fresh treat for the worshippers, Mardon?” the guard asked. “She’s pasty white, but the men at the Luna temple won’t mind. They like the young ones.”
“Quiet, fool!” Mardon pulled Mara closer and whispered. “Never mind him. He’s just an ignorant commoner.”
Mara spread out her fingers and compared her skin to Mardon’s. His was quite a bit darker, brown instead of her pinkish-white hue. In the dimness of her home, she hardly took notice of skin color. She turned toward the rising sun, pulling her veil down as the rays began to sting her eyes. She had read about sunlight changing skin tone temporarily, but could its light be harsh enough to make everyone this brown?
They followed a path of rough-edged stones, sharp enough to prick Mara’s toughened bare soles. Wearing leather sandals, Mardon ignored the obstacles and quickened the pace. Easing each foot down, she managed to keep up, and the path eventually smoothed into larger, flat stones that cooled her aching feet.
When they arrived at the base of the tower, a crowd had gathered in a semicircle around a cavernous entryway, a portico that led to the tower’s main doors. A man and a woman dressed in flowing silk strode to the center of the portico and embraced. As gentle drums tapped a slow rhythm, the couple stepped elegantly to the exotic beat, moving gracefully on the polished floor from one edge of the circle to the other. Two lyres joined in, and the man twirled the woman, making her colorful dress spread out into a spinning flower.
When he caught her in his arms, Mara gasped. How beautiful! That man and woman seemed so . . . so friendly!
A hand touched her chin and pushed it upward, closing her gaping mouth. Mardon chuckled. “Haven’t you read about dancing before?”
Mara shook her head, unable to speak. She had never been so mesmerized in all her life. Something about that couple sent a warm sensation into her heart unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she wanted it to never go away. Could she ever dance with someone like that, someone who would take her in his arms and make her spin in a rainbow of colors? But who could ever want to make something beautiful out of Mara, an underborn slave girl?
When the couple finished their dance, several children dashed back and forth across the portico’s floor. One scurried to the huge wide-open doors that led to the tower’s anteroom. From where Mara stood, she could see a ring of statues inside the first floor, all facing some kind of monument in the center. “Is that the shrine?” she asked.
Mardon shook his head. “The first floor is a museum. All the knowledge of the world, whether literature, art, or music, is collected there in scrolls. Our goal is to keep the world’s people together under one authority, so they won’t split up into warring factions. Having an education center here demonstrates that King Nimrod’s domain is the focus of all intellectual pursuits.”
The tower mound was high enough to allow Mara to gaze out over the city’s endless expanse of buildings and farms. Beautiful vineyards and orchards painted the distant landscape with lush greenery, but, closer in, scars spoiled the city’s marble-coated streets. Black smoke ascended from two enormous pits on either side of her view. Sweat-drenched men dressed in loincloths hauled bricks up the slopes on their bare backs. Red welts striped their shoulders as they trudged under their loads. Another man walked behind them, cracking a whip at one of the slower workers.
Mara cringed with each stroke, thinking about Nabal’s whip and how he ripped the backs of girls and beat Elam’s friend to death. She shivered hard and moved her gaze closer in, studying the stone columns that lined the outer courtyard. Carved with scowling faces, they seemed to watch over the people who paused to kiss the lowest cheek as they passed by. A girl with a handbasket threw flower petals at the column’s base, and a woman left an object on the petals, something small that glinted in the sun.
Mardon turned Mara back toward the museum. “Look.”
Three heralds carrying curved horns marched through the doors, and the children hurried back into the throng. After the horns blared a triplet of loud notes, a sword-bearing soldier led six bare-chested men onto the portico from the direction of the city gates. The six wore heavy shackles on their wrists, and chains linked their ankles.