Inside the bedroom a god was yelling in a deep, baritone voice at the nude
Amazon, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed. And the Amazon was yelling
back in a voice that was like that of a male tenor. They spoke in a language
that was not Ilsig.
In his time Stulwig had learned several hundred basic medically useful words in
half a dozen dialects of the Rankan empire. So now, after a few familiar words
had come through to him -suddenly, the truth.
The woman was Azyuma. And Vashanka was berating her for her infidelity. And she
was yelling back, accusing him of similar infidelities with human women.
The revelation dazzled Stulwig. So the gods, as had so often been suggested in
vague tales about them, were like humans in their physical needs. Fleshly
contacts. Angry arguments. Perhaps even intake of food with the consequent
digestion and elimination by stool and urination.
But much more important for this situation was the intimate act she had sought
with a human male … Trust a woman! thought Stulwig. Hating her incestuous
relationship. Degraded. Sad. Hopeless. But nevertheless jealous when her god
husband-brother went off to earth, and, as gods have done since the beginning of
time, lay with a human woman. Or two. Or a hundred.
So she had got even. Had taken the form of a human woman. And had cunningly
enticed a male – this time, himself; three and a half years ago, his father – to
lie with her. Not too difficult to do in lustful Sanctuary.
And thus, Ten-Slayer, in his jealous rage, had become Eleven-Slayer – if humans