Humbaba was a monstrous giant raised by the sun. When he walked through his forest on sunlit paths a wood pigeon was moaning and a turtle dove called in answer. Monkey mothers called aloud and the young monkeys were shrieking, singing rhythms for his passing. His roar was a flood, his breath was fire, he heard the trees rustling a hundred leagues away. Who would dare enter his forest? The big man came, the king scaled in armour with his trickster friend. They cut off his snake-haired head and carried it away in their sack. They cut down the cedar trees to build their palace walls. Only the gods honoured him. They gave away his seven radiances, his seven terrors. They gave them to the fields, to the rivers, to the reed beds, to the lions, to the debt slaves, to the hills, and to the lady of the underworld.
