The smiths obeyed, cast heavy bronze weapons that ordinary men could not lift, axes, broad-hilted knives heavily ornamented with gold. Each man carried weapons and armor ten times the weight that a warrior bore.

Gilgamesh said, “Before leaving, we must visit my mother, Lady of the Wild Cows, wise, all-knowing. Let us honor her and seek her blessing and advice.”

Hand in hand, the companions walked to the Temple of the Lady of Wild Cows. Gilgamesh bowed to his mother, and spoke:

“I must trek to the Cedar Forest.

I must face fierce Humbaba.

I must trod the path untrod.

I must face the combat unfaced.

Mother, wise and great, help me, bless my leaving, so that I might return from the Cedar Forest triumphant and look once more upon your face.”

The Lady of the Wild Cows listened sorrowfully.

With a sinking her heart she sought her inner chambers and bathed in water of tamarisk and soapwart, put on her finest robe, girded with a broad belt, hung her jeweled necklace between her breasts, then donned her crown. She climbed the carven stair to the sacred roof, lit sweet incense so that her smoke might rise up to stir The Dreaming Sun.

Lifting her arms in prayer, she sought beyond the world of men, “Heaven’s King, you have given my son beauty, power and bravery—why have you also burdened him with the restless heart?

“Now you have inspired him to seek combat with Humbaba, to take up a quest from which he may not return.

“Since his mind is set, shield him in this until he has driven from the world the evil that you so hate. Shield him each day as you cross the sky, and by night, may your Bride Dawn entrust him to the valorous stars, watchers of the night.

“Oh glorious Sun, Smile of the Gods, Illuminator of the World, light-bringer, world-shaper, banisher of darkness and evil, who all creatures awake to with joy—protect my son.

“On his perilous trek let the days be long, the nights short, his stride vigorous, his legs sturdy. When he and his dear Enkidu arrive, lash Humbaba with your fiercest winds, the winds from south, north, east and west, storm wind, gale wind, rain wind and funnel cloud to vex Humbaba, to cripple him, to enable my son to kill him.

“Then, as your swift mules carry you onward to your nightrest may the gods bring food and nectar of delight. Dawn shall dry your face with her pure white robe. Hear me, King of Heaven, shield and have mercy upon my son. Guide him to the Forest and bring him back.”

The nature of Gilgamesh’s mother and the fact that the Sun is his patron deity who journeys across the sky [the counterpart of Apollo Helios] drawn by mules, reinforces the nomad tradition. Gilgamesh, historically, was the fifth king of a dynasty, placing him five generations, or about 100 years, from the lifeway of his ancestors.

The obsession with the dark forest and the demon therein indicates a fear of the primal among the children of the Sun God, indicating how firmly rooted Sumerian society was in its agrarian and pastoral origins. The Forest was a negative to farmers and herders, so, on this point, their theologians—working closely with the ruling class—could forge a common myth appealing to adherents of both lifeways that comprised the civilized world. These myths reflect the formation of the three pillars of Western Civilization: Plough, Sword and Book. The Sun cult served as a compromise between the farm-based maternal society and the herding-based paternal society, and contained the seeds for the Dualistic faiths of Zoroastrianism and Christianity. Just as “The Forest” is a positive metaphor for modern people attempting to reconnect with their nature, it generally serves as a negative metaphor for the people of civilizations still struggling with basic sustenance issues.