The lion’s roar dies in its throat. The god-king holds it at arm’s length, a full-grown male that weighs more than three men, and the animal’s claws rake uselessly against forearms thick as temple columns. He stands three times the height of his tallest guard. When he speaks, teeth rattle in skulls and stone trembles underfoot.
“I AM YOUR GOD. THERE IS NO OTHER.”
You’re on your knees before thought catches up to movement, and so is everyone else around you. Ten thousand people prostrate themselves on wet stone. Not because you’ve studied theology or been convinced by reasoned argument. Because every survival instinct you possess is screaming that this being could end you as casually as crushing an insect. Because yesterday you watched him return dragging tribute wagons groaning under gold and grain from conquered cities. Because your children eat meat now instead of scraping by on barley. Because your wife wears plundered jewelry. Becau…
