The sight of the comet in the Eastern skies only the night before had filled the city of Paibad with a tension as thick as honey. Omens like that were always sent by the gods prior to some awful occurrence. The En of the city had demanded that his diviner's and soothsayers work throughout the night to discover the message brought by the evil portend and since that order was given, none of them had slept. In the temples too, the sense of dread could be tasted in the air, a sour, acrid scent of fear. Pinpirig had spent the day the same as any other in the house of Shishio'a, goddess of grain and farmers, rushed off of his feet by the demands of the elderly priests. He had also felt the unease of his superiors as he had brought them the offerings the temple had received that day. The daily feast for the goddess was almost upon them, and Pinpirig had turned his capable hands towards the preparation of the sacrificed animals for cooking. His stomach groaned and his mouth watered as he thought about the dinner they were soon to enjoy on the behalf of the goddess.

Not long after, as he and the other initiates took the heaping platters of meat and bread to the priests of the temple, the young man could barely contain his excitement. Outside the tall windows of the temple dining hall, the moonlight shone fiercely from a clear, black sky. Inside, the roaring braziers illuminated the hall with dancing shadows as wine and beer flowed freely about the many tables. He slipped a morsel of goat's meat under the folds of his single, long sleeve as he left to fetch more bowls and jugs for the raucous holy men. By the time he had returned to the kitchen, the meat had already been covertly eaten, his grubby hands and hungry eyes on the prowl for more.

The door leading from the kitchen to the courtyard erupted into a fit of echoing blows. In surprise, a nearby initiate dropped a fine ceramic bowl, scattering sherds and loose grapes all around the floor. Cursing under his breath, Pinpirig jogged to the door, grasping the heavy bronze ring, he yanked it open to the night air. Before him, eyes wide in terror, stood Shio'arad, one of the older priests, his braided hair slick with sweat, which beaded on his forehead.

"Sir, What is it? Why are you so scared?", asked Pinpirig.

"Men of Uzu have arrived, they even now burn the harbour, the gates of the inner town were not barred, they loot the temple of Gobarshio'a!"

The ancient man shook visibly as he relayed the news, the fear of death clung to his boney frame like stinking bitumen. It did not take the younger man long to drag him inside, slamming the door behind him and ushering him as fast as he could to the tabls of the other priests. There, Shio'arad told them all what was happening outside as the room burst into life. Removing all of their valuables, the priests placed them into a hessian bag, with orders to an initiate to hide them well. Next, the fat old men hurried to find hiding places of their own, bidding the remaining initiates protect the temple from the ravaging Uzumen.

Thinking nothing for his own safety, Pinpirig sprinted to the main chamber of the temple, where stood the silver statue of the grain goddess. He took a position behind the first of four columns on the right of the podium upon which it stood and prepared himself to die defending it. The clouds had began to gather above the city and through the square hatches in the roof, he could see the red glow of fire reflected from their undersides. From beyond the bronze-banded double doors of the temple, he could hear the ruckus of war as the surprised town guards struggled to stem the tide of attackers. Pinpirig thought about all he knew of the men of Uzu, the deadly raiders of the Eastern Gulf Coast: Slavers, looters, the warrior elite of a large and wealthy kingdom which marked the South-Eastern extreme of the known world, masters of seafaring. Their reputation told him that here, tonight, in front of the glorious statue of his most beloved goddess, Pinpirig was going to die.

From outside came the alien sounds of a foreign language, nasal and clipped. Though he did not catch the meaning of a single word, their intent was clear; they meant to break down the door to retrieve the treasures of the temple. Something began to creak and rumble beyond the sealed entrance, approaching quickly and then there was an almighty impact on the doors. More strange orders were barked, the sound receding and then approaching again, louder this time, the impact harder. The doors fell backwards from the wall, hinges forced out of the plaster, long cracks opening up along the frescoes around the doorway. There, back-lit by the awful glow of a city ablaze and surrounded by the calls and cries of ongoing battle, stood ten figures in high-peaked bronze helmets, orange plumes of feathers springing from each side of the head. Their shields were the shape of the crescent moon and their bodies were clad in solid bronze breastplates, each held some form of killing blade or spear.

The largest of the men removed his helmet, revealing a face which in any other context would have been handsome and noble, but in the flickering firelight it seemed dreadful and evil. Pointing to the column behind which Pinpirig hid, he uttered more of the odd, jumpy orders, five men peeled off and hurried towards him. Pinpirig crushed himself back into the stone column, trying his hardest to become invisible in his blue robes. His mouth was dry and he had squeezed his eyes closed tight, gripping the column with all of his strength. The footsteps of five murderers rushed towards him, accompanied by the clatter of weapons and armour, they came so close that he could smell the sea-spray and sweat on the bodies of the invaders. Opening his eyes a crack, he watched in horror as one of the men looked straight at him and his heart sank through to the underworld, seeing that his last moment was upon him. At that moment, Shishio'a herself must have looked upon him, as the man turned away, following his companions and heading deeper into the temple.

No time to relax though, from the other side of the column the sound of more feet approaching, headed straight towards the statue. These feet were in no rush, they walked slowly, speaking in hushed but excited tones. He skirted the column, peering as carefully as a mouse from behind it, he saw the five of them gathered at the feet of the statue. Closer now, he could make out more of the leader's face, a new beard, a young man's first, and eyes which suggested a gentle soul. Pinpirig wondered if he was not in fact looking at someone else's hero, from the perspective of the enemy, so brave and noble was the man's countenance.

This was it, this was his chance to defend the honour of his goddess, he tried to leap at the invaders but he found his feet completely glued to the spot. His arms would not respond, his heart itself felt as if it had ceased its beating. The five men threw a noose around the neck of the statue. He could not move. They heaved it from its podium, sprawling it upon the floor. Still, his body would not do as he commanded. The young Uzuman pointed to the cart which had been used to batter down the door, calling out orders to his men and they moved to place the holy statue in the vehicle, straining under the weight of it. Pinpirig could do nothing to stop them, his body would not allow him to do so. He felt the heat of embarrassment filling him, struggling to come to terms with the weakness he had shown in the face of such an evil enemy.

Before he could force himself to move at all, the statue had already been manhandled onto the cart and wheeled out of the temple. The men who had been elsewhere inside had returned, covered in blood and breathing heavily. They had added more loot to the cart, piling it high with fine clothes, baubles and decorated pottery, before helping to move it away. He stayed bolt still behind the pillar for a long time, until he was sure that he was safe. The sounds of fighting had retreated from the temple precinct, priests and initiates had begun to reappear from their hiding places and finally Pinpirig could emerge.

Shaking, hands slick with sweat and possibly having soiled himself, the young initiate walked in a daze about the hollow temple, devoid of its most prized possessions. In the hallways of the living quarters, blood ran in steadily congealing streams and the bodies of braided-haired holy men were strewn or propped here and there. Each corpse a man whom he had once known and spoken to, the victims of a covetous attack, made only to steal from those who had no defence. The goddess of grain would weep terribly tonight for her lost children.

All across Paibad, the story was the same, the raiding had been quick in the better defended temple and Palace precincts, though the lower city had fared far worse. There, rapine and pillaging had raged in a gory orgy of death throughout the entire night, the enemy moving whenever defenders hurried to engage them, leaving only ash and blood in their wake. Shortly before the dawn came, blood red to mourn the slaughtered, the Uzumen had mounted their swift ships and cast off for home. No boat of the Beautiful people could match their turn of speed and the defenders had been left in no state for pursuit anyway.