Sati stared at Swuth, catching on to his mistake in swearing in his own God’s name, sure at last of his identity. He was an Egyptian; an assassin of the cult of Aten. She had learnt about their culture in her youth. She knew immediately what she had to do.

Swuth pointed at Nandi and turned to his men. ‘Behead this fat giant. He must be the blue-throated Lord. Leave the other injured alive. They will bear witness that they were attacked by the Nagas. And collect our dead. We’ll leave immediately.’

‘He’s not the blue-throated one,’ spat Sati. ‘Can’t you see his neck, you Egyptian idiot?’

The Egyptian holding Sati hit her hard across her face.

Swuth sniggered.

‘Leave the giant alive,’ said Swuth, before turning to one of his fighters. ‘Qa’a, torture this hag before you kill her.’

‘With pleasure, My Lord,’ smiled Qa’a, who was not the best of assassins, but an expert in the fine art of torture.

Swuth turned to his other men. ‘How many times do I have to repeat myself, you putrid remains of a camel’s dung? Start gathering our dead. We leave in a few moments.’

As Swuth’s assassins started implementing his order, Qa’a moved towards Sati, returning his blood-streaked sword to its scabbard. He then pulled out a knife. A smaller blade always made torture much easier.

Sati suddenly straightened up and shouted loudly, ‘The duel of Aten!’

Qa’a stopped in his tracks, stunned. Swuth stared at Sati, surprised beyond measure. The duel of Aten was an ancient code of the Egyptian assassins, wherein anyone could challenge them to a duel. They were honour-bound to engage in the duel. It could only be a one-on-one fight; multiple assassins could not attack or they would suffer the wrath of their fiery Sun God – an everlasting curse from Aten.

Qa’a turned towards Swuth, unsure.

Swuth stared at Qa’a. ‘You know the law.’

Qa’a nodded, throwing his knife away. He drew his sword, pulled his shield forward, and waited.

Sati wrenched herself free from the assassins who were holding her. She bent down and ripped out some cloth from a fallen assassin’s cloak, tying the strip of cloth across her face, covering her mutilated eye in an effort to stem the blood from flowing across her face. She hoped this would give her unimpeded vision and not disturb the good eye. Then she slowly pulled out the knife buried in her upper arm and tied another strip of cloth around the injury, using her teeth to tighten the bind.

She then drew her sword and held her shield high. Ready. Waiting.