Tablet IX — The Wanderings of Gilgamesh
The tablet opens with the lament of Gilgamesh for the death of his friend, and with his resolve to seek his ancestor Utnapishtim, that he may learn the mystery of Utnapishtim's apotheosis and at the same time secure recovery from a loathsome disease with which Ishtar had smitten him.
Gilgamesh wept bitterly over the loss of Enkidu, his friend. He lay stretched out upon the ground, saying:
"I will not die like Enkidu — but weeping has entered into my heart; fear of death has befallen me, and I lie here stretched out upon the ground. To test the strength of Utnapishtim, the son of Kidin-Marduk, I will set out. I will go at once."
He arrived at the mountain ravine by night. Lions he saw, and he was afraid; but he lifted his head to the god Sin and prayed. To the great majesty of the god his cry rose up, and Sin hearkened and saved him, even him.
In the night he saw a vision and a dream — lions [...] were at ease. He lifted the axe in his hand and drew the sword from his belt. Like a javelin he threw himself among them; he wounded, killed, and scattered them.
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He came to the mountain of Mashu, whose entrance is guarded daily by monsters, whose back extends to the dam of heaven, and whose breast reaches down to Aralu.
Scorpion-men guard its gate; dreadful terror they spread, and it is death to behold them. Their splendour is fearful, overthrowing the mountains; from sunrise to sunset they guard the sun.
Gilgamesh beheld them, and with fear and terror his face grew dark. His mind became confused at the wildness of their aspect.
But one scorpion-man said to his wife:
"He who comes toward us — flesh of the gods is his body."
The wife answered the scorpion-man:
"Two-thirds of him resembles a god; one-third only is man."
The scorpion-man replied and said to her:
"One of the gods has given the order; he has travelled over far-distant roads until he should come to me. The mountains he has crossed are steep."
[The remainder is broken away.]
Seeing that the monster regarded him with friendly eyes, Gilgamesh recovered from his fright and spoke of his resolve — to go to Utnapishtim, his ancestor, who had been removed into the assembly of the gods and had thus power over life and death.
The scorpion-man replied by describing the difficulties and dangers of such a march through the mountain of Mashu. No one had yet been able to do so — twelve miles of heavy darkness in all directions, and none had passed through. But the hero was not discouraged. The scorpion-man acceded to his urgent request and opened to him the gate of the mountain.
And now begins the wearisome march:
One mile he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Two miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Three miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Four miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Five miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Six miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Seven miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Eight miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Nine miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Ten miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Eleven miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light. Twelve miles he marches — thick is the darkness, and it does not grow light.
At last the hero left the mountain. On the shore of the sea he beheld a beautiful and wonderful tree. Diamonds it bore as fruit. Its branches hung down, beautiful to behold. Crystal and antimony the branches bore; with fruit it was laden, dazzling the eye.
Other precious trees were also there.
[The tablet continues in the following column.]