The man sweated under the burning sun, droplets running down his armpits, his bare chest,

and the backs of his legs, underneath his colorfully striped woolen cloak, as he climbed

the steep stairs.

The fact that he was elevated above the ground, now standing both atop a platform that towered

above the surrounding buildings, and next to a white temple that reflected the brilliant

sunshine, that didn't help.

He stood there, tasting the salt and tangy oil on his lips, where the sweat had run

down through his manicured beard, waiting for the representative of the goddess to come

out of the temple and meet him.

She was innana personified, the patroness of the city of Uruk, and he was the ruler of

Uruk.

Every year they ritually married, renewing the cycle of fertility that promised bountiful

yields and prosperity for their city.

Down below, the people watched, wearing their finest clothing.

Occasionally they shouted, in nameshita, innana.

They hoped to grab his attention, or that of the goddess.

He didn't respond, keeping his gaze straight ahead, pointed at the door of the temple, where

innana's representative would emerge.

But away from the magnificent temple and platform, from the intricate tile mosaics, the white

washed and yellow plastered walls, and the scribes pressing their sharp stylus into wet

clay.

Things were different.

...