Three hundred twelvemonths had passed since the expulsion of the Gaels from Kemet. The Children of Goidel Glas, a man born of a Princess of Kemet but fathered by a Scythian Prince, were a people without a nation and so they travelled the world, undergoing trials and tribulations greater than that of the Hebrews. The druid Caicher had prophesized that their descendants would reach an island called Eire and that would be their nation, but for a young Gael named Art, this was not good enough. The very idea that home would be reached by their descendants, not by them, was enough to make Art quit the travels of his people.
Arriving in a Libya, uncertain of where his own wanderings would take him, the Young Gael found himself standing before a giant of a man, six feet and four and a half inches tall. He was clean-shaven, black of hair and eye, light-skinned and muscled like a bull. Clad in a red loincloth and a pair of sandals, there was no reason for Art to believe this man was anything more than a mere bandit… a large and well-muscled one.
At sixteen twelvemonths of age and a height of five feet and five inches, Art was lean and hungry in build. His skin was ruddy, his hair short, red and curly, his eyes mismatched, with the left being blue and the right green, and due to close-fitting lids looked small and triangular. He was square jawed, had a large, hooked nose and sharp cheekbones. He was overall not particularly good-looking, very common in appearance. Clad in a pair of padded, quilted leather trousers and an open tunic, one could have mistaken Art for a Scythian.
Gazing at the giant before him, Art inquired in his deep baritone voice: "Who are you? What do you want?"
The giant growled in response: "Antaeus, Son of Poseidon and Gaia, and I want your skull!"
Son of Poseidon and Gaia? Art had heard of these two deities. Poseidon was what the Hellenes called the God of the Sea and Gaia was the earth and Poseidon's grandmother. Such an incestuous pairing! And his skull? What could Antaeus have possibly wanted his skull for?
"Wherefore?" asked Art, completely puzzled as to what this giant had intended for his cranium.
"I collect skulls of those I have killed in wrestling to decorate a temple to my paterfamilias." Antaeus answered.
A temple decorated with skulls? How peculiar. Thus, did Art dryly comment: "Most people use gold and besides, I'm not a wrestler, so there is no need for us to wrestle."
Alas, Antaeus was not one for such excuses. He grabbed the Young Gael by the throat and roared: "You have two choices! Either wrestle or die without giving me any satisfaction!"
"Hold! Fight me, Antaeus!"
Both Gael and Giant turned their heads to see a lean, athletic man of nine and thirty twelvemonths and a height of six feet, two inches and a quarter. He looked a man of both Achaean and Aithiopian heritage with a great beard and mustache. His hair was greying and he was clad in a black loincloth and a ratty old lion skin with his only weapon being a club. What man was this that came to Art's defense? What man was this that dared challenge Antaeus?