DIATRIBE

         The howling voice of the hot desert wind blows down from the northern waste. Its haunting wail carries faint strains of distant music. The living ballads of far off souls echo across the sands on their way to unknown destinations.

         Tales of a thousand lives are spun like fragile threads in the twilight. Some are drawn and faded, others young and  strong with new found joy. Together they're woven in a web of endless variation by an unseen hand. Some paths lead to love, some to fortune and others to desolation and death.  The highways of the damned lay at my feet urging me onward.

         I hear the tragic sounds of wayward spirits in their mourning.  They suffer the pain of bitter loss and hopeless torment. They  seek to pry their way into my heart with icy fingers, hoping  to plant their seeds of dark despair.

         The desert shadows are  calling me to war, reaching out to  snare me as a worthy foe. They seek the grace of battle for an hour, to taste the sweet distraction of my fury. They long for that heady blast of power, to shock the senses and hold their dreadful memories at bay for one brief moment.

        I am the guardian Amon, not some easy prey. My heart is as  tough as lizards hide. My soul is as bleached as the bones that claw at my weathered feet. My mind has become a mirror of the desert, sanded smooth by countless years of stony solitude.

       Long ago I welcomed death into this ruin of flesh, but he  would not come. He left me drowning in a wake of blood and horror,  the sole survivor of my race and family.

        I still hear the laughter of those cruel marauders ringing in my ears. The smell of the burning flesh of my family still clings to me. I remember well the savage faces of that band, their visage deeply burned onto my disbelieving eyes.

        I was born on that day, up from the ashes of the old world  into this nightmare of hell. I am the vengeance of my people.Iam  the death of fools who sleep in the night. I've crossed this endless desert to hound those hateful monsters to their doom.

        A hundred thousand agonies will pierce those creatures on that day of woe. The world will pale to hear their pitiful cries. The vipers of the pit will suck the marrow of their bones. I am the hand of god's wrath, the relentless sword of darkest dread.

      The desert sun sank slowly down beyond the horizon, leaving a blood red ribbon trailed accross the sky. The night wind carried a bitter chill, forcing weary travelers to seek hurried shelter.
       The lone guardian Amon seeks no comfort in that deepening dusk.   With grim determination he trudges on through that bleak  dreamscape, guided only by the distant fires of his loathesome prey. Relentlessly, he pushes his tortured body beyond its limits.  The snake that had served as his supper the night before seemed
only a dim memory now. His stomach lay crouched and shriveled  like some discarded husk. He longed for a stray cactus to appear to quench his maddening thirst.

        When first he saw the decaying battlements he thought it was a mirage to mock his tired eyes. The faint outline of an ancient ruin became gradually revealed in the dim moonlight.  When he drew near he felt the scene was strangely familiar as if some deep lost memory stirred within, yet remained just beyond his reach. There before him the broken spires of a once great city stood defiantly, a lasting tribute to lost days of  former glory.

        The full moon rose high into the night sky, casting its magic cloak of honeyed radiance. The wind died down to a whisper until a muffled stillness hung from those once proud walls.  The remains of a huge temple lay before the guardian. Its air of subtle mystery drawing him near. The domed structure seemed nearly untouched by the ravages of time. The walls were ornately carved with the beautiful script of some unknown language.

        The entry gate was flanked by two enormous statues like angry  gods. Fierce warriors of an ancient race stood frozen in stone to guard the holy temple of their fathers. "What guardians are these" he thought "Who have kept their post so well that these  walls still stand".

       The cool promise of marble walls drew him in through the open portal to the heart of the sacred chamber. Amon stood in breathless silence within that holy temple. He was lost in a child like rapture at the beauty before him. He stared in dumb wonder at the upraised dais in the center of that great vault.

        There within that moonlit sanctuary, throned in regal splendor,  reigned the goddess "MIRIAM". The perfect features of that lovely vision seemed wrought of living gold. Her face surpassed all women born of dreams or fantasy. Her bearing was at once, full of pride and strength, yet infinitely gentle. Her smile gave wing to the untold joy in the innermost heart. All who saw her bowed in abject humility. All vanity fell conquered in her towering presense. Even the greatest of warriors knelt in surrender to her.

           The glittering statue seemed alive. The master craftsmen that created her had touched the furthest reaches of the soul.  The patron goddess of war sat enshrined as a tempting mystery.  She was carved all of pure white marble trimmed with beaten gold.   Her armor was a girdle of pure gold, as dazzling as the sun even  in the pale moonlight.
          In her strong right hand she wielded the two edged sword of limitless power. Its gleaming blade raised to the heavens in  proud defiance. On her left she guarded the jeweled vial which  held the essense of life. Many men had fought and died for this  nectar of imortality. The grace of its gift remained far beyond the reach of ordinary men.

       "MIRIAM" had the power to heal or destroy. She bound the opposing forces of the universe together, love and hate, war and peace, knowledge and power. She stood in the center of the great wheel, untouched by all, dwelling in silence with her mysterious smile. Life and death were her domain. The naked moment of truth     was the gospel of her teachings.

         Amon could feel a shimmering presence all around him.  The radiant power of the invisible spirit dwelled vibrant within these walls. He knew that fate had brought him here  to this place. Here he would pray for the goal of his life  to bear fruit. He would plead for the strength to finish his ghastly quest. The souls of his dead countrymen cried out for  the blood of vengeance

        "Hear me great goddess and grant my request". "Make me invincible to my enemies". "Help me to crush those monsters  that I have trailed so very long". "Ease this pain in my soul  that I may know the rest of peace at last". "I offer my life to you now in trade for victory". "Come to me MIRIAM and dwell  in my heart if only for an hour". "May the strength of your power rise in me to stand against my foes as a torch against  the darkness."

         A passing cloud drifted away from the face of the full moon,  flooding the chamber with light. The open lattice work of the  upper vault cast a net of intricate shadows on the marble dais.  The face of the goddess seemed to come alive. Amon could swear  she was smiling at him now.  In that perfect silence he could hear his own breathing. Its  deep steady rhythm calmed him and set him at ease in these  strange surroundings. Even the beating of his heart seemed to  grow louder, until its throbbing sounded like a kettle drum,  echoing off the white marble walls.

        He sat in poised stillness, listening to the night. He  strained to hear the faintest sounds. His instincts told him there was something there, something subtle, like a     faint voice calling from afar. Gradualy, imperceptably,  he became more aware of it. Like the roaring of a distant river heard in a dream. It grew louder with every breath until at length he heard a humming sound in his right ear. The humming became a ringing and the ringing grew steadily louder until it bacame so intense he thought he would go mad. Amon's body trembled. His trembling gave way to a
powerful shaking beyond his control. Violent spasms dropped him to his knees. He swore the temple walls themselves began to dance to the deafening quake.

        Amon's heart was filled with fear at the wrath of the  golden deity. He threw himself down before the goddess and begged her to forgive his arrogance. "Please don't kill me yet, not before I have fulfilled my bargain with the fates".

        Amon pressed his face hard against the smooth stone floor at the base of the dais. The taste of grit and dust fouled his mouth. There was a feeling of sticky wetness on his face. He thought he might be bleeding until he felt the cool mist caress the hair on the backs of his hands. The  peal of gentle droplets falling made him raise his eyes once  more.

         Amon smiled for the first time he could remember as he gazed up at the statues miraculous secret. There within that foreign temple, perched on the edge of the dreadful desert,  was a fountain. A beautiful spray of crystal water poured  out from the open mouth of the jeweled vial and splashed at  the statues marble feet.

        The sight of water proved to much for Amon. He leaped upon the dais and drank like a maddened animal. He lifted his face to that sparkling water and felt the months of dust and grime fall away. Amon felt like a man reborn,  all his fears were washed away with the dirt. He splashed and played in the shining pool that had formed around the base of the goddess.

         Amon stood drenched beside the statue and studied her  lovely face. She seemed less grand and powerful from this angle. He laughed out loud at his great good fortune. The roaring sound had given way to the happy rain of water  cascading down from the lovely fountain.

         Amon felt foolish that he had known such awe before.  He chided himself for his superstitious fears. "Its just  another building after all" he said. "And she is just a  lady of stone". "This fountain must be an artesian spring  fed from a far off mountain range" "I am just lucky to be here to catch the spring run off". He bathed at length in that healing pool and felt his strength returning.

        It was near dawn when Amon left the old temple. He set out from the ruins of that ancient place with his energy renewed.  To the west lay the dead lands of torturous desert that he had left behind. To the east lay his uncertain fate and the horrid foes who haunted his uneasy dreams. Ahead of him were signs of new life up from the sandy soil. Small sturdy shrubs and barrell cactuses appeared more frequently now.

       In the distance he could see the outline of a snowcapped mountain range. The tempting promise of lush green valleys  was a welcome answer to his hungry prayers. It took every effort of will to hold his body in reign to the gruesome task ahead.

       The miles seemed to flow by like an eager river beneath his tattered boots. At length he found his unsuspecting quarry, perched on the edge of the desert plain. He made his way to a low hill over looking the enemy encampment.  From there he could see their scattered tents staked in vain upon the shifting sands.

       That miserable band of killers and thieves had stumbled by chance upon a small oasis. They clung around the tiny spring like the scum that they were. Its water bubbled up from the side of a small outcropping and formed a shallow pool on the rock shelf below.

        The camp seemed peaceful and still as if drugged by a heavy cloud of sleep. The evening fires had died down to sparse embers in the predawn light. Amon could see a lone sentry standing guard off to one side with his back up against an old lava flow. Amon now knew what he must do.

        The well worn words of desert wisdom rang in his head.  "One man can slit a thousand throats in one night".  He needed only to quietly kill the sentry and he would have the blade he needed to finish the rest.

         He crept down the gentle slope and along the base of the broken lava flow. He walked with perfect care, listening as he went. Each step became a painful test of anticipation.  His eyes never left the guard as he closed stealthily upon his unwary prey.

         The sentry's body looked slack against the stone. His  head bowed forward in a dumb expression as if asleep. Amon picked up a rock in his right hand. He felt a knot of tension deep in his stomach. He barely breathed as he took those last  few steps and found his enemy at last within his grasp.

         Amon stepped from the shadows of the volcanic ridge and  raised the stone high above his head. With one swift motion he slammed the rock down with all his might onto the mans skull. The man crumpled like a rag doll onto the sand at    Amon's feet. The figure lay motionless. The useless body looked as if it had never known life at all, but had always  been dead and cold as clay.

         Amon stooped down and took the guards curved dagger from its ornate sheath. He hefted it in his hand and liked the weight and feel of it. He gripped it firmly with the blade pointing down like a great saber tooth. Slowly and with great deliberation, he walked through the camp. He steeled himself against the slaughter that was to come.  His eyes took on a dull sheen. He set his mouth into a thin hard line.

         He paused for just one moment at the entryway to the first tent. He listened to the deathly silence all around him. Without another moments hesitation he ducked through  the canvas entrance and dove upon the sleeping figure within. He flipped the man onto his back and shoved his caloused hand down hard over that foul mouth. With his  blade poised to strike, Amon looked deep into the eyes of his captive to drink the sudden fear that would surely be there. Amon stared in shock at the empty eyes before  him. Their vacant gaze was locked in a look of horrible     pain. An icy feeling lay under Amon's hand, that made his flesh crawl. He drew back to find that face twisted in a hideous mask of death.

        A stiff and lifeless corpse was all he found within that ragged tent. He stumbled outside to check the next. Amon went wild through out the camp as tent after tent revealed  their pallid occupants. Each victom was the same, their faces frozen in portraits of terrible pain. He raced from place to place in a mad frenzy, desperatly searching for an enemy to slay.

       "Dead, all dead" he muttered repeating to himself. He shook his head from side to side denying the obvious. Amon slumped down onto the ground in a heap of stunned frustration.

         "All dead, how can it be" "How can I be cheated out of my just revenge." "What meaning does my life have now".   "All dead" "All dead". Amon felt completly drained of purpose. He lay exhausted, thinking about his strange  turn of fate. His last shred of hateful resolve was gone.   He relaxed for the first time in ages. The dagger he had held in his fevered grip now fell useless to the ground.

       Amon gazed up at the mountain peaks far to the east and saw the first flash of dawn burst forth in all its glory.  The golden rays pulsed and danced as if they were alive.  They seemed to reach out and touch his weathered face. He saw a marvelous beam of beautiful fire, like tiny pulses of light swarming together. A wave of delicious sensation rolled in his spine, like a sweet golden syrup pouring down. He felt disoriented like the top of his head had been torn clean off and a field of stars poured inside.  Amon was filled with intense joy, unlike anything he had  ever felt before.

        The world around him began to shimmer and dance as if seen through heat waves.   Patterns of rainbow colors diffused through the air into a dazzeling spray. All around him he saw ripples of light radiating out from any disturbance. He felt a love undreamed of,  dancing as playful lightning within his own body. He saw strange mists trailing from objects near by. The mists seemed like tiny fibers of light or etherial smoke. They  waved delicately like a graceful ballet of undersea  plants.

        A vibrant exaltation filled Amon's heart. The  feeling was so intense he could barely breathe. He swam in a molten sea of bliss. He began to see pictures in his      mind as if having a dream while wide awake. He could see deep into the earth beneath his feet. He saw a fissure in  the rock from where the water flowed to reach the oasis on the surface. He saw the layers of poison salts that spoiled the water on its way. In his mind he could taste the bitter kiss of death it carried. "The death of fools who sleep in the night." "It is done" he thought and knew his quest had been fulfilled.  The evil had suffered by its own hand.

        A new scene began unfolding in his mind. Amon saw rich valleys of the east lay offering their boundless charms. He smelled the perfume of fertile gardens beconing. The wind blowing through those lush fruit trees sounded like a velvet voice calling to him. The other worldly voice of the godess Miriam. "MIRROR I AM", "Mirror of your soul. "It is I Amon","I have come for thee."