The Shemite thief was many things, but not a fool. 

There was something ephemeral about what was transpiring; some darkness he could only feel in his soul, causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end. Had he been a man who's sense outweighed his curiosity, he might have fled. But that was not Amal Ibn-Hakeem, jackal of the sands. The scents of jasmine and myrrh wafted up the stone stairway, showcasing the pythoness was performing some rite or ritual. Her echoing words, whispers in a harsh tongue. She sounded as if her statement was both a command and an abasement of herself. The knife clutched in his hand, his arm bent to throw even before he saw her dancing there in the sacred pool. He might have seen the ripples beneath her, but her dancing was mesmerizing. The cutthroat felt a very mannish stirring within him, a warmth spreading from just below his belt as he watched her. 

He forcibly tore his gaze away to scan the rest of the cavern, spying the statues of gold. The ever pragmatic thief went from desiring her to thinking of slitting her throat before she could halt him from stealing the jewels mounted on the carvings. Lapis and lazulis, garnets and rubies, diamonds and emeralds that glittered like the stars, blinking in and out of existence as the lights began to flicker from what foul magic she was enacting. Amal had made a point to keep away from the dark powers, but this was a scene he couldn't leave empty handed. 

He made no sound as he stepped down the last steps and stalked across the stone floor behind the writhing seductress. He moved seven steps to hide behind a small dias that raised the carved stone floor. Certain he was no longer in her line of sight, the approached a small bronze statue of a dog-headed man, likely placed here as a war trophy from the old conquests of Xarame, and he used his knife to dig at its agate eyes, attempting to pry them out silently through the priestess's litany. The water sloshed for but a moment, halting his progress and causing him to look over his shoulder. He waited, and his patience was greeted by another, similar sound. The strong young man crept to the edge of his hiding spot, peering out to view what was transpiring. 

"Dagon and Ashtoreth," he breathed, calling upon his shemite gods to protect him.