl’s mind and yet found no blasphemy in it. “I have returned at last. But this is not the Babylon I remember. Tell me, what has happened to my people?”

“The Medes and the Persians now rule this land,” Kalumtum replied. “This is the citadel of Shushan.”

“Ah!” Inana glanced at the sky above, turned her face, and took a step westward, carrying Kalumtum with her. Suddenly they were 200 miles away, standing on the Street of Procession before the twin gates of Babylon. A sigh crossed the goddess’s lips at the sight of the familiar blue glazed bricks, coloured so in her honour. “I see,” she said. “Nebuchadnezzar, my prince, is long gone. This is no longer the seat of power.”

And with equal suddenness she returned them to Shushan.

“Yes, Shushan. Now I remember.” The memories flowed again; and she shared them again with the bondmaid. “As I sat down anew on my throne I heard a distant chant, an invocation of many names, one of them mine. They were searching the stars for a sign, a favourable day when the gods would grant them the destruction of their enemies.”

Wide eyed and still staggering from the dizzying traverse, Kalumtum listened and watched.

“I touched those assembled minds,” Inana went on, “found them reckless, vain, not one warrior among them. But they had called on me! Pleased, I gave them my blessing; and I replied with the wisdom they lacked: twelve months hence. In that time, they can learn to war; then no enemy will stand before them. Who knows? I may join them in their conquest then.”

The goddess looked down again from her memories. Still unsatisfied, she wondered aloud: “Is that why I am here?”

Kalumtum, struggling with the concept of a puzzled goddess, stuttered a weak reply: “Perhaps...”

“Why are you here?” The goddess asked, and that, the bondmaid could answer.

“My mistress, Queen Ishtar, bid me to bring this message to her kin,” she showed her the scroll in her hand, “asking them to fast and pray for her. Because –”

“Well,” Inana interrupted her, “surely I can do something about that. Of what sin does she seek to be forgiven?”

“No, no, sin.” Kalumtum hesitated, and then she understood the question. “The Hebrews do not fast in penitence. They fast to draw near, in reverence, to their god. That’s the point –”

“Hebrews?” The goddess again interrupted. “Ah… I see. They still live among you. You know, they never make up their minds. One generation builds me groves and Asherah poles. The next tears them down. Here, give me the scroll.”

Kalumtum had to obey and placed the rolled papyrus in the goddess’s open hand. Immediately, it became a flock of doves that spread upwards in all directions. “They will be told.” At a nod of Inana’s head, the crowd started moving again; at first slowly, then normally, then faster and faster, while the two of them remained still and imperceptible, until the vault of the heavens rolled before their eyes, night to day to night, thrice.

“They have been told,” she said; and then she added with a tinge of satisfaction: “And they have done as she bid. Now, take me to this mistress of yours, whose god accepts hunger as if it were a sacrificial gift.”

Kalumtum turned around and had barely taken the first step when she found herself at the place her thoughts had taken her: before the massive King’s Gate of the palace complex, facing the statue of Darius the Great. “Sumptuous,” said the goddess, smiling at the child’s perplexed thoughts. “I approve. Go on.”

Unnoticed by the palace guards, they walked on, crossing from one courtyard to another, each one more impressive than the previous one, until they reached the great outer courtyard, with its thirty-six marble pillars, each topped with a magnificent capital carved in the form of twin kneeling bulls, and holding a massive roof twenty meters above their heads. There, Kalumtum had to stop, trembling again.

“No one can hurt you while you are with me,” Inana Ishtar said. But she understood the child’s rising fear, born of a lifetime of indoctrination. For beyond this courtyard was the king’s inner courtyard which none may enter unbid. From there, a long ramp led to the throne room. And behind the throne room were the king’s royal apartments.

Inana Ishtar motioned with her head in the direction of the king’s house. “Does he know she is a Hebrew?”

“No!” Kalumutum shook her head and covered her mouth, then continued in a whisper, “She made us swear never to tell.”

Inana Ishtar vanished, reappearing within the king’s chamber. Bending over his sleeping form, she whispered in his ear, “What have the Hebrews ever done for you?” And with that, she returned to the bondmaid.

“What have you done?”

“I want to know what he thinks,” Inana replied.

The king, tossing in his sleep, awoke with a start and called for his servants to bring him the chronicles of his reign, to be read to him. Inana listened through the distance and smiled. “Now, I assume the Queen’s Courtyard and the house of the women is that way, behind those trees?”

Kalumutum nodded and led the way. On passing the wall of trees surrounding the palace garden, Inana Ishtar noticed a wooden structure being erected beyond the wall. “What is that?”

“Gallows, my lady.” At the goddess’s look, Kalumtum went on. “Haman the Agagite – who is the foremost of the princes of the land – intends to hang Queen Ishtar’s cousin and adoptive father, Marduk. For the Hebrew will not bow down to him.”

Ordinarily, Inana would have ignored the vanity of mortals but something in the names and the pain in the girl’s voice made her pause. “Marduk? Noble name… Marduk you say? Hmm…” Stepping again, invisible, into the king’s chamber Inana listened for a moment. “That’s what I thought I heard,” she returned. “You mean the same Marduk that uncovered the assassination attempt on the king?”

“Y-yes, my lady.”

“He was never rewarded. Well, this could be amusing. Palace intrigue always is.”

The goddess took the maid’s hand and together they vanished, to reappear within the king’s chamber. A yelp escaped Kalumtum’s throat, and she tried to cover her eyes as the king rose from his bed. But she could see right through her hands. Her whole body was transparent, like the shimmering air over the baker’s oven. And her involuntary cry was but the rustling of leaves in the breeze outside the windows.

“What are we doing here?” The bondmaid rustled intensely now.

“I am curious,” the goddess replied, leading her after the king as he rushed to call his servants. They in turn called out to another man to be brought from the court. “Who is that? He seems familiar.”

“That is Haman.”

“The man who would kill your mistress’s adoptive father?”

“And all her race. That is what I tried to tell you. That was the purpose of that message I – I mean you – delivered to them. That is why they fasted and prayed. He has permission from the king to kill them all.”

“And Artaxerxes agreed? What kind of king would indulge such a request? Don’t people think before they act?” And then the familiarity and the memory converged. “Oh…”

Kalumtum again marvelled at a goddess nonplussed. “Goddess?”

“When is Haman carrying out this massacre?” Inana Ishtar finally spoke again.

“A year from now.”

The goddess shook her head. “I think I am to blame for that.”

“You think?”

The night passed with the same dizzying suddenness that had taken them from Shushan to the city of Babylon and back. The bondmaid staggered on her feet. But Inana reached down to steady her and nodded for her to follow her eyes. They were no longer in the palace. Instead, it was morning, and they were standing within a crowd that lined Shushan’s Street of Procession, listening to its roar, equal parts acclamation and derision.

Haman the Agagite was the focus of that crowd, as he walked along that street leading a royal steed by its bridle and proclaiming red faced, at the top of his voice: “Thus is done for the man that the king chooses to honour!” Marduk, the Hebrew, dressed in a royal robe, rode on that stallion.

“See? He has been rewarded. Surely, no ill can befall him or his now.”

But it was two fellow palace maids at the corner of the street that caught Kalumtum’s eye. She rushed to them for news. When she returned to the goddess, she was the perplexed one.

“Well?”

“I don’t understand. Queen Ishtar has convened a two-day banquet for the king…”

“Wise,” the goddess said. “Doubtless to win his heart and reverse the decreed massacre.”

“But that’s impossible,” Kalumtum retorted. “The laws of the Medes and the Persians, once decreed, cannot be reversed.”

“That’s inconvenient.”

“And,” Kalumtum went on, “she invited Haman to that banquet. Tonight is the second one.”

“Aha! She probably plans to poison him there. And with the king untouched, everyone will assume it was the judgment of the gods.”

Kalumtum rolled her eyes. “Ten thousand talents of silver! That is the prize to be won from that massacre. Do you think the death of one man will stop the greed of thousands?”

Inana Ishtar pondered in silence as the crowd dissolved into the next street. Finally, she spoke again. “I would speak to your mistress.”

“Maybe you’ve helped enough already…?” Kalumtum tried to resist, but the image of her mistress rose up within her mind; and that was enough.

In an instant, they were within the queen’s chamber; at first invisible and then in full solidity, in between heartbeats. All the maids and servants were frozen in mid task. Only Queen Ishtar was free from that thrall.

And the sight of Kalumtum brought her forward, her cry a mixture of worry and joy. “Kalumtum, where have you been?” And then she saw the other presence.

It was like seeing herself but not in a bronze mirror. Not even a Nubian one could yield such a resplendent image. And then she realized it did not move as she did. And then it spoke.

“She is indeed beautiful.” Inana Ishtar drew closer. “Turn around,” she said, but she did not wait for the shocked queen to react. Lifting the queen’s hand above her head, she led her in a twirl. “I am pleased. Well named.”

“Who… What are you?” Queen Ishtar grasped Kalumtum’s hand and drew her servant behind herself, recoiling from what she could only describe as a vision of intense beauty and passion and desire.

Inana saw that reaction in her eyes. “You see me… as I am?” She was filled with a different kind of wonder.

“I… I know Truth.”

“Then you know who I am. You know what I can do. Your race may be doomed. But if you live, I can raise you a new people from your womb. You will be their mother, forever remembered, forever revered. Do not tell the king.”

“Tell the king?” Kalumtum tugged at her mistress and faced her. “You are going to tell him you are a Hebrew?” Queen Ishtar’s face answered yes, and Kalumtum protested, tears brimming at her eyes. “No – you will die!”

“It is not in my hands, child,” the queen replied.

“I don’t understand this god of yours,” Inana spoke again. “He would rid his land of my groves and yet, while enemies prepare to destroy his people, he sits idly by?”

“He will judge. It may not be in my lifetime. It may not be in this world. It may be in eternity. But he will judge.”

“How can such a god triumph? Does he even know what is coming?”

“You mean, what you unleashed!” Kalumtum accused.

“You caused this?” Queen Ishtar stepped forward. “Is this a demonstration of your power? You promise riches in this world to human lackeys so that they will do your dirty work for you?”

“Watch your tongue. I have offered to save your race through you. Do you reject my magnanimity? Do you dare face my wrath?”

“Wrath?” The queen turned to her servant. “Tell me, Kalumtum, when was the last time you saw Baal defend himself?” And then she faced the goddess again. “When did you ever stop the head of the ax from cutting down your sacred trees?”

“My servants do my bidding.”

“Why? Because you offer them riches and pleasure and power? You call that worship? I call it barter.”

“What does your god offer you?”

“Justice and life beyond the end of time. So promised Daniel, whom your Nebuchadnezzar called Belteshazzar.”

At that name, Inana had to pause and return to her memories. “Nebuchadnezzar… He loved me. He loved my people.”

“Yes. And he also acknowledged our god. And as long as he did that, your people prospered under him. Don’t you remember that?”

“I… I was gone.”

“My god has never been gone. He will never be gone.”

“And yet he will allow his people to be exterminated.”

“What he will allow or not allow is not my concern. He can choose to do whatever he wills, in his time. The future is his. All I can do with my life is to deal in truth, in justice, in kindness, and let the judgment be his.”

Inana’s brow furled as she considered her memories, all her memories, memories of lifetimes. “You speak of a god who reserves judgment to eternity because you believe the spirit within you is eternal. Then why this?” She opened wide her gleaming arms. “Why exist within temporality? Why subject his children to suffering?”

“Because,” Queen Ishtar answered as she drew closer to this being whose alienness no longer repelled her, “this is our chance to choose to change. He put eternity in our hearts so that we would recognize his voice, recognize the truth, and choose to follow him.

“That is why, what he has done without failing – throughout the whole history of my people – is speak. He has not left one generation without the witness of his word. All, so that we could hear and obey. To do otherwise, to use his power to coerce… Well, that would be barter. He is no Baal.”

Inana Ishtar, goddess and queen of heaven, bowed her head and pondered the words of this fearless woman who bore her own name with a dignity greater than she could have ever imagined. “I too exist within temporality,” she confessed. “Even if my day is measured in years, my month in centuries, my year in ages… I too am also trapped within time.” And looking up at the queen and the young maiden with an expression that was a mixture of pain and puzzlement, and something else indescribable, she added. “And I too have died.”

Now the wonder was in Queen Ishtar’s face. “Yet, you live.”

“I do.” The dark resplendent eyes looked up at them once more, and then she vanished.

Time, suddenly released, scrolled dizzyingly forward. And it was Kalumtum’s steady hand that kept the queen from falling. “You get used to it,” she said.

The hour of the banquet came. King and hated enemy sat side by side, full of food, wine, and mirth. And Queen Ishtar could bear it no longer.

“Queen Ishtar,” the king leaned forward, “what is your request? Even to half my kingdom, it will be given you.”

“O King, spare my life and that of my people.”

Artaxerxes shifted back surprised, looking from his queen to his trusted counsellor, at a loss for words.

“That is my request, O King. For we have been sold to destruction. Were it to slavery, I would have held my peace and never distressed my King.”

“Who?” Red anger flared onto the king’s face. “Who would dare such a thing?”

Haman choked on his wine at Queen Ishtar’s look, and the fear drew all colour from his face.

“This vile Haman,” she blurted out. The tears, held back for days, finally spilled from her eyes.

The king stood in a rage, toppling wine and food and table as he stormed off across the room and out into the palace garden. Anger and anguish in equal measures shook his soul. He had agreed to the plan. He had given the command…and issued a law not even he could take back.

Haman stood in no man’s land, staring on one side at the hatred in Queen Ishtar’s eyes, and on the other at the raging king who had for so long been pliable in his hands. He knew what he had to do. He knew what he could do. He had always been able to win the king over. He could offer him a plan, another way out. He started to turn.

And then Inana Ishtar appeared beside the queen, visible only to her tear covered eyes. “I will make the king revoke his command,” she said. “It may cost him his throne, but no man can resist my charm.”

“No!” Queen Ishtar replied. “I will abide by my god’s will.” And she blocked the goddess’s path, grasping her arms and holding her back.

Shocked by that defiant touch, Inana Ishtar stumbled into full resplendent solidity. Haman heard the scuffle, turned around, and he saw…the crown of the steppe over her dazzling face, the small lapis lazuli beads around her gorgeous neck, the twin large egg-shaped beads covering her ample breasts, the shining eyes painted with the mascara called ‘Let him come, let him come’, and the pectoral which is called ‘Come, man, come’ draped over her beckoning bosom.

Inflamed to the core, heart and mind racing out of control, Haman ripped off his cloak, stepped forward, and then started to run; shedding sandals, tossing turban, and clawing at the ties of his robe: rushing headlong at the irresistible sight. And he fell over Queen Ishtar as the goddess vanished.

“How dare you,” roared the king as he crossed back into the banquet room. “You would rape my queen in my house?”

That cry brought servants and soldiers rushing in. Bound and gagged, they dragged Haman out of that room as one of the king’s attendants pointed out the gallows standing beyond the wall. “Intended for Marduk: the man who saved the king,” was all he said.

“Let it be Haman’s fate,” the king decreed. And with his fury abated, he reached for his queen, still in anguish, for he knew he had doomed her. Yet, she embraced him fully, as always.

Kalumtum, peering from behind a tree in the garden of the palace, drew back into the shadows in wonder. Suddenly she was aware of the presence of the goddess beside her.

“She will not accept my help,” Inana Ishtar said softly.

“She cannot,” the maid replied, “for her god will not give his glory to another.” Inana almost replied, and then Kalumtum saw again that indescribable look cross her shining face. She almost asked what it meant.

The goddess just bent down and kissed the forehead of the girl. “May your life be filled with love,” she said as she vanished, stepping again between the worlds; pondering the question the girl had almost asked and the answer that she was beginning to understand.

Inana Ishtar thought about reckless choices and irrevocable consequences…and a god who claimed to be above it all. She thought about death that somehow did not mean the end for her. And she wondered if such power could exist, moving behind the scenes, beyond even her own eyes; a power that could use – even turn – the tide of fate to accomplish his will…gently, ever so gently…silently.

No. Not silently. That is not what Queen Ishtar had said. Quietly, softly maybe, but not silently. For maybe, sometimes, we hear his voice in our own thoughts.

He will not give his glory to another.

Ishtar pondered those words and understood herself what that young maid had seen in her eyes. Yes, maybe. Maybe there is hope, even for one such as I.

I Will Not Give My Glory to Another © 2025 by R. E. Diaz (4800 words). All rights reserved. You may restack this story via Substack but please do not republish elsewhere. Banner and clipart by Gilead, used by permission.

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