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Updated: May 2, 2025
They worshiped various divinities: Num, the soul of the universe; Amen, the generative principle; Khom, by whom the productiveness of nature was emblematized; Ptah, or the creator of the universe; Ra, the sun; Thoth, the patron of letters; Athor, the goddess of beauty; Mu, physical light; Mat, moral light; Munt, the god of war; Osiris, the personification of good; Isis, who presided over funeral rites; Set, the personification of evil; Anup, who judged the souls of the departed.
"Thou hast said, O my Kenkenes, that I should understand thy meaning when thou spakest mysteriously a while agone. May I not know, now? Thou didst plead offense to Athor and didst boast her pardon. Later thou calledst her thy confederate. And earliest of all, thou didst confess to asking favor of her. How may all these things be?" "Look thou," Kenkenes began at once.
He had no heart yet to face her, who had laid his cruelest sorrow on him. He would continue his work on Athor until he had gathered assurance from that unforbidding face. His light foot made no sound and he entered the niche silently. Kneeling on the chipped stone at the base of the statue, her face against the drapings, her arms clasping its knees, was Rachel. In one hand was the collar of rings.
The sole observance of hieratic symbol were the horns of Athor set in the hair. The figure was posed as if in the act of a forward movement. The knee was slightly bent in an attitude of supplication. The face was upturned, the eyes lifted, the arms extended to their fullest, forward and upward, the fingers curved as if ready to receive.
The sedge was wind-mown, and there were numberless prints of bird claws, but no mark of boat-keel or human foot. The place should have been a favorite haunt of fowlers, but it was lonely and overshadowed with a sense of absolute desertion. "But," Hotep began suddenly, "thou hast spoken of offense and pardon, and now thou boastest that Athor abetted thee."
"'O Oraetes, I am astonished that one so wise and great should not know how to cure a sorrow like this. "'Tell me a cure, said the king. "Three times the colchyte kissed the floor, and then he replied, knowing the dead could not hear him, 'At Essouan lives Ne-ne-hofra, beautiful as Athor the beautiful. Send for her.
While we examined the formation, Furayj and old Sulaym, who became more and more "moony," ransacked the block in all directions, and notably failed to find a trace of mining. Evidently Athor, the genius of the "Turquoise Mountain," was not to be conquered by a coup de main; so I determined to tire her out.
After a long silence, Kenkenes roused himself. "Look to the course of the bari, Hotep, and chide it with an oar if it means to beach us. I doubt me much if I am fit to control it with the wine of this wind on my brain." Hotep took up the oars and rowed strongly. "Thine offense does not sit heavily on thy conscience," he said. "I have made my peace with Athor." "Hath she given thee her word?"
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